Birthday lunch at Serendipity

It’s like eating in an Alice in Wonderland themed restaurant …. If Alice made sweet sweet love with Hello Kitty lol.

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My sister and her friend and I are eating at Serendipity. It’s this awesome little place just outside Ceasar’s Palace. It’s hot as hell outside so we got something cold and alcoholic at a stand outside the restaurant while waiting for our table.

I didn’t know I have a fondness for peach slushy drenched in rum.

I’m feeling pretty good. ๐Ÿ™‚

Happy birthday little sister. I’m glad we have this time together.

Cuddles, love, orgasms, chocolate and kisses,

Aurora

P.s. seriously, mix peach slushy with rum. Nom nom nom nom

My sister’s cat is in heat – I have retreated to my office.

Theย  only thing that will save me now is if I barricade myself in my office and ignore the feline-in-heat sounds of “SOMEONE! ANYONE! PLEASE HUMP ME BARNYARD STYLE!!!”

It’s my sister’s little cat that is not fixed. My much older male cat has been fixed for years. All he can do now is hit it and then quit it – if you get my meaning. And he is so old that he can only do it like once or twice a day before he just climbs off her and walks away for a nap. Or hides under the bed. Or in my lap. He’s so desperate to get away from her.

I know he is successful at his chosen hiding place when she walks around the house meowing mournfully.

How like life.

My poor cat. She flaunts herself like the hussy she is. He politely declines and asks her to give him some space from her hormone crazed emotional ups and downs. She swats him in the face, purrs, then rolls over and flicks her tail in his face. He declines again. She gets angry. He finally gives her one last, “Sorry, toots, my nether bits aren’t working for you today.”

She comes back with:

I'll go cray cray on the couch if I don't get me some. I'll even blame you.

I’ll go cray cray on the couch if I don’t get me some. I’ll even blame you.

And she would. It’s kind of awesome.

So for today, I am locking myself in my office with my poor abused cat and writing another chapter in my novel. Maybe doing so more editing. Lets hope she doesn’t realize he is in here reading the latest from Sylvia Day, hiding under the covers on top of my chaise lounge. If she were to find out….

Cat Pounce

Shhhh…she might hear us.

 

xoxoxoxo,

Aurora

She is a pint-sized she devil in disguise as my little sister…

She terrifies me.

She is only a couple of years younger than me. She is tiny, olive skinned, with great hair and an obsession with shoes that borders a serious fetish.

She is one of my younger sisters and dear gawd does she know how to kick ass…

If she was an anime character, several years younger and all Japanese instead of just part, she would look a lot like this:

That thing she is holding...yeah...its something to beat me with.

That thing she is holding…yeah…its something to beat me with.

After she takes me to my dreaded physical and doctors appointment, we are laying on my bed talking about this and that when she looks me dead in the eyes and says, “Let’s talk about your schedule for the day.”

Fuck balls. She’s about to lay down the law.

“You need to pick up your prescription after Curious George gets home, work for a couple hours in your office, and then you owe me a chapter by tomorrow.”

Oh, yeah. Forgot I hired her to be my personal assistant/ editor/ ass kicker extraordinaire.

She follows it up by saying that it better get done before she gets home after her shift at the salon because we will be hitting the gym later tonight.

Again. Fuck balls.

This girl means business.

I walk her outside, tell her I love her and watch her unlock her car. Just before she gets in the car she informs me:

“By the way, if you don’t get that chapter done by tomorrow, you have to complete two of them. I was going to give you a day off on Saturday and say the next one is due by Sunday night since we have that last Adoption class to go to, but if you don’t get it done….you’ll owe me two chapters.” And with a deceptively cheerful wave and a quick, “Love you, bye!” she drove off.

How can someone so tiny be so intimidating?

So I been working in my office for the past few hours. The evil pixie herself is due home in about 15 minutes.

I better hop to it. She has great shoes, but they aren’t fun at all when being kicked up one’s ass.

Wishing I was Harriet Potter and had an amazing magic wand,

Aurora

We can't help that we're fabulous.

We can’t help that we’re fabulous.

Sunday morning Urgent Care adventures- The Curious George edition

Curious George is a bit of an overachiever. Each year, around this time, he gets super efficient at creating a new strain of the flu virus – in his own body.

He doesn’t even have to think about it. It just comes naturally to him I guess.

Damn overachievers.

So last Tuesday he started showing signs of allergy issues to the change in weather, pollen increase in the air, the new health care system, 6am, etc. I didn’t think anything of it since his level of bitching was at 0.

