I didn't get elected Queen of the World, but...

It is New Year's Eve and I am here. With you. Writing a blog. And you know what? I can't think of any place I would rather be. I am on my new, comfy, non-hand-me-down couch watching the Colorado Avalanche play, wearing my Sasquatch slippers, listening to Drew kill Star Wars droids with his light saber while Eric plays WoW and Mazie sleeps at my feet. It is a typical day in our house. You would think I would do something special. I guess I could have a drink. Oh wait...I AM having a drink. That isn't wine. Or beer. I mean, really? Do I know how to party OR WHAT?!!

Honestly, it doesn't feel like a holiday to me. I worked a normal day and drove home in a normal rush hour commute and had a normal dinner and the normal Schwan's man came and brought me my normal order and we are watching the normal game and listening to the normal kid noise. I even have a sick dog. You don't get much more normal mid-life suburban family than the evening we are having. I can't decide if I find it comforting or sad.

Well, in the interest of keeping with the normal...here are the things I am grateful for as we charge headlong into 2009:

1. We are all healthy. Physically anyway. Mentally it sort of depends on the day.
2. We have good paying, stable jobs and 4 out of 5 days we even LIKE them.
3. We can afford our mortgage and our bills and most of the time we can even pay them all in the same month. Whee!
4. We have a wide selection of beer, wine and liquer to handle just about any crisis known to man. Possibly even nuclear holocaust.
5. The Avs are on a winning streak.
6. I still get carded when we go to the bar.
7. Starbucks is open and on virtually every street corner in America. I may send in a suggestion card that they change the name to Jade or Sugar or Candy and wear hot pink spandex.

All in all it hasn't been a bad year. I generally don't make resolutions for the New Year, but I am feeling all fiesty this evening (or it could be the enormous Long Island Iced Tea I am drinking) and figure I'll throw caution to the wind. Here goes nothing:

1. I am going to quit bitching loudly and with gusto about how fat I am while eating pizza for dinner.
2. I am going to do something exercise related at least 3 days every week.
3. I am going to officially acknowledge that parking and walking into Starbucks rather than going through the drive-thru DOES NOT, in fact, count as exercise.
4. I am going to try and improve on being Instant Gratification Girl.
5. I am going to continuously remind myself that IMPROVING on my instant gratification tendencies means I DON'T buy what I want when I want it instead of pretending it means I buy it faster.

Overall I just want to keep going on this positive streak. Quit waiting anxiously for the next great crisis to strike my family and appreciate the fact that I have a wonderful life.

How do I truly feel heading into 2009?

CONTENT.

Mystery Star Wars Theater 3000

I was sitting in the chair in the living room this morning reading a book and drinking coffee while trying to get up the energy to begin cleaning bathrooms. Let's just say that was a good pot of coffee. And a good book.

While I was procrastinating Drew was bouncing around the living room pretending to be a Jedi. He was fighting droids. I have learned over the last couple of years that Drew has quite an imagination. He can play by himself for hours and never runs out of story lines. That kid has single-handedly saved the universe from the Death Star at least 100 times in a 100 different ways. Luke Skywalker ain't got nothin' on my boy. No-sir-ree-bob.

During many of his adventures every member of the family gets an opportunity to play a role. The dog, the cats, Eric, me...whoever is handy...We get killed, rescued, run over, lost, burned up, shot down, have arms cut off, heads cut off and often resurrected from the dead to have the same atrocities committed again. Today I got to play a lead role...

"MOM! You are Queen Amadama and I am going to rescue you!"

"It's Amidala."

"OK. You're Queen Amadama and the droids are after you!"

"Drew...it's AmidaLa. Not daMa."

"I'm recuing Queen Amidama! Back off you droids."

"Drew...try again. It is A-M-I-D-A-L-A. AmidaLa."

"Mom. You're Princess Leia."

I guess the kid is cut out for showbiz after all. No matter what; the show must go on.

BTW - I did eventually get up and clean the bathrooms. I scrubbed toilets by hand. BY HAND, people. I blame my old friend Amber for that one. She always swore that toilets were never clean unless you scrubbed them by hand. I guess I bought it. Somewhere she is laughing. Damn her.

Cold medicine and the meaning of life

What to say...hmmm...I don't really have much to talk about. Life has been quiet lately. Work is great. Home is great. Eric is great. Drew is great. Everything's great.

This weekend I am fighting off a sinus infection, which is not so great. I have spent quite a bit of time sitting around waiting for cold medicine to kick in. My eyes hurt, my nose hurts, my cheekbones hurt, my teeth hurt and I am virtually deaf. People talk to me and I see their lips moving and I know, without a doubt, they are speaking some form of English. I see the intent to communicate shining in their eyes, but all I hear is "wah wah wah wah wah wah." It's like being trapped in the Charlie Brown Christmas Special.

While waiting for the cold medicine to work its magic I have downloaded a bunch of music to my iTunes and watched SpongeBob Squarepants. I have to say...the Bobman takes on a whole new meaning when you are all hopped up on cold medicine. Seriously. Patrick? Deep, man. DEEP.

However, it really freaks me out when Mr. Crab pulls his eyes into his shell. And to top it off, in the current episode he is wearing a dress. I am sure there is a reasonable explanation, but I am deaf and can't understand a word they are saying.

I should really get out of this chair and start doing something productive. But that would require effort. So, instead I sit here waiting for Patrick to share the meaning of life. He knows it. I am certain of it and he's going to share it ANY SECOND.

Meanwhile Mr. Crab continues to cavort in a dress and Drew is running around the house yelling, "He's gonna ho, ho, ho it before you know, know, know it." I have NO IDEA where he got that from, but it is quite entertaining. Only 6 years old and already with the double entendres. Proof the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. As an aside, I can think of a couple of people where that statement is entirely too relevant and I might have to borrow it. I'm just sayin'.

On a non-Bob related topic...Drew recently had his first real school program and it was really awesome! They do a traditional Thanksgiving feast and the kindergarteners are Indians and the 1st graders are Pilgrims. It was the most adorable thing ever. Without further ado, photographic evidence of the cutest little Indian to wear a paper headband:

Despite my best efforts the holidays are coming.

The season of insanity has begun. This is usually the beginning of my string of posts that consist primarily of me lamenting the fact that Christmas comes every. single. year. And no matter how hard to try to find ways to put a stop to it the stupid holiday just keeps coming. It's like Night of the Living Elves.

This year is going to be different. Oh, don't get me wrong. I still loathe Christmas for a variety of reasons and I am still sitting back waiting for someone to die, something to explode or for me to come down with the plague, but I am going to try not to be as much of a grinch as usual.

Case in point? The snowmen are out. I know! It's startling in it's non-Grinch-likeness. See, Eric and I have an enormous collection of Christmas snowmen that take over our house during the month of December. Most years I try to fight their escape from their sturdy boxes. I set booby-traps. I add extra tape to the box tops. I try to convince Eric they have packed and moved back to the North Pole. Eric will usually resort to setting them out one at a time. I'll get up one morning and there will be a snowman on the mantle. The next day it has a girlfriend. The day after that there are little snowmen babies scattered throughout the house. They are like creepy little stalkers that follow my every move with their beady little eyes. Anyway...this year I got the snowmen out. ME. Without prompting or threat of death. However, I draw the line at setting up the Christmas tree. Not a chance that thing is getting put up until at least the 10th of December and even that will take lots of encouragement. And possibly begging.

