Things I Can’t Remember

Yesterday was my birthday. It’s not a big deal, except it reminds me that I can’t remember things…namely how old I am. People still ask me how old I am, though at this point in my life I’m kinda getting to the point where I’m like, WTF, you shouldn’t ask me that. But, when they do ask me, I get this panicky feeling because I honestly forget how old I am, and I’m deathly afraid of telling them the wrong answer, because I don’t want to be one of those people that lies about their age because they are ashamed – which in itself, is a stupid statement, because I’m not doing it because I want to lie, I HONESTLY CAN’T REMEMBER HOW OLD I AM. Today I remember that I’m 34. I’m not sure why I remember that. Maybe because I still have the image of the half-eaten wedding/birthday cake in my head with the two candles on top that remind me. It’s probably the coolest birthday cake I’ve had since the Ms Pacman one my mom made me when I was like 8.

This was before the candles were lit...

This was before the candles were lit…

There are other things I can’t remember…like where I parked in the parking garage at work when I don’t park in my normal spot. Sometimes I’m this opportunist that likes to park on a lower floor, and when that happens, I always end up walking around the 4th floor looking for my car that isn’t there. I tell myself I’m only going to park on 4, but we all know that’s not going to happen. If I see a spot on 2, I’m going to take it. It’s bascially the law of parking in garages.

I also can’t remember everything I need at the store. Now, this may be normal, but if I run into CVS to buy a diet 7up and some Advil, I’m going to come out with just the Advil and 7 other things I didn’t need, and I’m going to forget the diet 7up, especially since the diet 7up wasn’t for me, and forgetting it is worse. But look honey, we have new bobby pins and hairspray! Totally makes up for it.

Today, I’m supposed to go pick up our portraits from our awesome photographer after work. I have to put in multiple calendar reminders on my phone, leave the email in my inbox, and put a note on my monitor, or else I will forget. Chances are, once I get home, I WILL FORGET. I’m not sure why this is. Do I not care? No, of course I care. I want my photos, some of them are Christmas gifts, and I also made special arrangements to get them. Does this make me a crappy human? Maybe so. I kinda don’t blame myself, because part of this is genetic. Have you ever met my grandfather? Not only is he famous for being completely frontal and saying whatever crops up in his brain (‘are you pregnant? or just getting fat?’ ‘are you ever going to get married?’), he is also famous for being forgetful, especially of people’s names. For instance, just this past weekend, he walked up to me and asked me if I’d seen Christy. Why yes, yes I have.

I can never remember that crunchy tacos cut the sides of my mouth when it counts.

I can never remember which foods give me indigestion. Though, right now, I can remember it’s Fruity Pebbles and something else….

I can never remember which year my husband was born in, but it was either 1976 or 1977. (He’s going to kill me for that one) I’m pretty sure it was 1977 because he’s only like 18 months older than me, and if I’m guessing right about my age it has to be 1977. HAHAHA

I don’t remember anything at work, but I don’t think that counts. It’s also boring. And I don’t want to write about it.

I remember lots of things: my social security number, my husband’s social security number, my checking account number, my parent’s checking account number, where I live, what day I was married, Sid’s birthday, what my husband was wearing on our first date to Taco Bell, what Laney looked like when I held her for the first time, that Matt used to have a My Pet Monster and Pee Wee Herman pull string doll, that my dad won’t eat corn or mushrooms in his stuffed bell peppers, what kind of hair stuff my mom uses… I sometimes remember where my parents live.

Maybe I just need to be rebooted. It fixes the laptop most times.

update!! I am sitting at one of my favorite lunch spots, El Tiempo, and realized that I can never remember the name for the melted butter. I ask for melted butter, mantequilla caliente, hot butter, but they always bring me pads of butter. Last time I was here I asked what to call it, and I was like, I’m going to remember this!!!! Well, I didn’t. Today, I’m happy to solidify it on the interwebs as GARLIC BUTTER. I am never forgetting it again. Possibly.


My Brother Matt – A Wedding Blog

Most of you know that I have a younger brother, Matt. This weekend marks a major milestone in his life – he’s getting married. I’m super excited…not only is he marrying someone that I couldn’t have picked better myself, but also because he’s really getting to the point of living. He’s always had so much to give another person, and the fact he’s getting to share his life with Jen is really…fantastic. Magnificent. Awesome. HYPERBOLE!!!!