Curious George isn’t a complainer – doesn’t talk a whole lot anyway – so when he started complaining of headaches, fevers, sinus pressure, etc. , I started paying attention.

Now, here is my issue. It’s called the “Man Flu”. It’s the prequel to the “Actual Flu” and in some cases, the “Sinus Infection”.

It’s very common, yet there is no cure. Women have been known to ease the symptoms, even effectively help treat this nasty bug, but if a He-Man has no woman/man/parental unit to take care of this issue at the earliest signs, the Man Flu can take over his life and turn him into the whining, sniffling five year that he hasn’t been in over two decades.

Around Thursday is when it started getting bad. We gave him over the counters. I knew it was going to be an interesting weekend when he came home early from work on Friday, shed his clothing faster than Paris Hilton in front of the paparazzi, and then fell into bed and immediately asleep.

Then the fevers came. And the crazy fluid intake. The sniffling. Slight whining. Mostly boredom and achyness I think.

Yesterday, he was all over the place. He was awake and ready to move around, and then sweating and chills and flopping all over the bed.

His whining and bitching increased, but only marginally. I got lucky with him, usually he just ups his level of snarky comments when he’s sick. Much to his own amusement and my exasperation.

So I didn’t get any sleep last night. He was flopping and mumbling in his sleep. Slept off and on all night and threw the covers on and off periodically.

This morning I finally had enough.

-“Honey, do you want to go to urgent care?” Me.
-“No I don’t think their open today.” Him.
-(texting my mom to see if they have any meds he can take and see if urgent care is open) “Babe, urgent care is open. Come on, lets get up and I’ll take you.”
-(deep sigh) “Fine. ”

If I told him to go by himself he wouldn’t have gone. We do things as a family in this household. Everything. (I’m a hot whiny mess when I’m sick so taking him is no problem.)

He actually got ready pretty quick. Fed the dogs, fixed himself some coffee and then handed me the keys to the car.

Guess ill be driving you then?

So we make it here, and blessedly no one is here. And like most spouses who are/have been affected by their partners having the Man Flu, I immediately take the clip board and start filling it out, teasing him about how there is no cure for being a douchebag and how maybe we should list it under his symptoms.

I send him to check in and I couldn’t help think about how cute he looks. His face all puffy and slightly red, his old beat up Ford baseball cap on, leather jacket, light gray sweater, beat up jeans and old-man loafers.

And don’t forget the huge travel mug of coffee. It just completes the look and screams, “Hard working man who doesn’t feel good. Pity me. Fix me.”

It’s sad that I get a kick out of his sad sick face, isn’t it? He’s just so snarky and pitiful when he’s sick.

There was a moment before he was taken back to the office when he sat down next to me and asked me to help him fill out another paper. It was asking what medicines he was taking. I looked at him, blinked a couple times, and then told him to fill it out.

Not even thirty seconds later after I finish rambling off the medicines – “Uh, yeah, I don’t know how to spell those.”

I just chuckled and took the clipboard from him. So cute.

To be fair, he is dyslexic and even I had to pause and sound it out in my mind.

I should probably stop for burritos on my way home to appease the five year whiny pants that I know is going to emerge from him. Hopefully they won’t give him a shot. He hasn’t had one since he was a teenager.

Not sure how he managed to sweet talk his way out of them, but he always does.

Fear of needles, Curious George?

(While writing this blog…)

So he just walked out. He looks alright. No needles I guess. He sat down next to me and hands me his empty coffee mug and his paperwork. I promptly hand them back.

He just looks at me and smiles. “Babe, your my wife, you’re supposed to hold everything.”

He’s sick. I probably shouldn’t smack him. And we’re in public. We might have to check the box next to ABUSED SPOUSE on his paperwork if I do that.

He is overly interested in what I am writing so he trying to look over my shoulder and is exaggerating his sniffles.

Creepin, Curious George? Gets me every time.

Alright, we gotta go pick up his medicine, get burritos as he just reminded me he is starving, and then home so he can go back to bed.

The doctors diagnosis: Common Cold.

-big wifely sigh-

Aurora don’t like no broken peepers

Today started out excellent. Woke up ON TIME for the first time in forever. Was able to get breakfast done and ready ON TIME, got Curious George’s lunch packed ON TIME.

Curious George was out the door…ON TIME.