I am also trying to put a clamp on all the grumbling and yelling about Christmas lights. I think Eric has had enough of the sudden shrieking. I see a house all lit up and I am compelled to roll down my window and scream insults. Don't get me wrong. I LOVE Christmas lights...on CHRISTMAS EVE. I even like them on Christmas Day. But on the day after Halloween? NOT SO MUCH. There are always those few houses that have their Christmas decorations out the day after Halloween. First? Quit being so freakin' industrious. It's unsettling. Second? November 1st? NOT CHRISTMAS. Not even CLOSE to Christmas. Seriously, people. Can't you wait until, oh...I don't know...December? I'm just sayin'.

Oh yeah...I am supposed to be complaining less.

Ahem...

Cut me a bit o'slack here folks. I have to de-Grinch in stages. This year I got out the snowmen. Next year? Christmas music.

Well, maybe not music. Maybe a Christmas SONG. Yeah. A song.

Or a verse. Definitely a verse.

Need a job? Here's a little tip. Or three.

I don't generally talk much about work on this blog and that is for several reasons. First, I don't like to think much about work when I am writing on this blog. Second, the first rule of blogging is to avoid talking about things that can get you fired from your job. Third, most of this time the really hysterical stuff that happens to me at work can't be talked about on the blog because of rule number 2. Lastly, I would like to think I have better things to talk about than work. However, judging from the number of posts lately I may be seriously deluding myself.

Anyway, for those of you who don't know, I am a recruiter. I mostly recruit IT folks and I have been a recruiter for a really, really, reeeellllyyy long time...that means I am either very dedicated or completly insane. Today I was dedicated. Tomorrow I may be insane. You just never can tell. And that? Part of my charm.

I bring this up because with the economy as crappy as it is and with the unemployment rate as high as it is I thought I would share a few little tidbits to possibly help job seekers. Basically, here is a very condensed list of my pet peeves (which basically means "these are the things that most recently irritated me, but it is by no means a complete list of my pet peeves because I am far more irritate-able than this measly little list").

1. No matter what the completely useless and overpriced "consultant" told you - DO NOT PUT YOUR FREAKIN' PICTURE ON YOUR RESUME. Seriously? Do you really think showing me your whimsical smile and snappy sweater are going to result in my overlooking the fact that your two years of experience selling printer cartridges at Office Depot DOES NOT, in fact, make you qualified for the Senior Network Architect position you just applied for? Really? Ummm...NO.

2. The next time you are driving down the freeway tailgating the car in front of you when they are already doing 5 miles over the speed limit in a work zone and you are honking, swerving, flipping them off and generally making an ass of yourself regardless of the fact that it is rush hour and there is literally NO WHERE FOR THEM TO GO -- I want you to consider that at your next job interview that person is the recruiter. Just think about it. For a second. OK...good. Now. Thank me for my time and go home and remove "Calm under pressure" from your resume. 'Cause you? Aren't getting the job.

3. At your next interview please don't show up an hour early. Cause that? NOT. ON. TIME. It is, in fact, an hour early. And irritating. I know I don't have to go out in the lobby and greet you and interview you right then because you will quite happily wait until the actual scheduled interview time, but that doesn't help. See - I will sit at my desk for that hour thinking about you sitting in the lobby and I will wonder if the receptionist thinks I am a total loser for making you wait there because I must be too good to actually treat my candidates nicely and I will wonder if you are beginning to get irritated at me and if maybe you need to pee and I can't focus on the task at hand and so I end up going out and getting you early and interviewing you early, but I am all irritated and I don't really like you anymore because I was totally going to go to Starbucks real quick for my latte until YOU showed up EARLY and I just really hate you right now because I really need caffiene and YOU screwed up my master plan and you know what? Not hiring you!

I could so go on, but I am ready to go to bed. All the grumpy made me tired. Now go and take your freakin' picture of your resume. Seriously? A picture? Sheesh.

Peppermint ice cream is magic

I find myself entirely devoid of humor. OK...maybe that isn't a new thing...I'll rephrase.

I find myself entirely devoid of the commentary that only I and a couple of equally disturbed friends consider humor.

I am just sad. Sad about the outcome of this election. Sad about what that potentially means for our country. Sad that people seem to revere a polished presentation and media bias over good sense. Mostly? I am sad that it is 10:45 at night and I am sitting on my sofa watching Dog the Bounty Hunter.

I suppose I could change the channel, but that would require leaning over, stretching my arm 10 inches to the right and picking up the remote. And that? Too. Much. Effort.

The upside, however, is that Eric just brought me a little bite sized chocolate covered peppermint ice cream thingy. We keep a couple of boxes in the fridge at all times in case of depression, dismemberment or plague of locusts.

My day suddenly got much, much better. Even Dog the Bounty Hunter seems a bit more interesting. It's like magic. Only more yummy.

My own personal mid-life crisis

Man - it feels like I have been gone forever! I logged in tonight and it was hard to see through the dust and cobwebs.

The last few weeks have been very bizarre. As you know, I got laid off a couple of weeks ago and in an amazing turnaround I received a job offer 5 days later. A good job with a great company. It has been quite an adjustment though. I forgot that some companies actually expect you to work during "normal business hours." Really? Normal? Business hours? Me? Oh - and they have a dress code. An REAL dress code. Not the whole "cover the fun parts" code I am used to.

I know what you're thinking and trust me...those were my thoughts exactly. I don't do well with that whole assimilate thing.

I started the new "job with a schedule and dress code" on Monday. I kid you not...I have had to completely reorganize my entire existence. I used to be able to stay up late (usually working) and then sleep in a bit and get up and make lunches and take Drew to school and then get coffee and go to work. I got to pick Drew up from school and schedule appointments during the day and go to all his little school events and generally do what I wanted so long as I got my job done and I ALWAYS got my job done.

I got to wear jeans and baseball caps and sweatshirts and flipflops. Getting ready in the morning took me about 10 minutes and that included a shower. On ball cap days I could wake up and get Drew and I out the door in less time than it takes to boil an egg.

Anyway, now that I have to be all respectable and such my evening schedule goes something like this:

Make dinner (I am sure that in some cultures ordering pizza counts as making dinner?)
Give Drew a bath (Does putting him in a tub of warm water and telling him to bathe himself and hoping he actually does it while I lay on my bed and pretend I am independently wealthy and living in Fiji count as giving a bath?)
Pack lunches (Yes. Putting a lunchable in his lunch box does, in fact, count as packing lunches.)
Put Drew to bed (This generally includes lots of tears and temper tantrums and screaming downstairs for water and snacks. Drew gets pretty fussy, too.)
Lay out clothes for next day (This gives me at least two additional snooze button slaps. Um...seriously? Totally worth it.)

After that I will hop on my laptop and work on some contract work I am doing on the side, work on building my Scentsy biz, work on stuff for the two different boards I am on, study for my upcoming PHR exam, read a bit, catch up on my overworked, overwhelmed TiVo and generally stay up too late to get a decent night sleep thus necessinating the over-usage of the snooze button.

I feel like an actual MOM now. You know. MOM. A science project completing, carpool driving, cookie baking MOM. It's weird. I think I may be having a mid-life crisis. I am considering dying my hair blonde, getting a boob job and piercing my navel. At the very least I think I am required to buy low cut jeans and pointy boots.

