I couldn’t live with my blog looking like a shrine to Bret Michaels to the casual passerby. So here I am.

Drunk and stoned-over, grasping at straws.

First off, I can’t wait to see Superbad. You should go see it too. An R rated teen movie that isn’t retarded like America Pie? I’m in. Also, Michael Cera was in Arrested Development and rocked my face off. I’m in. Did I say that already? I’m not even going to look before typing.

Second, I forgot to tell you all that when my mom and I were in SF last week we were walking our cocktails off and saw Good Vibrations across the street. Knowing what it was I ignored its presence. But my mom was all Good Vibrations! What is thaaaat?

It’s a sex shop mom. A world famous sex shop.

A sex shop? We should go in! God bless my mom. Because she was sincere to the core.

Uhhh. OK? … Wait, no. I don’t want to go in there with you.

You mean you would go in there, just not with me?

Yes.

But I’m your mom!

I know!

Oh. Right. But we should still go in there!

The conversation ended when I flat out refused to go in and told her there would be no other way about it so just stop asking. When we passed by she stuck her head in and yelled out to me on the sidewalk, It looks so clean and friendly! It’s like they’re buying shoes in there! My mom is the best tipsy friend a girl could have. It is to be expected from the woman who had me singing along to “Sexual Healing” at six.

Third, you know what the best kind of dinner party is? The impromptu kind where a friend calls just as you are about to start cooking and you invite them over. No anticipation, no fretting just hanging out. Love it.

The Millionizer is the verb doer

[tags]Bret Michaels, Good Vibrations, San Francisco, sexual health[/tags]

Respect my authoritah

These are some older pictures of Bret Michaels

(what the fuck are you doing with your hands, douchehauser?)

(those are some nice dick sucking lips)

As you can see the bandanas are low on his head. We can even see where his hair line begins. All is normal up there.

Here are some more recent images of him.

(my how the mighty have fallen)

(who am I kidding? I’d still hit it. Only in an ironic hipster way of course. Not because of those piercing blue eyes. My soul Bret! You know too much.)

You will notice that the bandana is suspiciously higher than before. We can no longer see his hairline. I wonder why? Is it perhaps because it starts just under the upper edge of the bandana?

I dunno, I had nothing better to do than search for Bret Michaels photos on a Saturday night. Am I a loser? Mayhaps, but I think not. After last night I need some rest.

The Millionizer: proving points no matter the cost

[tags]Bret Michaels, VH1, Rock of Love, now it’s on[/tags] Continue Reading »

I love my mom, so what may seem like complaining is really just venting. Because something happens to a woman once she becomes a mom. I’m not sure what it is but it makes her a pendulum of raving lunacy and total awesomeness.

I am her only child, there are issues that go along with being a single mother of an only child. It was just the two of us. When I moved to college it was extremely hard for both of us, especially her. I had all the drugs and sex to keep my mind off of things. Alls I’m saying is I took to college life like Godzilla to Tokyo. Our relationship was strained for a couple years but now things are getting cooler. What I want most is for my mom to feel good about the job she did raising me. Because this is the woman who had the balls to leave a husband with an infant and move 500 miles away. This is the woman who bought a shitty condo on the outskirts of a decent neighborhood so I could go to the best public school available. This is the woman who made it clear, before I could talk, that I was going to college and she was going to get me there. And she did.

I get panicky the two or three days before my mom comes to visit. I clean and reclean. Then find random things to clean. I do a general sweep of the apartment to discard of anything that might be seen as remotely offensive to Mama Millionizer. I’m not even just talking about whips and handcuffs, if I think a magazine cover will raise her eyebrow, it’s gone.

Why? Well I want her to be proud of the adult I have become. Because after everything is said and done I AM responsible. But, more significantly, I don’t want to deal with her prying questions. There is something about my mom questioning the life I have made for myself that makes me want to tear the ribs out of my own body and stab myself in the eyes, just to make the questions stop. I guess I am just really defensive. But I am not crazy. Like the first time she met TBU she became all flustered and whisper shouted, Are you having a sexual relationship with him? with a look in her eye that I would like to avoid forever. I know when I left the room there were waterworks. I don’t like those situations so I try to avoid them. That’s why I am constantly on the verge of losing my shit just before her visits.

How was her visit, you ask?

It was the best one yet. My mom has chilled on her questions. But she still nitpicks other stuff. She likes to address TBU and I with, You guys should… She finishes those sentences with things like: fix the drip in the bathroom, move, trim that tree, go to Europe, make more money. Like really random things that are easier said than done. And she asks them in a way that implies we haven’t thought of it before. No Mom, I don’t want to make more money, but thanks for the input. I am not doing a good job of describing why this was a great visit. But it was.

She got in on a Wednesday night. We spent the next day in San Francisco. I had an appointment for 6pm at the UCSF nursing program. We had all day to galavant. Because I like to be hardcore, I decided we would park at UCSF and take public trans all over. I figured it would add to the charm of the trip if we spent a significant part of the day being lost. And boy did it. The highlight of the day was lunch at Luna Park. $60 for lunch and drinks? Yeah, a little steep but I would pay it again just to see how much my mom enjoyed being drunk. I have seen her slightly tipsy only once, when our airplane almost crashed and United put us up in a swanky hotel in Grand Rapids, Michigan with free drink coupons. She was in the middle of a sentence about grad school and blurted out, I’m drunk, I feel so good. I am drunk. Waitress? We’ll have another round.

Saturday, we went to Monterey for my cousin-in-laws baby shower. Which was awesome because I, my mom, and my aunt only went so we could talk shit about everyone else. I am not lying, those were the actual words that came out of my aunts mouth who is also my godmother. There is a bit of a family feud going on that I have no care to go into right now. I can assure you, I am on the side of righteousness. This cousin-in-law has pores the size of swimming pools and uncoverable body acne. I don’t know how my cousin fucked her. Her nose reminds me of Mount Rushmore, like it’s big enough for the people who built it to sleep in. After the shower, we said our goodbyes and went to the hotel bar to rake some serious muck. I want to be as fun as those ladies when I am their age. I could not stop cracking up.

Then Sunday TBU and I took her to brunch at Chaminade. Unlimited champagne and all the deliciousness you can handle. Bring your insulin. Enough said.

Dropping my mom off at the airport was really hard, I was sad to see her go. I can’t wait to hang out with her again. Thanksgiving will be fun. Viva Mama Millionizer!