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Then I did some work, took a nap and got ready for school. I walk down to the bus stop. It’s a nice day, perfect breeze and just enough clouds to cover the glare of the sun. I only got honked at once today and I was so dag-on cheerful I waved back, not offended in the least.

The bus comes…ON TIME!!!!! I get on the bus. I show my school pass and move to go find a seat. It’s packed today, which isn’t normal on my route. But just as I walk down the center isle, I feel a creepy sensation crawl from my breasts (which are glorious, I must admit) down to my lady bits (also glorious), and back up. I keep my eyes forward and on my goal of an empty seat.

As I pass, that icky awareness passes over my back-pack covered ass and I have to fight the urge to throw my hands back there and cover myself. I figure that’s normal every once in a while and I shouldn’t engage the person who is ogling my lady lumps.

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I sit down and face forward, instantly plugging in my headphones and turning on my ‘bus route jams’. This works to keep conversation at a minimum.

And then, as I am changing the song from a bouncy over-done K-Pop song to a favorite rap song that I’ve been singing to lately (even though its ridiculous and makes no sense whatsoever), I feel it again.

That not-so-good tingly creeper feeling. Feels kinda oily. Makes you want to vomit.

I glance up and my eyes meet with a guy I swear has never seen the light of day (even though we live in the land of the sun.) He had a dark blue track suit on, dirty blonde hair, white Nikes, and almost no eyelids. His hair was cut into a bowl shape that would have looked better on nobody-EVER.

And those peepers. Creeped me the fuck out.

He wouldn’t blink. He just kept staring at me.

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Yeah…he was about that color.

And no, he wasn’t an Albino.

I glance down at my iDouche and scroll through some music. He’s sitting close enough by me that I can tell he hasn’t moved and is still staring at me. I glance toward the front of the bus to gauge the distance to school.

Then he laughs. Laughs the creepy, “I just wrecked my Pedo-van in a high speed chase and that’s why I’m taking the bus” laugh. You know what I’m talking about right?

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Several of us glance at him and shift uncomfortably. He is still staring at me, unblinking. I, being the snarky bitch I am, raise one eyebrow imperiously and stare him down.

We stared at each other like that for two city blocks. He wouldn’t look away and if possible, his eyes seemed to open wider. He had a thin smile that seemed to get bigger as his eyes did. It’s at this point that I realize I have caught the attention of a creeper with broken peepers and horrible bus etiquette.

And if it’s one thing Aurora don’t like – it’s broken peepers. But I can’t just yell out, “Hey, Creepo! You’re peepers are broken!”

I felt that would have been rude.

My stop comes and as soon as the bus slows down I hop out of my seat and instead of moving to get out from the front, I stride quickly to the back. I look back once to see that Mr. Broken Peepers the Creepo has also stood, still staring at me and is trying to go out the back door as well.

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Thank goodness there was a ton of college kids on the bus today that all had to get off at that stop….because seriously. I think he would have followed me.

I’m off the bus and immediately wait for a small (VERY small) opening in traffic and run across the street. I could have sworn Mr. McCreeperton got off the bus, but once I reached the other side of the street I looked back and didn’t see him. I noticed one other girl that had crossed the street after me was looking back to. We looked at each other and shrugged.

Weird.

Maybe he decided to creep on the bus a little more.

As I continued my walk to class I realized that he obviously knows which bus route I take and which school I go to know. Fuckballs.

Note to self: Consider switching up the route a little.

Afterthought: Next time wear a sports-bra if there is a possibility of having to run from Creepos. My boobies were ah-boucin’ like mad when I made my crazy dash across the street.

That’s probably why no one was honking at me in the traffic. They was watching the show.

Your welcome good traffic goers of central New Mexico. You’re welcome.

Big boobs can be such a hassle some times.

To Curious George, whom I know stalks me on my blog daily:

1. It’s OK to stalk me on my blog. We’re married. It’s kinda sexy.

2. We should probably sign up for those Krav Maga classes we talked about. Especially if I am going to have to go farther for University next semester.

I can throw down, don’t get me wrong, but even I know the importance of self-defense knowledge. Or in Krav Maga’s case, the importance of situational aggression.

Anyway, class was the usual. The She-Hitler was trying to make people feel stupid and ignorant and only made herself look like more a bitch. I walked to the bus stop and was saved from a short ride and long walk home from friend in class. (You are so sweet! My feets thank you!)

I’m home now and a little less creeped out from my adventure. Hopefully I won’t see that guy again.

And now to play video games!

Because that’s what one does when trying to avoid homework…ย  ๐Ÿ™‚

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I call him Curious George for a reason..