See? Even mid-life crisises have dress codes. Bah.

I need a job before the serious wallowing starts.

I got laid off last week. Yes. It sucks. I have spent this week trying to keep myself busy so that I don't wallow in self pity. Ok. I wallowed for a little bit, but not quite long enough to enter into not showering, wearing disgusting sweats and watching soap operas territory. I suppose I am not the best wallower. If I don't find a job I will likely improve my skills. I'll keep you posted. Hell, if I wallow myself into not showering, stinky sweats territory I might just post a picture for you. Don't say I don't know how to keep my readers coming back.

I am just ready for the weekend. Eric doesn't have to work and I think we are going to head out to the corn maze. This year's maze is the faces of McCain and Obama. I plan to stomp my way through the Obama face. Aggressively. You know? I might even take my dog so that she can pee on him. My own little passive-aggressive political statement.

We also have two hockey games on Sunday so I am looking forward to that. We are full swing into hockey season and it really is a great time of year. Eric plays on two teams with two leagues so he has games twice a week, sometimes more. Then we have the Colorado Avalanche games and that can always be counted on to have us both hopping around the living room screaming at the television, cussing the referees, heckling the opposing team's players and generally making complete asses of ourselves. Yes. That is correct. During Avs games Drew becomes the most mature person in the house.

Oh yeah - last Friday Drew tested for his yellow belt in Tae-kwan-do. He did such an awesome job and he was so proud of himself! Here are some pictures to prove it.





It also snowed. In October. On October 10 to be exact. This picture, while really NOT attractive, does prove the presence of snow. And not just a few flakes mixed in with a bit of rain. Nope. Not here. Not in the Most Freakin' Bizarre Weather Patterns Ever capital of the world. Here? We get big, fat, fluffy snow.

In October.

Bah.

Sleeping in the circus

I have had a couple of utterly miserable days and it seems my fuse is shorter than normal. By the time I picked Drew up from school today I was wound so tight that I was literally sick to my stomach. I have not been sleeping for the last week or so and when I am averaging about 3 hours of sleep a night it makes normal stuff difficult. Throw anything extra on my plate and...well...let's just say I don't deal well with things. Not even good things. The good things make me feel weepy and weepy is worse than homicidal in my book.

After picking up Drew I headed straight to Barnes and Noble. It's sort of like my mother ship and I always feel better when I am there. Some days I just go and gather up a bunch of books I want to read, but would never spend actual money on. Then I get a cup of coffee and sit in the cafe and read them for free. I know. I'm a sneaky bitch.

Anyway, after a quick stop at the bookstore I headed straight for Starbucks. What can I say. Coffee is my drug of choice and I am convinced that an Iced Quad Venti Vanilla Latte will solve the world's problems.

Anyway...I waited TWENTY MINUTES for them to make my coffee.

TWENTY MINUTES.

Seriously? It's a cup of freaking coffee. I've known of relationships that take less time.

When I got to the drive-thru window I snarled, "I have never waited so long for coffee in my life. I could have split my DNA and created my own coffee beans by now. What the hell..."

To which the entirely too perky barista replied, "We got new machines and they are slower than the old ones." Then she handed me my coffee.

My reply? "Seems to me you should have kept the old ones because THIS? Not an improvement. Juan Valdez's donkey could have made my coffee faster than you."

She didn't look all that perky after that. I, however, felt a bit better. Sort of like when you have the flu and you are nauseated so you go throw up. You know you aren't actually better, but for a few minutes you aren't nauseated. I purged a bit of my absolute furiousness at the universe and for a brief moment the world only sucked a lot.

After going to Drew's karate class we went to the grocery store to pick up a prescription and Drew was being pretty rowdy. Me? Not coping. Not. Even. A. Little. So I told him, "Drew. I swear on all that is Transformer related if you don't settle down and stop stripping me of my sanity I am going to sell you to the circus."

Drew very calmly looked at me and asked, "Where would I sleep if you sold me to the circus?"

The pharmacist piped up, "You'd have to sleep with the clowns."

Drew looked at her like she just told him he would have to hang from his intestines from the top of the ferris wheel so in an effort to squelch a bit of the clown generated terror I said, "You would sleep with the elephants."

Drew looks at me. He looks at the pharmacist. Then he says, "Elephants are big, Mom. BIG. No...I want to sleep with the TIGERS."

That's my boy. He's all about the predators.

The best Obama picture EVER

Rather than spout all political I will let this little picture speak for itself...



This must be the CHANGE he has been talking about. Now we are all going to place our hands over our crotch during the national anthem.

Nice.

Now....GO VOTE!!!!!!!

For those from Dooce.com

Edit: I did not explicitly state it in the post below, but I am in no way, shape or form making any kind of commentary on those who are Muslim. I am speaking only about those few who are extremists. Just wanted to be really, really clear.

I responded to a post on dooce.com regarding Palin today. I fired off a quick response that was obviously a bit insensitive...

For those of you who have no idea what I am talking about - Dooce posted a video of a less-than-eloquent Palin in an interview. She basically sounded like she had no idea what she was talking about and was instead trying to say anything that came to mind that was maybe, possibly, potentially on topic. It was freshman debate at its ugliest. However, one bad interview does not an opinion make. Not for me anyway.

So, I responded and here is what I said:

I am not a fan of Palin per se, but I am definitely not a fan of a man who would write in his recent book:
"I will stand with the Muslims should the political winds shift in an ugly direction."
Now THAT scares the shit out of me. In my humble opinion, Palin is the lessor of two evils.
Stupid vs. Muslim supporter?? Hmmm....let me think on that one.
I'll take stupid any day of the week and twice on Sunday.

Yes...I know...insensitive. Sounds like a sweeping generalization that Muslim = bad. I get it. I was almost as ineloquent as Palin in that short clip. And, if you judge me based on that one short comment I am a racist and an idiot.

So, after reading the responses to my post and getting my just rewards I posted up a response to the responses. Since most people don't make it through almost 600 post comments, and many of you are coming to my blog to get a look at the moronic, uneducated, racist, backwards bitch...well, I am posting my response here, too.

I suppose my response to this post was a bit insensitive. I'll accept that. I grew up Christian and I have rejected that religious choice and have instead found a different path after much study. I am very well aware of the prevalence of the Muslim faith throughout the world.

I, like you appear to, believe strongly that most of the evil and horror in this world is done in the name of religion - all religions - not just one. Some of the most violent, ignorant, extreme, dangerous people I have had the displeasure of meeting have worn their crosses and flaunted their Bibles with great pride.

My fear of Obama being a vocal Muslim supporter in the world we currently live in has nothing at all to do with the majority of those who choose the Muslim faith. Instead it is a fear of the message his vocal support sends to the extremists. That message will be amplified and distorted as it reachs their ears. That is in no way the fault of those who are Muslim and NOT extremists. I just think Obama needs to tread a bit lightly on that topic.

I don't support Obama. That is my choice.

I don't support Obama stating publicly that he will "stand with the Muslims" when we are in a very dangerous world climate because of those Muslims who are extremist and who will see that statement as an invitation to use violence against America if Obama were to be elected into office. Again, my choice.