Matt is my only sibling. He was my first friend, my first foe, my first ally, my first enemy. If you have a brother or sister, you know exactly what I mean, unless you are from one of those freakish families that never fought. I honestly don’t remember if I was excited to have a little brother, because I was only 4 when he came along, but I can tell you that we had a lot of time together growing up.



We watched A LOT of movies. And acted them out. Built forts. He really enjoyed being put in the closet and buried in the blankets a lot. I swear, it wasn’t something I did to bully him. He asked for it. I swear somewhere there’s a picture of him in the closet, with his head poking out, smiling. I did pick on him, and when he was able to, he picked on me. We had a LOVELY flower patterned couch, and he’d fart on a flower, and ask me to go smell it. We would wrestle, and it would inevitably turn into a real fight. One time we were fighting while my mother was backing the car out of the garage, and the back door was opened into the side of the garage….oops. We also hid together when things weren’t so fun.


Rocking the mid 80s

I’ve always had this sense of needing to take care of him, and now, as I look toward tomorrow, that job is going to fall to his wife. I’m so happy that I know she is up to the challenge, is capable, and will never give up. As they have lived with us for the last 9 months, I’ve seen evidence they are both up to the challenge of marriage. It’s comforting to know that your brother is in good hands. It’s comforting to know that the sister I’m getting is exactly what I secretly wished for when I was a kid. =D  I never wanted to trade in my brother, but the addition of a sister was always on the wish list.  LOL

My new sister!

My new sister!

I know this post is exceptionally sappy, but this is sort of my wedding toast to Matt and Jen. I love them both, and am extremely happy to have Jen be an official part of the family, though it feels like she’s been here for some time already. My life has always been better because of Matt, and it’s going to keep getting better now that we have Jen, and EVEN BETTER once I have neices and nephews. No pressure. HAHAHA!

Read this if you love a female, have female friends, know a female, or a female gave birth to you.

Ok folks, things are fixin’ to get personal.  I feel like I need to put this blog out for a few reasons.  One, for my friends and family who know me, and who wonder why I am the way I am.  Two, for those of us that may go through this same thing, and might feel ashamed or scared of it.  And three, so everyone can see just how ballsacks bananas this thing is, and how there really is no way to fix it or control it. 

I’m talking about PMS.  And not just any PMS, the worst case scenario PMS.  It’s officially defined as “Premenstural Dysphoric Disorder” or PMDD.  This is the most severe type of PMS one can have, and for approximately ten-ish days of every month (yes, EVERY MONTH), you lose your damn mind.  I’m talking, out of body, Carrie at the Prom, one move away from being on an episode of Snapped, crazy. 

The National Institutes of Health defines PMDD as: a condition in which a woman has severe depression symptoms, irritability, and tension before menstruation.  They go on to say that many women with this condition also suffer from anxiety, major depression (not just regular that comes with PMDD) and seasonal affective disorder (SAD…sorry…everytime I see this acronym, it makes me laugh inappropriately).   There has been a push to categorize this not only as a medical condition, but also as a MENTAL condition.  OK.  I will admit to feeling totally mental during this time, but there is no real evidence to suggest that it is purely a psychological problem.  There has got to be a physiological cause for this increase in…everything.  Anger, sadness, anxiety, all of it.

This crap is horrible.  HORRIBLE.  I’d rather have corns on all of my toes than have PMDD.  I’d rather have warts on my hands and elbows with corns on my toes, PLUS constant postnasal drip than PMDD.   Let me give you a scenario:

It’s your average Tuesday.  You are sitting at your desk.  Your boss asks you how your morning is going.  You respond with, “HOW DO YOU THINK IT’S GOING? I WORK HERE, WHERE NO ONE HELPS ME, I COULDN’T FIND ANYTHING TO WEAR THIS MORNING THAT FITS, AND MY DAUGHTER DECIDED THAT SHE DIDN’T WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL TODAY!”  He backs away slowly from your desk. Your phone rings, and it’s your husband.  You answer, and he asks how your morning is going.  You sob uncontrollably and he hangs up apologetically, saying has a meeting.  Your mom calls and you just tell her you’re busy because you don’t want to take anything out on her because, really, she’s your mom. You IM your best friend and tell her that you’ve lost your mind, and your life sucks, and no one cares about anything you do and she placates you in every way possible and agrees with what she can agree with, and tells you yes, you have lost your mind.  And you agree, because you are astitutely aware of everything that just happened and just how insane it is. 