So tonight there is going to be a few blog updates. First I’ll start with the one I meant to put up but got distracted by sleep so I didn’t – Wednesday’s Adventure with Curious George.

Curious George, by the way, is my husband.

Don’t ever take Curious George to Barnes and Noble (or any bookstore for that matter) unless you want to spend the next two hours there and be so exasperated you want to gouge your eyes out with rusty nails and then run into on-coming traffic.

We make this trip about once a year – the one where I get brave and take my overly curious husband to a place filled with things he doesn’t have – and I always leave with less hair (from tearing it out), a combination of laughing and crying (at the ridiculousness of the situation), and with absolutely not a damn thing I originally went in there for. Yet Curious George always gets at least one thing he’s decided he just can’t live with out.

I may as well start at the beginning. This is way too stupid to make up or start in the middle with.

So it’s starts by me coming home from class in a really chipper mood. The following conversation takes place in the car on my home from school:

Me: Hey babe, whatcha doing?

Curious: Just watching TV, you on your way home?

Me: Yes. Hey, I was thinking, are you hungry? (Like I needed to ask…)

Curious: Yeah. Gonna bring home food?

(Five minutes later, after consulting our stomachs on what we want to eat and debating over burritos or full course menu items…)

Me: Ok, well then get up and get dressed and I’ll pick you up. We’ll go to IHOP or something.

Curious: Do I have to get dressed?

Me: Yes. If you want to eat.

-End of conversation-

So I pick him up and we go to IHOP, order one of everything on the menu because we are famished, and decide that after eating we are going to the bookstore since I wanted to pick up a new cookbook. At that time, it seemed like a fairly reasonable idea and great way to spend the day with my babe – out shopping.

Obviously, I had a massive brain-fart and didn’t remember every other freaking time we have gone to the bookstore together. It always starts out the same way. I decide I need to buy a book, he tags along because he thinks he needs to buy another book too, we go for what should be an hour trip including drive time…and then three hours later I pull into the drive-way ready to Hail-Mary his balls across the street.

This trip was no different.

I realized what was about to happen when we pulled into the parking lot of the Barnes and Nobles at the mall nearest our home. It’s the middle of the busy shopping season so its packed full of people who think they have every right to be rude to you and get away with it.

My blood pressure is already up and my anxiety is peaked.

I hate malls.

Get in, get your shit, and get out. No need to drag this out any further – right?

So I turned to Curious George right after I locked the car, who now has his curious face on and is looking around him like its the first time in his life I’ve let him out of the house, and I warn him immediately.

“Alright babe, I just need to get a cook book and then we can go. No touching stuff.”

I wait for his confirmation nod and we proceed, hand in jolly hand, into the store. I sense a disturbance in the force but I chalk it up to the fact that as smart as my husband is he often reminds me of Peter off of Family Guy.

As soon as we enter, it’s like the entire previous conversation has gone straight out the window. He immediately clamps down on my hand – and against my loud protests “Babe, no, don’t you dare!”- drags me to the magazine section to the right side of the store instead of up the escalator to the second floor where the cookbooks are.

I should have known that telling him not to touch anything was like waving a red flag in front of a bull and expecting it to just sit there and think its pretty from a distance.


At first I thought it was cute: He refuses to let go of my hand and is mumbling to himself like an old man as he quickly searches through the hundreds of magazines they have for sale and starts leafing through them – one handed. When I realize we are going to be standing there for a while, I know I have about two seconds once he is distracted to pull my hand from his and step back out of his reach.

I wait for the perfect opportunity and it comes when he goes, “Ooooooohh babe look its robots.” CURIOUS GEORGE IS DISTRACTED – ALL SYSTEMS GO!

But alas, I wasn’t fast enough. Once out of his reach he turns and looks at me with his pouty face and immediately motions me to his side as if he is slightly hurt that I am not as interested in the robots as he is.

;

“Babe, where you going? Look what I found!” He is so excited I know that I can’t go upstairs and find my cookbook just yet. I heave a great big exaggerated sigh and sit down in the nearest chair and wait for him to finish telling me about some company that does some miraculous thing and how awesome it is.

This is gonna be a long trip.

After about ten minutes, he is through looking at magazines and I quickly reach for his hand and drag him (literally drag him since he only wants to move a few steps at a time and then look at something new) halfway to the bottom of the escalators. I get pulled up short when we reach the middle isles between the magazines and the escalator to the second floor.

