Paranoia in B Major

I don't even know if I can express the level of amazingness that was this weekend. While I am pretty much wrecked from the events that made up the best weekend ever, and it has once again solidified that in fact I am way too old for this stuff, I am floating around in a dreamy cloud of awesome. Even a nasty email at 8am from the boss man couldn't plummet this girl back down to earth. I'm just going to hang out in an ethereal state of mind for the next few days, because these moments don't come along often enough and it's possible that another won't show its face for a long time.

I spent years plotting my escape from the small town of Woodland, and my brother-in-law's wedding to his longtime love made me want to hop back into the country life immediately! As the bride and her bridesmaids were enroute to the wedding ceremony, we decided that a little detour at the best watering hole in town was in order. Six girls in their beautiful dresses saddled up to the bar and slammed none other than Coors Light, ya'll! And, of course, a trip to this fabulous bar is never complete without a shot of Starbursts....and with a nice o'le buzz we yeehaw'ed our way out of the bar and back into the limo to get this little lady hitched!

Photo Courtesy of the Sweet Life Photography

The ceremony was in a little white church out in the country. Not only was the ceremony touching and beautiful, we were allowed to drink champagne while sitting in the pews. Now that's my kind of church! Jesus did turn water into wine, so I guess it's perfectly acceptable to have a party foul that may have allegedly resulted in spilt booze on the church floor. I'm not saying it actually happened - but I'm not denying it either.

Not to stray off topic, but I lived across the street from a Catholic church for years. Upon first moving into this house, I noticed that very often when someone drove by the church, they would do the sign of the cross. Now, I am a Catholic myself, so this intrigued me. For years, I spent hours in church making similar signs and enduring the drudgery. So I got to thinking. Why not make church a little more fun? And since alcohol is definitely fun, why not make up a drinking game? AND since I lived in a country town and I am not opposed to a little front porch sittin', it only makes sense to post up on the porch, pour myself a cocktail, and drink every time a car drove by and its passenger made the sign of the cross. You decide...Sacriligous or just plain genius? Perhaps you should not judge. This should probably stay between me and the big man upstairs. (Jesus, not Jay - FYI)

Anyway, back to this wedding. We hopped into the limo and moseyed on out to the reception venue - another breathtakingly beautiful location. The little details and the choice of music made this reception one big, fabulous party. And the party didn't stop when the last of the guests had made their way home. We went back to our favorite bar and painted the town red. I mean we didn't stop until beers were thrown, husbands were kicked out, and the maximum amount of fun was wrung out of the wedding tapestry.

But don't think that the weekend stopped there. Oh no, ma'am. My sister-in-law and I have followed around our favorite band, the Avett Brothers, for years. We first saw them back when tickets were 8 bucks a pop and they played tiny venues. I promptly fell in love with the music and the banjo player, Scott Avett. *Sigh* Mr. Greene loves this band as well and has allowed me to maintain my crush all these years, even flying with me to Everett, Washington to go to a show. Never in a million years did I think I would meet this band anywhere other than in my dreams...But luckily I am married to the man of my dreams, and he made my dreams come true on Sunday night.

We danced the night away to the sweet melodies that only a banjo and some boys from North Carolina can bring, and then went up to our friend's hotel room to continue the party. Mr. Greene discovered that the Avett Brothers were out in front of their tour bus, and piled us into the car and got us over to them. Now let me tell you, I was terrified to get out of the car. I know it's hard to believe, but I am not the world's smoothest talker. And I probably wasn't that night either, but the conversation replaying in my head has me looking like the coolest girl the Avetts ever did meet. That's the way I intend on remembering it and no one is going to tell me differently. I mean, just look at how calm and cool I am handling this chance encounter:

So, in a nutshell, my dreams have come true. The weekend would only have been perfect if I had mad banjo skills, played Scott a tune, amazed him so much that he asked me to come along for the tour and we lived happily ever after. (Sorry, Mr. Greene! I love you!) But I guess some things are meant to stay dreams so we can live with the hope that the possibility of something just as amazing can happen to us yet again.

Lollipops & Arugula

Mr. Greene has been traveling all week for work. We are probably the worst couple ever when it comes to talking on the phone. By the time he calls in the evening, he has been working for 13 + hours and the last thing he wants to do is dive into all of my innermost feelings about my day. Being a sensitive and intuitive Virgo, all I want to do is discuss and dissect all the happenings of the day. But last night our conversation went a little like this:

JayGee called very excited about this wonderful dinner he had just gone to for their last day on this particular job. "Babe!" he exclaimed. "Have you ever heard of a tapas bar?"

Have I ever heard of a tapas bar? Well yes, honey, I sure have. I believe I have been asking you to take me out on a date to a particular tapas bar for months. But that's neither here nor there.