It DOES NOT, however, make me stupid, ignorant or an asshat. With that said, I apologize to you for not being more careful with my comment on a public forum. My intent was not to attack or belittle anyone who does not see the world like I do. I only wish you would have given me the same respect.

With that said...I shall go back to keeping my political opinions to myself. All that arguing and belitting and hating and shouting and shit isn't going to change a single damn mind. You know what telling me I am stupid does? I only makes me more confident that everyone should shut the fuck up and just go vote.

White trash road trip

This past weekend's Portland road trip was exactly what I needed. It was just a great opportunity to relax and let the stress of the last week just roll off. Eric and I got up at 4 a.m. Saturday morning and set out. We had just over 6 hours in the car together. Fortunately, if I were going to be trapped in a car with someone I would pick Eric anytime. See, I like to share the torture like that. It's love.

The most exciting part of the trip was having actual conversation without interruption from our little peanut gallery. Drew likes to be involved in our discussions - whether he understands what we are talking about or not - and will frequently pipe up from the backseat with random commentary.

We'll be talking about...oh...let's say, something that happened at work...and Drew will suddenly shout, "I don't care about work! I like Transformers! Did you know that Megatron and Optimus Prime are brothers and they have a fight and Optimus and Sam have to get the All Spark away from Megatron and the other Decepticons and Bumblebee is a camaro but in the 80s he was a bug and Jazz is really cool too and my favorite is Optimus Prime and I have Optimus Prime pajamas and when I wear them with my Megatron underwear my butt fights with my pants and that is really funny and..."

This is the part where my head explodes like the Fembots in Austin Powers. Seriously? The kid talks non-stop and if he weren't so dang cute I might just gouge my own eardrums out just so I could experience the joy that I am certain comes with actual quiet.

Wait? Did I go off on tangent? Crap. What were we talking about? Is this how Drew got that random conversation gene? Oh yeah...Portland...

OK, so the trip to Portland was to celebrate Katie-Kat's birthday and we were having a "get white trashed" weekend. We went roller skating on Saturday afternoon and if you haven't been in a while? GO. Seriously. We had so much fun. I used to be da bomb on roller skates about 25 years ago. I would always win the speed races and I totally kicked butt at Shoot the Duck -- if you don't remember Shoot the Duck that was the one where you would skate around the rink as fast as you could and then the announcer would yell "Shoot the Duck" and you would squat down with one leg held straight out in front of you and roll. As you lost momentum you would fall over. Last person upright wins. I rocked. I could stay up forever by doing that bounce thing to keep a tiny bit of roll. Anyway, I was so NOT da bomb this weekend. Not only did I have trouble staying upright, but I have serious doubts about my ability to even get into duck shooting position. I might get down there, but I am pretty darn certain I would never get back up again. I suppose the upside is that since I couldn't get up again I wouldn't have to worry about falling.

The rink we went to was built in the early 1900s and it not only SMELLED like it was built in the 1900s, but the skates were purchased right about the same time. All the half walls around the skating floor were carpeted and the entire top of the walls and about 4 inches down on each side of the wall was a dramatically darker color and it was...ummm...let's say GREASY. That is the only word I can think of to describe it. I touched the top of that wall ONE TIME to keep from falling and I would.not.touch.it.again. EVER. Not even on threat of death and/or dismemberment. Put me on the rack. Put me in the iron boot. Take away my Starbucks. But whatever you do DON'T MAKE ME TOUCH THAT WALL because if I have to touch that plague laden carpeted wall of death my skin is going to peel away from my muscles, walk about ten feet, turn around, flip me the bird and take the first flight to Tahiti.

After surviving our skating adventure we went to a really great little bar to see the 2009 Miss White Trash Pageant. IT. WAS. AWESOME. There were all these girls dressed up in trucker caps and bikini tops with cut off shorts and I saw a fair number of mullets sported by the guys. There was a lot of big hair, side ponytails and tube tops. It was truly, truly, fantastically horrifying. We didn't make Eric dress white trash, but all the girls did. There was a lot of hair spray, blue eyeshadow and white wife beaters with bra straps hanging out. Here are a few pics for your entertainment.
For the record, none of us condone the use of this amount of lipstick, blue eyeshadow, glitter or blush unless it is Halloween or you are entered into the witness protection program and sent to Alabama. shudder


After the pageant we moved the party to a gay bar down the street that does a really great drag show. Let me just tell you. The queens? They LOVE Eric. It doesn't matter what drag show in what town...Eric? Will get molested. It's truly fabulous. I would like to say that my love for him means I get properly indignant and that I keep him from getting too fondled and that I always try my very best to protect him from the Queens who stalk him, but typically I am laughing too hard to do much but point and wipe my tears while holding my gut and trying to not fall off my bar stool. Here is a great shot of one of the Queens stealing Eric's shirt. The best part? Notice she is reaching for his nipple. I'm not gonna lie. I laughed so hard I peed a little.

The next day, after recuperating from too much beer and Drag Queens we had breakfast and headed back for Boise. On the way we stopped at Multnomah Falls. Here are some pictures I took. Enjoy!

Random thoughts with a smooth ranty center

It has been a busy few weeks trying to get adjusted to Drew being in school. I am lucky enough to have the kind of job that doesn't require me to be at work at a certain time or leave at a certain time. That is a good thing on one hand, but the down side is that I tend to work all the time because work, via my laptop, is always with me. In fact, I am sitting here writing this blog on my work laptop and my work email is open and keeps harassing me. Let me ignore it a bit longer and post a pic of Drew on the first day of school.

Anyway, now that Drew is in school I have to get up and get him there on time. Every day. And they count him tardy if we are late. OK...they count ME tardy if we are late. Seriously? I don't want detention. It makes me whiney.

Getting Drew to school on time requires that I leave the house at a certain time each day. That requires getting up at a certain time each day. Which...you guessed it...requires going to bed at an hour much earlier than I would normally go to bed. This school thing is hard people. Oh, and did I mention I don't do so well with schedules? They make me itch. And break out in hives.

On top of all the itchy-hiveyness I have been having to listen to people talk politics. Listening to people talk about politics and/or religion makes me get all stabby. Which means, basically, that I am an itchy, hivey, stabby person and probably not the person you want to start talking politics with.

I fully intend to vote. Really. I do. No need to get all preachy and shit. So, can I just say this with the highest level of stabbiness control?

Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Your voice is giving me shingles!

I can listen to the candidates debate. I can read the interviews. I can even watch the news. What I can absolutely, most definitely do? Form my own damn opinion, thanks. What can I absolutely, most definitely not do? Listen to a bunch of morons talk about how they hate/love Obama because he's black or hate/love Palin because she's a woman or hate/love McCain because he's a veteran or hate/love the Democrats or hate/love the Republicans. I am all for a good debate, but it would be much appreciated if people would keep their mouths shut until the have a clue what they are talking about.

I have made my decision on who to vote for and I'll keep it to myself thankyouverymuch and I am not going to be swayed by a loud-mouthed blowhard who thinks they have some kind of special knowledge of the inner workings of a campaign and each and every freakin' issue because they once walked past the room in elementary school where student council officers were elected.