This scenario repeats itself for 10-15 days every month for the rest of your fertile years.  Hooray for the next decade-ish!  

If anyone tries to tell me this is all in my head, or it’s not real, you will be assaulted.  For that, I am certain.  

References (because we are legit, yo):


You may realize by now that I speak in hyperbole.  When I say THE MOST AMAZING THING HAPPENED TO ME, it may or may not actually be “the most amazing thing” and you could possibly walk away from reading this and think that I have lost my ever loving mind.

I went to Starbucks with my friend Tracy and got me a grande iced mocha non-fat no whip.  That’s probably not important, but I felt like sharing with you what I ordered that cost over $4.  I wish I invented Starbucks, where they charge you $4 for ice, coffee-flavored water, and milk with chocolate syrup.  I’m probably getting off topic here.  When we were leaving, outside the doors lying on the ground was the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen.  Lying there, all by itself, was a Heinz ketchup koozie.

HOLY CRAP I WON THE KETCHUP LOTTERY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  It’s like, this one koozie, was made for me, to be found, on this day, to make me feel like the only person in the world.  I’m kinda glad Tracy was there to find it with me, because she is well aware of my fondness for ketchup, and it was completely normal for her to see me so excited about this koozie.For those of you who don’t know how much I love ketchup.  There are sayings…”I put ketchup on my ketchup.”  Well, it’s true, especially if you waste my time with that Hunts Ketchup crap.  I will put ketchup on anything, but also, I was sharing this story with my friends and neighbors, the Vos, and they taught me about spaghetti ketchup and you bet your ass I’m going to be eating spaghetti ketchup in the near future.  Whataburger ketchup?  FUGGEDABOUT IT.  I love that stuff.  I can eat it as a meal.  McDonald’s also has decent ketchup.  Bet you never thought about ketchup until now, did you?

I keep emergency ketchup on hand.  This is not a joke. I have ketchup in the car, in my purse, and in my desk.  My desk drawer is pretty stocked thanks to those around me remembering that I need ketchup at all times.  If I ever come across tiny bottles of ketchup, WATCH OUT.  I will knock over anyone to get that bottle.  My biggest fear is that I will be having a meal that will require ketchup, and I wont have it.  In the drive through, “do you need ketchup?” THE ANSWER IS ALWAYS YES.  ALWAYS. YES.

Ready for ketchupmageddon. Also, too much Hunts.

OK, you probably think I’m marginally or completely insane, but you know what?  Have you ever seen an episode of My Strange Addiction on TLC?  I’m completely normal.  I don’t eat pottery, ashes, wear 17 layers of makeup, or get frisky with cars.  CARS.  I just love ketchup.  I don’t even eat ketchup on anything really inappropriate except steak, in my husband’s opinion. Cuz he cooks it.  HAHAHAHA

I’ll end with a close up of my prized possession.  I love you, Heinz Ketchup koozie.  ❤

Love at first sight.



I wish I could get paid for this

I like funny stuff on the Internet. No, I LOVE funny stuff on the Internet. I wish I had a job where I could get paid to read/watch funny stuff on the Internet or TV all day long. That would be my dream job. Since I currently have to work for a living, I will just show you guys some of my favorite samplings from the web. Feel free to leave your favorites that I missed in your comments. You may have seen some or all of this stuff, but that doesn’t really matter. If you’re anything like me, you watch them over…and over…and over…

Let’s start with a classic – Pearl the Landlord.

And next, something more topical. LIKE MAH STATUS!

Some stuff that aren’t videos? Ok. People have decided to get on Amazon and review stupid products with excellent sarcasm.

The Victorio Kitchen Products Banana Slicer Sample review: “For decades I have been trying to come up with an ideal way to slice a banana. “Use a knife!” they say. Well…my parole officer won’t allow me to be around knives…” Or the hardback How to Avoid Huge Ships by John W Trimmer And most recently, Bic For Her Amber Medium Ballpoint Pens People are AMAZING and this will renew your faith in God. Literally.