I was dreading this stop.

It’s the fucking isle that has the miscellaneous items from puzzles and classic books to DIY kits and toy models. Its got calenders, stickers, collectible toys things, and all manner of stuff he thinks he will need at some point in his life.

At one point he picked up a book that gave step by step instructions on how to make friendship bracelets. He turned to me and asked, “Babe, will you make me a friendship bracelet?”

“Why would I need to make you a friendship bracelet?”

“So that people can know we are friends.” He’s looking at me like I’m slow.

“Honey, we’re married. I think the friendship thing is implied.”

“So is that a no on the friendship bracelet?”

Oi.

We aren’t going anywhere for awhile.

Half of this shit he has already seen, but it doesn’t matter. He has latched on to my hand worse than a Face-Hugger (Alien vs Predator reference).

Twenty minutes later I manage to bulldoze him over to the last isle nearest the escalators. Exasperated and a little miffed at all the funny looks we are getting – What? You’ve never seen a grown woman push a grown man down a five foot isle and it take ten minutes to do so? – I take my foot off his spine and throw my hands in the air.

“Ok honey, I give up,” I tell him, “You stay here and I’m going to go upstairs and grab a cook book.”

He immediately turns to me and shakes his head. “No babe. I might get lost.”

I would have laughed at the absurdity of the situation but I left my laugh card at home right next to my patience and I couldn’t tell by the look on his face whether he was serious or not.

He was probably just messing with me….I think. We never know with Curious George.

Ten minutes later I get him to the bottom of the escalator and we reach the second floor.

Ok, just two isles over and I’ll be in the cookbook section. We just have to make it two isl-

“Hey babe, I think you need a Justin Bieber book. Oh look,” he grabs my hand again and we walk towards it, “They have one right here.”

As you can imagine, I am feeling a little like we are never going to get out of there. In my mind:

I’m going to die in the Barnes and Nobles. On my tomb stone its going to read: Here lies Aurora. She took her husband to Barnes and Noble and never returned. MIA since 2012.

To make the next hour long story short, we did reach the cook book section. I looked through a lot of them but he didn’t like the healthy ones I was picking out and I can’t eat steak for every meal so we agreed to disagree on the cookbook thing for a bit. He gave me shit about others, and then decided he was mostly interested in making beer so we spent the majority of our time looking at how to make home breweries and which cook books for that topic was best – which was conveniently located right in the cook book section I had been trying to drag him to the entire time.

Hey if he wants to make beer, so be it. As long as its legal and keeps him occupied I’m good with it. It’s when he gets bored that he tends to blow stuff up.

Anyways, I gave up about thirty minutes later and then had the pleasure of trying to coral him through the children’s books sections (which was an adventure and earned us some interesting looks), down the escalator and then back through the treacherous middle isles. He wanted to look through ALL the middle isles again, which I almost kicked him in the balls for but somehow found the remaining shred of dignity to get through it without a scene.

It wouldn’t do any good for me to get landed in jail for bashing my husband upside the head with the nearest copy of The HOBBIT and then follow it up with shoving a toy airplane some place where toy airplanes should never go. They’d never let me back in that store again.

If you think that was ridiculous, it doesn’t actually end there.

He finds something he wants and we walk to what I was hoping would be the journal section (another place I wanted to go to). I didn’t find anything I wanted when I glanced through the leather bound ones, so I turned to grab Curious George and leave….

….wait….;

Where the fuck did he go?

So I start calling his name (trying not to be too loud) and looking up and down the isles. He’s a bit over six feet tall, its not like you can’t see him everywhere he goes.

That bastard wasn’t kidding. Damn. I should have kept hold of his hand. When the heck did I drop it?

I eventually find him looking at small furry animal puzzles in the toy section. He wants one, but unfortunately, I have run out of patience. It’s time to go. I didn’t get what I was looking for and all I want to do is pay for his book and leave. On the way to the checkout stand we – of course – have to stop every few feet for the 3D puzzles, the comics, the Yugioh cards, and some brain puzzles.

It takes ten more minutes and me constantly having to look behind me to check and make sure he hasn’t wandered off somewhere while I wait in line for checkout.

I get there, pay for his book, call his name and tell him to stop touching something, (the register lady laughs and shakes her head – glad we amuse you), and then I pull him out of the store.

Once the fresh air hits my face I feel better. Slightly.

I look up at him while we are walking to the car.

“Honey, did you really have to touch everything?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Babe, you should know better by now than to take a curious person to a book store.”