He started excitedly listing all of the different appetizers they tried: noodles with fish, beet salad with arugula, something they call the Lollipop...

Whoa whoa whoa! Hold on just a minute here. Up until this point, I had been half listening, interjecting with the occasional ummmhmmm, the obligatory oh yum, blah blah blah. But when he brought up the Lollipop, I certainly would not be the astute observer I am if I did not ask the obvious.

"Sweetie," I began. Now how do I put this delicately? Considering that tact and restraint have never been my strengths, I threw all discretion to the wind and just said it. "Judging from your appetizers, I am certain that by tapas bar you most definitely meant to say topless bar, and Lollipop was no appetizer!"

He responded, "You're right! And that was no beet salad with arugula. What I meant to say was that when Lollipop gave me a lap dance, I shouted ARUGULA!"

And THAT is why I love him.

http://www.tag-pictures.com/tag/husband-wife-tag-jokes/

The Art of Trolley Tripping

You might think this story is a cautionary tale of carbon footprints and global warming, but to assume so would be wrong. Before you rush out and wave your plastic around wildly as you search for the perfect Prius, or don your snappy bike helmet and super sexy spandex and mount your ever so earth friendly bicycle, please heed the story of the Misadventure of the San Diego Trolley.You see, for all you novices in public transportation out there, there are a few rules and guidelines to which you must adhere should you choose a life of eco friendly commuting. This handbook may also become known as "How to Get from Point A to Point B Without Getting a DUI" or, my personal favorite, "The Art of Trolley Tripping".

First things first. If you are anticipating utilizing the San Diego Trolley, you must first gather a group of good girlfriends and one trusty husband. Once you have all participants joined together, each individual must consume an adult beverage prior to walking to the trolley stop. Now, in the spirit of misadventure and just because two drinks are better than one, you should always make sure that you have at least one rowdy girlfriend and again, a trusty husband, who will be willing to break all the rules of propriety and commence drinking as the group meanders down to the ever so clean and classy trolley depot. To maximize the fun, a drinking game should be implemented. Now, of course you may use your own favorite drinking game, but might I recommend what I like to call the Just Keep Drinking Until You Pass A Gas Guzzling Parked Car game. The name is self explanatory and the rules are minimal. Please keep in mind that because, at the very least, you are projecting an earth friendly image, you must recycle your bottle or can at the end of the afore mentioned drinking game. I recommend only taking the trolley on trash day. That way, you can easily dispose of your empty beverage container in some unsuspecting neighbor's recycle bin while never breaking your stride.

Now that you have arrived at the trolley depot, please resist all urges to play Trolley Roulette, otherwise known as hopping on the trolley without purchasing a ticket. While it sounds fun, there will be no comrades aboard that trolley who will be willing to help you escape a very angry, ticket hungry conductor. Please remember to avoid eye contact with many of the trolley patrons, who may view such an act as an invitation to join your group of girlfriends and one trusty husband. The time for conversation with questionable characters will come, but you must pace yourself.

Sometimes, on busy commuting days, the trolley will be packed with the environmentally conscious, the downtrodden, and the occasional all around hostile patron. You may be forced to stand. You may tire of standing and attempt to take a seat next to another trolley goer. If you choose to do so, you are going rogue and therefore left to your own devices. When one girlfriend breaks from the pack of good girlfriends and one trusty husband, the group does not have your back. Sit at your own risk.

Once you have reached your destination, please feel free to party responsibly. Heck, you aren't driving! I recommend Coors tall boys at Petco Park. That will get the party going. So much so, in fact, that after the game you might desire a California burrito. And if you do decide to indulge your craving, you might happenstance upon the part of the night I like to call "Deep Conversations with Unusual and Possibly Dangerous Strangers". Oh yes, the segment of the epic night where one trusty husband decides that girl talk is boring and silly and so decides to strike up a completely inappropriate discussion with a completely inappropriate dude. (What was he thinking?! A Phillies fan? Mr. Greene is well aware of my long standing feud with Shane Victorino.)

And then the time comes to board the trolley once more, and let the conductor take you home safely. However, should you become bored and wish to add a little spice to your otherwise tame trolley misadventure, you can always rely on the trusty husband to find the heroin addict aboard. If this makes you feel uncomfortable, follow the lead of your good girlfriends and avert your gazes and pretend not to notice the very loud and boisterous conversation taking place about redemption. Or, if you are so inclined, join in the conversation for the amusement of all other trolley goers. And by all means, when the recovering addict leaves his pack of smokes on the trolley seat, do try and chase him down to return them.

So, as you can see, with the trolley so readily available, there is no need to slap on your hemp slippers and join your local chapter of Greenpeace. Simply buy yourself a six pack, grab some friends, ride the trolley, and please don't forget to recycle!