There are roughly 257 (yes, two hundred and fifty-seven) hilarious pics on my humor pinboard on Pinterest. You should go there, THERE ARE SO MANY FUNNY THINGS YOU ARE GOING TO DIE. Not literally, but you know, like someone says “OMG Becky, if he calls me, I’m gonna DIE.” You don’t die, you just die. You know.

Also, I LOVE PUNS. And animals in hats. Have you seen the walrus that looks like the guy from Mythbusters? TELL ME THIS ISN’T FUNNY AND I’LL SLAP MYSELF IN THE FACE!

In closing I will say this – I feel this post is anemic. I didn’t even embed my favorite movie review, The Hunger Games…(Ok, here’s the link and watch the Twilight and Harry Potter ones too…hahahaha). I will close with one thing – my future sister-in-law’s contact image when the phone rings, and my favorite dog in hat of all time. I hope you laughed at least once. If you didn’t, see a doctor immediately.

Fart Trains and Mannequins

I have an interesting commute.  I try my best to stay off of freeways, so I take this lovely half two-lane half normal looking road along a rail route called Mykawa.  It has LOVELY scenery.  Most of the time I find interesting road kill: cows, horses, dogs, cats, raccoons, possum, deer, rabbits, and more.  One time, I was waiting at a light, and a coyote stops at the crosswalk, looks both ways, and crosses the street into the pasture filled with cows.  He/she definitely did not watch any Wile E Coyote/Roadrunner episodes.  I’m pretty sure this also caused one of the cows to die.

Other times, I see things that are WAY more interesting than that.

I’m driving, and to my left is a (handwritten) sign that says “OFFICE FURNITURE FOR SALE” in front of a house on the corner.  OK, I can get on board with that – maybe they came upon a storage unit or something.  I see what looks like a large crowd standing under the carport in the driveway.  Nope, it’s not a crowd.

Not a crowd. A party!

There has to be twenty mannequins hanging out under this carport.  Headless, posing mannequins.  Oh, and there’s office furniture – a bevy of desks, bookshelves, tables and chairs.  I’m so proud to have found this, I think…no way can anything top it.  NO WAY.

The next day.  YES – THE NEXT DAY – I come across what I consider to be my most maginficient find yet.  Ladies and gentlemen, and dogs and probably no cats (because I hate all of you), please let me me introduce the fart train:

Fart Train 4-Life

Mykawa has multiple rails that run parallel to the road, and I am not joking when I say I look for the fart train EVERYDAY.  I also look for other inspiring graffiti art that compares to the majesty of this car’s decor, but to date, I have not seen anything that comes close.  I’d like to think that one day, I’ll be driving along, looking wistfully at the parked railcars, and someone will ask, “Christy, what are you looking for?”  To this I will reply, “oh nothing, just the fart train.”  And that will be the best conversation I’ve ever had.

I see things before I even get out of Pearland too.  There is the tow truck with bad grammar:

You’re means YOU ARE. Y-O-U-R MEANS YOUR

Now, someone consciously went to a place and asked for this to be put on their business vehicle for one reason or another and that place said “OK yeah, this is what you want, right?” and that person said, “yes absolutely. YOUR late.”  I think a small part of my brain just died. DIED.

And the guy driving a Dolorian that decided that it would be a good idea to sit at a light and pick his nose so hard it appears he might be going for his brain:

Digging for 1.21 gigawatts?

So, this guy seems to think that either a) he’s not conspicuous driving a DOLORIAN so it’s cool to pick his nose at the light or b) he just doesn’t care.  I don’t know which is worse, a lack of self-awareness in  DOLORIAN (come ON!) or the lack of caring whether or not someone sees you digging for gold. 

And then once I get to work, I see the sweetest pair of Manpris I’ve ever seen outside of Disney World or Bush Intercontinental Airport:

To be fair, it had just rained.

These are so short, they cannot be mistaken for pants that are too short, and they are tailored in such a way that they cannot be mistaken for “really long shorts.”  The bottoms even flare ever so slightly, and it leads me to believe that these may even be women’s capris.  Like, he was getting dressed, and picked up the wrong pants because he fell asleep in his mom’s room. 

I really would love to fill a category with “STUPID CRAP I’VE SEEN ON MY COMMUTE.”  I have a feeling that now that I’m on the lookout, I’ll never see anything ever again.  I should probably stop looking. 

