Veni Vidi Vino

What's funniest about Wikipedia having this on the "Veni, Vidi,
Vici" entry is that when I was IN Latin class, I didn't smoke
Marlboros, I smoked Camels. I wonder if we ever noticed
this was on the cigarettes... probably not. We were so
busy being awesome. 

I took Latin for 4 years in high school. Taking Latin at my high school automatically put you in Latin Club. Try bragging about being in  Latin Club?

Except, really, it was awesome and my friends and I mostly just smoked cigarettes and talked about boys and then everyone copied my homework. I was a good friend.

Why am I telling you this? Because my friend from High School posted fake-latin on her Facebook page and it made me think of Veni, Vidi, Vici (I came, I saw, I conquered). Let's all thank Julius Caesar for that catchy and inspiring phrase. And for salads. I imagine he had something to do with that. Damn, I love croutons.

A lot has happened in the past few weeks which has made writing unnecessarily long posts difficult. Here's what you've missed. (Or maybe you haven't because we just talked on the phone/texted/you read Facebook. Regardless...)

1. Someone puked on my car. I'm not kidding. I had a wonderful brunch with two of my best girls and I was practically skipping with joy back to my car. I'm driving home and notice crap on my rear windshield. Is that bird poop? Did I park under a giant nest of eagles? It's January (it was January)... Shouldn't the birds have gone south? Holy fuck, that's not poop! 

I pulled over because this was obviously an emergency. I immediately knew what I was dealing with once stopped. Goddammit, I hate puke. 

I pulled into the first gas station with a drive-through car wash and bought the deluxe wash. $9. NINE DOLLARS! As I was waiting for the brushless-wash to complete it's job I updated Facebook to let the world know the horror that I had just survived. People laughed. People didn't have puke on their cars. 

One time I came out to my car and someone had thrown an egg on the hood of my car. It was summer so it was kind of baked on by the time I got to it.  It was during some of my whore-ier times so I considered maybe it was a scorned ex-lover (ahahahaha), but I'm not much of a scorner. 

2. I spent an entire weekend with all three of my sister's kids (ages 10, 8, and 5). The first night, the 5 year old told me that tattoos are creepy. "I mean it's under your skin. Forever! So creepy." Then he told me my eyeshadow was creepy. Then when he came in my room at 6:45 the next morning because he was awake and wanted to hang out, he told me I looked creepy WITHOUT my eyeshadow. MEN! Am I right? 

In order to keep these children from abusing each other, it's important to leave the house at lot, so we went to the Butterfly Museum. It was such a cool idea until we were there and giant butterflies kept giving me panic attacks. They'd sneak up from behind, enter my peripheral vision and suddenly my bug-related PTSD would urge me to dive under the benches... little fuckers practically attacked me with their giant pretty wings and super tiny feet. 

What was really cool, though, was that the kids knew that if they held really still a butterfly might land on them. So they'd stand in one spot, very quietly, for minutes at a time. I tried to stay quiet and move slowly so as not to ruin their fun, but also to appear less attractive to the butterflies. I failed. 

I had to be brave. For the children. 

And of course all three kids wanted to hold the giant tarantula named Rosie. 

And by "giant" I mean that it was a tarantula. 

We went to the park both days and the girls roller skated and my nephew rode his skateboard. And no one bled. And I didn't lose anyone. And I think the kids still like me. I only said "ass" once but did accidentally play a lot of music with cussing. Oops.