May the Odds Be Ever In Your Favor

When I first heard about The Hunger Games, I wrinkled up my nose in disgust and refused to pay attention. I am much too high brow and way too educated to be bothered with such things of pop culture proportions. Unless you count Harry Potter. Which I don't. Those books are pure genius. But a book with a cover that contains a girl holding a bow and arrow? Puh-lease. No self respecting adult would entertain such folly.

One day I was just browsing at Barnes & Noble, of course with no intention of buying The Hunger Games. I perused the Young Adult section, but not because I was sniffing around the overrated trilogy. Of course not. I just wanted to see what the youth of today are interested in. It keeps me young, because as you already know, I am an old lady. Please see I'm Too Old For This Stuff for further explanation.

I found myself face to face with the dreaded Hunger Games. I tentatively reached up, and began browsing through it. And then, it happened.

I had to read it.

The dangers of a bloated bureaucracy? The perils of government control over individual freedoms? A LOVE TRIANGLE? Aw geez. I'm in. You had me at Peeta.

Would you believe I finished that book in one day? True story. I immediately had to rush out to buy Catching Fire, because my life just couldn't move on in a forward motion until I found out what was going to happen to our beloved heroes Katniss and Peeta. Would they be punished for winning? President Snow can't be happy about their shenanigans in the Arena! And so, piqued with a burning curiosity, I dove right into Catching Fire and didn't emerge for air until I was done with the book. After a day and half, I came to the surface of real life and found that I was not yet ready to rejoin the world as it currently stands. I had to hop back into what the future could be if we continue along this perilous journey of surrendering our freedoms little by little to an elite few who feign interest in peace and justice for all but in reality desire power and control over the masses. (Yes, I gained all of this insight from a hipster tween trilogy with an adolescent love story interwoven into the story line - I am nothing if not a deep thinker!)

At this point, Mr. Greene sighed deeply as he watched me trudge out the door to our favorite local Barnes & Noble on a quest to acquire the final book, Mockingjay. This book took me two days to finish, and I felt a bit rushed by the author at the ending, but it did not stop me from walking around in a Hunger Games daze for the next week. In an attempt to diminish my feverish withdrawal symptoms, JayGee agreed to take me to see the movie. I begrudgingly agreed because I am a book snob, and we all know that the movie never does the book justice. But, I am pleased to report that this movie did a phenomenal job of paying homage to the storyline. It made this intellectual, educated scholar who only reads profound and meaningful works of literary genius proud.

Then again, it's no Harry Potter.

I'm Too Old For This Stuff

It turns out that perhaps I'm not as hip and cool as I think I am. Do the kids say "hip" these days? Because I might be so uncool in fact, that I use words like "hip". Maybe I have hit the time in my life where the only use of "hip" that makes sense is when it is used in sentences such as: "I go in for my hip replacement surgery tomorrow" or "I have child bearing hips". In fact, I might be so far past cool that I am really an old lady standing on my front porch waving my crooked, arthritis ridden finger at the whipper snappers who drive too fast down my street.

You might be shaking your head in disbelief, wondering what possibly could have happened that I have now resigned myself to a lifetime of early bird specials. The events that occurred will chill you to the bone.

Da club happened.

Yes, you heard me right. I was up in da club. My hoochie outfit consisted of a classy dress of an appropriate length paired with sexy but sensible slingbacks. I thought I looked okay, like a married 29 year old who still likes to get dressed up, go out, and get her party on. Well, to quote John McCain - because let's face it, I am apparently close to his age - My friends,  I might as well have been wearing my house slippers. I should have walked into da club with cold cream on my face and curlers in my hair. 29 is the new 92 when trying to back that ass up to a bar with bartenders who call you ma'am. Or was it mom? I couldn't hear a conversation over all that racket they were playing. Honestly, music these days doesn't even have a melody.

But though an old lady I may be, I am nothing if not a trooper. I was determined to celebrate this bachelorette party with the gusto of a girl of 21. I balanced my vodka tonic on my walker and shook my artificial hips to the sound of profanity laced music (honestly, can this noise even be called music? In my day, you could understand the lyrics). Just as I was about to bust a move I collided with a couple engaged in what I believe the kids call grinding. I stared in horror and yelled at the young adults to get a room. I can't be sure, as my hearing isn't all that great, but I think I heard the young man inquire who let Grandma into da club. My heavens!

Can you believe that we partied like teenagers until the wee hour of 11:00? I would have stayed longer as I was just getting my groove back, but it turns out that we can't drink like we could in the good old days. On top of that, some hooligan stole an iPhone from one of the jacket pockets in our party. He probably figured that we were too old to use such a new fangled device, and saved us the humiliation of attempting to join the young world of technology. What a nice young man.

I awoke with creaking bones but hey, any day I wake up above ground is a good day. I folded myself into my rocker, covered myself with my knitted afghan, and dozed off with dreams of da club.