It’s been a minute since my last blog.  I’m happy to report that my grandfather (mom’s dad) is doing really well.  He’s home, doing things on his own, and more or less trying to get back to his old lifestyle of not having bacterial meningitis.  I still need friends to keep my other grandfather (dad’s dad) in your thoughts/prayers/meditations.  I hope this also ends my blog consitpation, because I’d really love to pick this crap back up again.  I look forward to your comments, and don’t forget to share the link!  I’d do it for you!  hahaha





A bagel can make you cry.

The last few days haven’t been great.  You can insert your comiserating experiences –> here <—.  Last night I laid down on the patio couch and stared at the wall for a good 30 minutes because I didn’t know what to do with myself.  I was caught between the things I needed to do (clean the house, finish laundry) and the things I wanted to do (take NyQuil and get knocked the eff out).  So I ended up staring at the wall.

You see, both of my grandfathers have been ill.  One, more chronically (throat cancer) and the other, acutely (double pneumonia…which also means…pneumonia in both lungs).  My mom had foot surgery last week and isn’t her usual jumpy happy skippy self.  I’m absolutely certain my husband is depressed because he played bad golf on Sunday.  Also, my future sister-in-law has been dealing with a bunch of stuff from her end…cancery and sad things too.  I have this horrible habit of taking on everyone’s emotions and trying to sort them out myself.  Which is probably why I ended up staring  at the wall last night.  I am finding it hard to do the simple things, like get up, get dressed, and be motivated to work/function like a normal human.

Then, this morning, I come into my office and I find this on a specially delivered Einstein Bagel:

A river of freaking tears pours out of my eyeball sockets and ducts and lashes and possibly my eyebrows.  My best friend bought me a bagel from my favorite bagel place and put it on my desk with a nice note because she loves me and knew I needed to hear it.  I’ve been feeling sorry for myself because “all my friends are moving away” and I’ve been desperately trying to cling to the 1 or 2 people I have “left.”  I realize now I’ve been looking at it all wrong.  I have people.  Not zero people.  And that’s good.  

Then, hours later, and totally unprovoked, I get this gem:

 I like how when I’m on the brink (and this has happened before, recently) something always brings me back.  I’m sorry this blog posting is so self-indulgent.  But seriously, other than how-to or self-help or whatever blogs-with-a-dash there are, these are all pretty much for ego boosting, emotion purging, opinion flinging, or what have you for yourself.  And along the way you hope to help or enterain someone.  Today, I’m ok with just helping me.  So meh. 

PS to Amanda……..I hate people.  🙂

Updated 3:21pm

After saying to someone that it scared me how much I was OK with just staring at the wall, I was informed that me staring at the wall was just “meditating” and that it’s ok to do that.   I may do more staring at the wall, if this is the case.

This is a blog.

Hi, I’m Christy.  This is my blog.  I keep a notebook of thoughts, and those thoughts will become blogs, I suppose.  No, I do not journal because diary keeping is for 12 year olds, and I’m not (actually) 12.  I promise I’m of legal age, by some, but I’m not saying how much.  If you’re reading this, you probably know me and a lot of my friends are jerks and they are going to be all “HEY, YOU’RE 33” in the comments.

Yes, I see what I just did there.

For those of you who happened upon this blog, I feel the need to explain some things to you.  My brain is damaged.  OK, so I was born this way, because it’s become very clear that it runs in the family, but I’m absolutely certain that there is a gene that deforms the frontal lobe of people on my dad’s side of the family.  It causes you to have diarrhea of the mouth mostly, but also, probably makes you very argumentative.  And to give you a brief, crude, way-too-simple overview of the anatomy of the brain, the frontal lobe controls impulse and is your “filter” for your thoughts.  And the rest of your brain, well:

Your Brain and Mine

It’s messed up, y’all.

I tell you this with fair warning.  My blog will have bad words and blunt observations.  My mom will not want to read my blog, so yours probably won’t either.  Should I say this blog is not for mothers?  No, because I have a 4 year old who constantly does funny and irritating things that I want to talk about.  And you want to hear about them too, don’t you?  Yes, you do.  I have also decided that even though I am not anonymous, I’m going to do the best to keep the people that aren’t in my immediate family anonymous by changing their names badly.  I mean, how many ways can you disguise the name “Zeema?”  It already sounds made up so I’m sure people will think she’s not real.  =D

There went my first post.  I’m nervous and excited.  Maybe I just need to go pee.