**Deep breath**

On a bright and not quite so ranty note there IS fun on the horizon. On Friday Eric and I are going to Portland to visit Miss Katie for her birthday. It is going to be a rollerskating, trailer park pageanting, bar hopping, beer drinking good time. Because? Katie is a super rock star and it is virtually impossible for Katie and I not to laugh the entire time we are in each other's presence. We generally drive people nuts because we are laughing about random things and no one else can quiet figure out what is so funny. I chalk it up to our highly evolved sense of humor. Eric chalks it up to borderline insanity.

I'll post some pictures if I remember to take them. Generally speaking, there is WAY too much of the laughing, beer drinking parts to remember pictures. I'll give it a shot though. Right between the 2nd and 3rd pitchers. That is when the best pictures happen.

Balloons. Lots and lots of balloons.

I just got home from spending a week in Reno at The Great Reno Balloon Race. I am lucky enough to crew on a balloon called Fandancer and we went down to fly the balloon and have some fun. It was a hell of a week and I am unbelievably tired. We were up every morning at 4 in order to get out and get set up to fly.

Here's a picture from Dawn Patrol on Saturday:


After Dawn Patrol we would get Fandancer up and ready to fly. The nice part is that by then the sun would be up and we could actually see what we were doing! Here I am, all decked out in my sexiest outfit. I am standing on the tarp and the balloon is laid out ready to inflate:


After two years of crewing on Fandancer I finally got my first flight on Thursday. I had actually been a bit afraid to go up so I never really made a big fuss about not getting a ride. I mean...seriously? Several thousand feet up dangling from a balloon in a wicker basket attached with little steel cables? Not so much with the excitement on my part.

However, I have watched it fly dozens of times and I am responsible for working with the rest of the crew to rig the dang thing. If I am going to send a pilot and various passengers up in it then I suppose I can take a chance. See me with all the bravery and stuff?? Whee!



Since it was my first flight I was initiated after we landed. Basically, initiation consists of both drinking enormous amounts of champagne AND having it poured over your head. The pilot has you bend down to drink a cup of it without using your hands and when you are looking down they pour some of it over your head and then put a bunch of grass and stuff on you.

So...my week has consisted of up early, launch balloon, chase balloon, pack up balloon in whatever random location it landed, drive back to launch field, drink a ton of champagne and then go back to the hotel for a shower. That would get us to about noon. Then we would either nap or go downstairs to the casino and gamble. Then we would have some kind of pilot/crew party where we would all drink too much again. Then it would be bed by about 10 and up again at 4. Rinse. Repeat.

We also had to keep an eye out for the Energizer bunny balloon. He went on a terror spree. Here he is sneaking over a hill to pounce on an unsuspecting apartment complex...oh, and those three little dot looking spots between the bunny and the apartment? Those are cars. That should give you a prety good idea of just how big the bunny is.

An almost amusing post.

I have had a mini-mental breakdown the last couple of weeks and apologize for the lack of postings. I generally try to keep my posts upbeat, positive and, if I am really lucky, amusing. For about a week now the most amusing thing I can think of has been, "Isn't it funny that I woke up today and I still feel homicidal?" I wasn't sure you would appreciate that kind of humor. So I just hid out and polished my knife. And then loaded my gun.

I feel much better today. Good news is I didn't have to kill anyone. It was a pretty pleasant weekend. Today was spent with all the windows open enjoying a beautiful Fallish day. I cleaned my bedroom and bathroom to a state of cleanliness that hasn't been seen since about 5 minutes after we moved in. You know what I discovered? Homicidal tendencies, when properly channeled, CAN remove the ring around my toilet! Who knew?!

At the moment I am sitting in my friend M.'s guest room getting ready to go to bed. I may have mentioned at some point in the past that I crew on a hot air balloon. No? Ok...well...I crew on a hot air balloon. This next week is the Great Reno Balloon Race and we are flying. That means that tomorrow morning we are getting up at "Oh my freakin' bagel with cream cheese and a quad shot vanilla latte it's early" to drive to Reno. I get to spend the next week getting up at the crack of dawn (we are on the balloon field at 5 a.m. or earlier) to raise and launch the balloon. Then we pile into the truck to drive around trying to figure out where the pilot is going to land so that we can pack the balloon back into the trailer and go back to do it all again.

For all my time and energy spent working on this balloon crew I get paid the grand sum of NOT A DAMN CENT. And I freakin' love it. LOVE. IT. It is the most fun I have ever had working. It could be the post flight champagne tradition. 'Cause...well...its champagne. At 8 o'clock in the morning. That's just deviant enough to make me feel like a rebel without requiring a MOM tattoo on my right bicep or a mohawk.

Anyway, I will post updates and will be sure to put up pictures for you. Should be an exciting week! Oh yeah...just so you don't worry. I left the knife and gun at home.

It ends with a Star Wars reference. What more do you need to know?

This weekend I finally got to have a much needed girls night out. Not just a regular girls night out, but an overnight to Jackpot, NV. We have been planning it for a few weeks, but man was I ready to get out of town by the time it finally arrived. Friday at work lasted for right about a week. No lie.

We left about 4:30 and made the 2 hour (or so) drive down. After checking into the hotel/casino we went downstairs and hit the slots. I played about an hour at a penny slot machine and left with the exact amount I put in. Not a bad way to warm up the button finger! I start out doing that whole bet 1 coin on all available lines so each spin costs me about 12 cents. I know! I was gettin' crazy all up in the casino! Every so often I would kick it old school and do a max spin just to mix it up a bit. Isn't it weird how those machines will let you win 10 times in a row on 12 cent bets, but everytime you hit max spin you lose? Hmmmm...you'd think the casino game companies had figured out how to program the machines to take your money? Wouldn't that be WEIRD?

On that topic...why is it that people think they are going to win big on slots? It is a computer. A computer that someone programmed to act in a certain manner. A computer that a casino paid someone to program to act in a certain manner. They could program that thing to let you win 87 times and then crack you over the head with a hard metal object and we wouldn't know the difference. It's not like we can SEE THE CODE and tell if they are cheating. Seriously? I'm just sayin'.

Anyway, in an act of defiance against my own logic I moved around to different slot machines for a while playing my little pennies. Pretty much waiting to see if, in fact, the crack over the head was forthcoming; while trying to muster the courage to hit the tables. Let's just say, just for giggles, that I'm not exactly the best gambler. I'm the girl that freaks out when I lose a dollar in the slot machine. This one time in Vegas - Eric was playing blackjack and I was watching. Everytime he lost a hand I would do that sharp intake of breath thing and he finally ordered me to stay at least 50 feet from him until further notice. I just can't stand losing money.

I was all, "Hey, I coulda bought something useful with that. You know, like a souveneir lion from the gift shop at MGM or a strawberry daiquiri as tall as me in a Gameworks cup with the tallest straw known to man."

And Eric was all, "Well, if you stop with all the hissing and snorting and go do something somewhere far away from this table I'll win you money to buy all the tacky souveneir shit you want."

And he was right. He paid for that whole trip in one afternoon of BlackJack.

Anyway, back to me and Jackpot -- I was feeling brave after not losing my pennies so my friend, L., and I decided to hit the BlackJack table. Me gambling at the tables is sort of like a dancing hippopatomus in a tu-tu - really funny and not at all graceful.

I can't seem to count fast enough to not feel like a complete moron! I have to count on my fingers and then I get all flustered because every last one of my tablemates is staring at me and it's like the room goes all quiet and does that funny camera shot with the fisheye lens and the pit boss is getting suspicious and I can't figure out if the ace is supposed to be an 11 or a 1 and either way I can't add those stupid uneven numbers anyway and...ARGH!!!

This time I actually managed to win. I had some counting help and a great third baseman who never took the dealer's bust card which helped us all out. I started with $20 and when the dealer (Thanks, Jo!) had to leave us and we decided to go eat I had turned it into $90. I was feeling all World Series of Poker until about an hour later when we went to a different table with a different dealer and obviously really bad karma. I lost $25 bucks and ran screaming for the penny slots.

I actually managed to win my $25 back playing this really funny game with lemurs or something. It is truly amazing what they will make into a casino slot machine. Anyway, after that we went to bed so I actually came home with money. Me! A winner! Whee!

Oh...I did manage to get a bladder infection and had to spend some of my winnings on the doc in the box as soon as we hit town on Saturday. It was actually kind of refreshing. All the winning was making me nervous. My family has historically bad luck and I have kind of settled into my loserishness. I am comfortable with all the not winning. Mess up my not winning with actual winning and I start looking for an exit because clearly the lightening bolt is on its way.

It's all about keeping balance in the Force.

And yes...that was a Star Wars reference...just for Eric.

The only appropriate word is "ARGH"

Yesterday was one of those days where I seriously tried to do as little as possible. There is lazy and then there is Jayna-lazy. I did nothing of value what-so-ever. I read some. I watched cartoons with Drew some. I played with the dog some. I did not clean, or do laundry, or work or anything. I was as unmotivated as possible and I can totally prove it. My ass imprint? Still in the chair.

I had a killer headache all day. After drinking coffee to get my caffeine fix and taking some Ibuprofen I settled into my recliner and began making bargains with karma/fate/whatever in a pathetic attempt to get the stupid headache to go away.

Headache 1
Me 0

It was during one of the brief moments between the actual begging parts...as I was trying to think of what else I would be willing to sacrifice to the headache gods... when a couple of things occurred to me.

1. I was wearing my glasses instead of my contacts and considering all the squinting it might be a good idea to go and get NEW glasses because maybe, just maybe, that could have something to do with the headache.

2. My house? IS NEVER QUIET. EVER. The lack of quiet might also have something to do with the headache.

It really is no surprise that I stay at work late as often as possible. After about 5:00 my office is quiet. Blissfully, miraculously quiet. No one else is there and I can sit and listen to the sweet sound of nothing. I also usually end up freaking myself out because I'll hear some random noise and that noise quickly becomes a ghost that is living in the kitchen cabinets and has evil intent and is hell bent on scaring me right into a heartattack because it really, really wishes our office would just move already and since we don't seem to be packing just yet it is plotting exactly how it is going to...AHEM...sorry...just a tad bit of crazy coming out...see what happens when you don't get enough of the quiet? You go insane. Insane, people!

But seriously? Can you blame me for the crazy? I think not.

Case in point:

I was on the phone with my lovely, patient and understanding friend Katie last night and I was lamenting the existence of the world's most determined headache and explaining that my house is never quiet. I was explaining how my house is always buzzing with activity and while that was great back when I was...oh...in COLLEGE...it is quite irritating now. Now that I am old. And apparently crotchety.

Me: "I just hate the fact that it is never quiet. I can't even go into my own bedroom and get quiet anymore." (To Drew: "Don't stick that football in there. Are you learning impaired?")

Me still talking: "I don't even remember what a quiet house feels like. Can I come to Portland and just sit on your couch and worship the quiet? You can seriously just pretend I'm not there." (To Drew: "Drew if you aren't supposed to stick that football in the tea pitcher why would you think it is okay to stick it in my water bottle?")

Me STILL talking: "You won't even notice me unless I sit there too long and start to stink. I just need to have quiet before I lose my mind entirely."

At this point the smoke alarm went off. And our smoke alarm? Very, very shrill. And persistent. The smoke alarm proceeded to stab me right in the brain and Drew started screaming that it was huring his ears and if I didn't do something right now he was going to dddiiiiiiieeeee!! Mazie began running frantically in circles barking her head off. The cat, who was lying on the table, literally FLEW off the table taking everything on the table with him. The resulting crash provided new ammunition for the kid and the dog who both, amazingly, got LOUDER with the screaming and the barking and the running in circles. Lexy then came running down the stairs yelling something about "what the hell is going on who's burning the house down can't you make it stop do we need to evacuate where is my phone" and I was standing on the stairs waving a broom at the smoke alarm yelling for Drew to "stop with the screaming and open the door, for the love of Pete!"

And Katie? Katie was literally crying with laughter.

Me: "Seriously? Could I punctuate my point any more effectively? Really? Ok,now...Shut up, Katie. Glad I can amuse. Katie? Stop laughing. Katie? I mean it. It isn't THAT funny. OK...I'm hanging up now."

Grocery List: wrinkle cream, bug spray, vodka

I know that I have said this repeatedly in the last several months, but I had yet another epiphany that I am old and only getting older. In FOUR WEEKS my son starts kindergarten. Seriously? How did that happen? Yesterday he was still attached to his binky. The day before that he was still in diapers. Then I turned around to say, "Put that down/stop that/come here/be still" and he was 5 1/2 years old, holding a PSP and telling me that he was most definitely NOT going to bed until he finishes one more level. And that? Is final.

I am glad he is growing up to be so smart and funny and confident. I am also stressed because he is growing up to be head-strong and ornery and complicated. I am proud of him and I can already see the lady-killer he is going to be in a few years. Well, that is if he learns to put down the PSP from time to time and stops running around pretending to be characters from Star Wars. I think we have a 50/50 shot at this point.

On another topic...ok, maybe the-same-but-slightly-different-topic, I got bitten by the baby bug. Either that or I am suffering from the worst case of weepy, irrational PMS EVER. Seriously? Me? Weepy? In case you didn't get the memo -- I don't DO weepy. I just keep getting something in my eye every single time I see a little girl.

Cute little girls in little dresses with their little pigtails. It breaks my heart to see them. And? They. Are. Everywhere. Oh, and every one is pregnant. I walk out of the house and it is like some Willie Wonka version of Night of the Living Dead. Pregnant ladies. Little girls. Pregnant ladies with little girls. And they are all after me.

Damn estrogen.

Wordless Wednesday? Forget that...I'm doing Thoughtless Thursday

My brain? Fried. Like old school chicken fried steak. With gravy. And a biscuit.

Work has been busy. And then a little more busy. And then just a bit more busy after that. With a dash of insanity thrown in for good measure. I work at work. I work at home. I work in my sleep. I. Can't. Stop. Working. Bah.

Home has been less busy, but much louder. I feel like I am raw from all the motion and noise and activity that goes on around here. Drew is running around the house as his Optimus Prime alter ego beating the crap out of invisible MegaTron. The TV is on SpongeBob Squarepants at a volume normally reserved for the elderly. Lexy's cell phone is beeping or vibrating or sitting up and shouting, "Yo bitch. You've been ignoring me for 4.5 seconds and that is not acceptable. NOT ACCEPTABLE." So, she picks it up and texts somebody.

It's insanity. Ahhh...Home Sweet Crazy Bin Home.

So, in an effort to not have to talk anymore I will post pictures. The Mazie pictures are posted specifically at the bequest of Katie-Kat.

It's official. I'm a moron.

This past Saturday we went white water rafting. There were 7 of us in the raft and Darren used to be a guide on the Payette. So, all we had to do was rent the raft and life vests and drive up to the drop in location. It is pretty darn cool to live that close to world renowed outdoor adventure!

We did a section of the Payette called Cabarton. It takes about an hour to drive up from Boise and then it is about a 4 hour float from the drop in location to Cougar Mountain Lodge where you get out. It really just blows me away that people come from all over the world to float the Payette River. Not that it isn't worth it, but it is the fact that all we have to do is hop in the car and go. I am originally from Texas, where the only thing to do in the summer time is try not to die of heat stroke, so it is still freaky to me that people spend loads of money and travel a long, long way to do something we can do any time we want. I feel like a Neener Neener is in order.

Anyway - one of the rapid portion of the river is called Trestle. It is a Class III rapid and is somewhat gnarly if you don't know what you are doing. After you clear through it there are areas where you can pull your boat over and sit on a little beach for lunch. We stopped and were enjoying the sun and I never imagined that terror was on the horizon. (Sidenote: Sometimes I really wish I had a soundtrack so that when something bad is going to happen I know about it ahead of time. It would make my life much easier. I'm just sayin'.)

So, there I am. Innocently enjoying some cold chicken fingers and a Twinkie. Soaking up the sun. Appreciating nature. And then...Darren, our ex-river guide, spoke. "Hey Jayna - if you want to float Trestle in your vest I'll show you how." Really? Float a Class III rapid without a boat? Sign. Me. Up! May I just pause here and make an observation? Don't you just love how a complete lack of knowledge of an activity will result in you unwittingly doing the DUMBEST thing you have ever done in your entire life? Well, I know exactly nothing about rafting and when Darren suggested floating sans boat I thought that was the Best. Idea. Ever. And? We should do that RIGHT NOW! Whee! Rapids with no boat!! Let's go!

So, we climbed up a big hill to the railroad tracks that parallel the river. Then we walked down the tracks for about a quarter mile to the railroad trestle and then climbed down the big hill to the river. This is when Darren says to me, "Are you sure you want to do this?" To which I replied, "Of course! This is gonna be awesome!" So, we pick a spot and step into the shallow water at the river's edge.

It just so happens that a mountain stream was cascading down the mountain and flowing into the main river at precisely the spot we decided to get in the water. That? Was mistake number 1. Our legs were almost instantly numb from the frigid water where the snow melt met the river. Our teeth start to chatter as Darren points out some things I need to be aware of. Go in here. Keep your feet downstream. Don't go through that section of water no matter what. Don't panic. Breathe.

Seems simple enough.

We edge further along, holding on to rocks until we see a safe entry spot. Darren says, "OK. Remember, once you go you are going all the way. There is no changing your mind. So...are you sure you want to do this?" "You bet," I moronically reply. Darren says, "OK then. I will go and then you count to 20 and follow me." He goes and I drop myself into the water up to my chest. That? Was mistake number 2.

I count, "One, two, three, fourfivesix" as I am literally SUCKED off the rock and into the rapids. I have about 2 seconds to think, "Oh Shit" and I am immediately sucked under. I bob to the surface and have about a second to get air before I go right through the middle of the only spot on the entire river Darren said NOT to go through. Yea me.

I. Was. Terrified. Let's just say that when we got in the river I had to pee. When we got out of the river I inexplicably no longer had to pee. I literally thought I was going to drown and the more I fought to get air the more tired I got and the harder it became to get a breath. I also swallowed about a gallon of water. Finally, after HOURS (ok...it was about a minute) I cleared the rapids. I floated into clear water and saw the rest of our boat crew standing on the rocks waiting for us.

I kept trying to swim out of the current over to the shore - WAY harder than it sounds - and was just literally dead in the water. So, I went with my instincts and grabbed the first stationary object I came near. In this case, a really big rock. That? Yep. Mistake number 3.

I HUGGED the rock and planned to stay there...oh...until right about forever. The current? Had other plans. I was again SUCKED from the rock. Only this time I was holding on for dear life and my foot was pulled under the rock and when I finally lost my grip the rock stole my water shoe...and a fair amount of skin. After that I floated right up to the rest of the crew and was pulled from the water by Deb and Eric. I commenced sitting on a rock.

Deb says, "Did you take your hat off?" I replied, "No. I guess I lost it." Moments later I look up and see my hat. "Hey," I nonchalantly say. "There goes my hat." At this point Deb kamikaze leaps off the rock into the river and saves my hat. SAVES IT! She suffered a pretty good knee abrasion for her trouble, but I owe her my hat. The mental image of her leaping off that rock will be burned into my corneas forever. If I hadn't been trying to wrap my mind around the fact that I missed the exit to go directly into the light I would have laughed.

As Deb is on the Great Hat Rescue '08 Eric looks at me and says, "Are you going to be sick?" I replied, "BBBeeeeellllllccccchhhhh. No. Heh Heh. That was a good one." And that is when he knew I was going to live. He wrapped me in the biggest hug and says, "Oh my God! You scared the hell out of me! You wouldn't believe the look on your face when you came around the bend from the rapids. I thought you were going drop dead on the spot! I can't believe you did that!" Then he smacked me on the head.

I came out of that little river adventure with the worst ear-ache, sinus-ache and headache you can imagine. So, what lesson did I learn on Saturday? I learned that boats? Necessary, thanks. Also? I'm pretty much a moron.

On Sunday Eric and I ran away to Sun Valley for a bit of alone time. It was gloriously quiet and fabulously uneventful. Here are some pictures for your viewing pleasure:

The drive up.

Mountains in the distance. I took this from the moving car.

The ski hill in Sun Valley.

Up close view of the ski hill.

As you leave the ski hill to go into the lodge you cross over this stream.

This is the outdoor ice skating rink at Sun Valley Lodge. Note that it is over 100 degrees when I took this shot.

Swans in the village.

And what is a post without another picture of my gorgeous husband.

Screaming. The other white meat.

It's Tuesday. And that is pretty much the most interesting thing I can think of to say at the moment. And that? Is sad. My brain is kind of overwhelmed lately. I have had trouble sleeping at night. Granted, I haven't had any trouble at all sleeping in the morning. Right through my alarm. Until 10:00.

My problem is I can't seem to shut my mind off. I lay down and my brain just starts going a million miles an hour. I have spent many a night trying to stave off a panic attack because suddenly? We're all gonna die. Everyone. Is. Going. To. Die. Painfully and probably due to some kind of plague spread via home foreclosure paperwork.

I lie in bed and think about work and my mortgage and my son starting school and tuition for said school and my dog driving Eric the last half mile to total insanity and my inability to stick to an exercise plan and the birds building a nest in our attic and why my car is making a funny noise and...well, the list of crazy goes on.

The newest psychosis inducing activity in our house is related to Mazie. She has this heavy rubber ball that we throw for her outside. It was a purchase necessitated by the fact that she would eat the tennis balls we bought for her. Yes. That's right. EAT THEM. She would start by peeling off the fluffy, presumably lemon-flavored - possibly lime - outer coating. Daintily grabbing the fluff with her front teeth and pulling chunks off. Most chunks were quickly consumed, but occassionaly she would leave a wet pile of tennis ball fur on the floor for one of us to step on and; thus, share her culinary delite with us. She's a giver that one.

After consuming the outer layer of the tennis ball she would vigorously chew on the ball itself until it split in half. That would allow her to better eat the harder shell portion of the ball. This portion of the ball eating process would take anywhere from 10 minutes to 2 hours. Crunching, cracking, snorting, slobbering, growling...for up to 2 hours. SO...we bought the red ball. It's rubber. And indestructible.

Mazie loves her ball. She wants us to throw it for her. All. The. Time. Mazie loves her heavy red ball so much she picks it up and stands right next to your chair and drops it at your feet. Repeatedly. Until you either take her outside and throw it for her or pick it up and hide it from her. You wouldn't think the dog dropping her ball at your feet would be irritating. But it is. Our house has a crawl space under it so when something heavy hits the floor it isn't hitting carpet over a concrete slab. It is hitting carpet over wood over a big hole in the ground. Things tend to reverberate. Through my chair. Through my butt. Straight to my irritation gland. That's when the screaming starts.

I'll let you know when it stops.

BTW - I have to share this text message exchange between me and Lexy. We love each other and it shows!

Me: Don't you have dance class tonight?
Lexy: No. I'm running away with my new husband Leroy.
Me: Does he have gas money?
Lexy: No. He's investing in a clinical trial to help cure his HIV. Things are finally looking good for him.
Me: That is great! That improves the odds that your illegitimate love child, Bubba, will be born with only one club foot.
Lexy: No. we decided to name the twins Gomar and Jebidiah.
Me: I am so excited! Once the twins finish detoxing from the Meth addiction will I get to be Godmother?
Lexy: Well, I already promised the social worker she could be. But, when their father gets out of Intermountain Hospital, and she can't pay for their separation surgery I will give you a call.
Me: Great! I have always wanted to be financially responsible for once conjoined, illegitimate, Meth-addicted twins! Where will you and Leroy be while I change diapers? I hear Mexico is nice and you could get there on one convenience store robbery.
Lexy: Well, his probation officer has a nice two person bike that we can pick up in Cali, but we have to find a way to get it over the fence. But, until then we are using his scooter. One Rite-Aid and a 7/11 ought to do it.

Ahhhh...it's fun to have a little sister.

Attack of the Frankenhand

I was supposed to have surgery on my hand a few weeks ago to remove a cyst. A couple of days before I was set to have it cut out the damn thing disappeared. I called to cancel and the nurse said I should come in as scheduled because it was probably just hiding. Hiding? Like - a sneaky crawl back into my joint so we would be lulled into a false sense of security while it hatched an evil plan to take over the world hiding? Or - comfortable in it's little home and scared of being evicted hiding? The nurse wasn't sure so I said ok and kept my appointment. I showed up, got dressed in my tent-sized hospital gown (could they possibly make those things any uglier?), got my IV and a brilliant concoction of drugs and was all ready to get hacked on. Then the doctor decided not to go through with it because he said I probably burst it. Burst? Ack. And ewww.

Fast forward two weeks and the stupid cyst comes back. Clearly not burst, but seriously pissed and, based on the pain level, implementing stage one of it's take over the world plan. This last Tuesday I went through the whole gown, IV, drug scenario again. The upside is the doctor actually removed it this time.

Did I mention that Tuesday was my birthday? One of my brilliant, though slightly twisted friends, imformed me that it was the best present EVER because I got legal drugs. Now it is a full week later and I am finally able to type. I am also off my pain meds and have replaced that fun, floaty, druggy feeling with really uncomfortable stitches. Whee. And - because I love you all - I will share with you a picture of my Frankenhand...

It has been slow on the blogging front because of the dreaded Frankenhand. Not only is it the ugliest freakin' thing you've ever seen, but it made typing virtually impossible and more than a little painful any time I tried. Basically, I spent a week half asleep on the couch watching lots and lots of Ice Road Truckers and Axe Men. At one point I had a drug induced hallucination that I was hauling cut down trees down the ice road to a diamond mine to be processed in to 2x4s. I KNOW! Trippy! --- Fun....but trippy. --- Thank you History Channel. I have now pledged my undying devotion to you and your programming.

We also had a little plumbing issue in the last few days. The sink must have been sneaking some of my drugs because it suddenly decided that water? Should spray up rather than down. I think that if the sink had a voice it would have been shouting something along the lines of, "Fly be free! Shed those binds and spray in ALL directions because you can! You can! Believe in yourself and you can spray the ceiling! Just believe you little droplets!" And, oddly, the sink sounds surprisingly like Richard Simmons from his Sweatin' to the Oldies days.

That led to father/son sink fixing. Seriously? The two cutest plumbers on. the. planet. See?


They were so proud of themselves I had to pause Tougher in Alaska(damn you History Channel and your freakishly absorbing reality television with lots and lots of burly manly men!) to bake them brownies. You couldn't resist these faces either.



I must say for the record - it never ceases to amaze me what Eric is able to accomplish. We had been together for over two years and we were standing in the kitchen talking about something that I totally forgot by now and he calmly picked up three oranges and started juggling. JUGGLING! Blew my freakin' mind. Add to that the fact that he is a freakin' electronics genius and can fix anything in the house that has electronic stuff in it and NOW I find out he can fix plumbing? Stand back ladies...he's mine and I won't go down without a fight.

He is for rent, however.

I could really use the extra cash.

If a bear shits in the woods can I shoot somebody?

What a crazy few weeks. The whole house has been in chaos and I am in serious need of a long vacation. I am thinking someplace warm, but not too warm where everyone is deaf and mute so that it is quiet. I can just make a few flashcards that say things like, "Another martini please," and "Sunscreen on my back please," and "Move the umbrella two inches to the left," and maybe a couple of others like, "Honey, you should really cover that up," just so I can give my inner bitch an outlet.

Last weekend the bulb went out on the tv downstairs so we have been without tv in the living room for over a week. You would think it would make for a quieter house.

You would be wrong.

It got louder here because Drew was no longer mesmerized for a while before dinner by cartoons and instead was running CIRCLES around the house with Mazie chasing him. Drew was screaming. Mazie was barking. The phone was ringing. Eric was shouting. Even the fish were loud. Little fish faces pressed against the glass, mouths open, crazed look in their eyes and scream bubbles just streaming towards the surface. I SWEAR I heard little squeaks each time one of those bubbles popped. Little bastards. Everyone's a freakin' comedian.

Today was better. I had my 2-year performance evaluation and it went well. I got a raise which was nice. We also got our tv fixed and Eric is getting to watch Game 5 of the Stanley Cup finals and so he is happy. He is currently yelling at the players and thus ensuring peak performance by the Penguins. They are playing pretty good so maybe it's actually working. If they win we may be onto something.

My master plan is to go to bed. Soon. Very soon. Right after I finish another glass of wine. I took tomorrow off and therefore I don't feel so bad about having another glass. Well, I never feel bad about having another glass regardless of the day, but not having to be coherent in the morning is a good thing. Instead of going to work I get to stay home and dig a hole.

Not the "doesn't know when to shut up" kind of hole I normally dig, but an actual hole. Outside. In the yard. For a tree. It is a big tree and it was a beautiful and leafy at the nursery and I was all filled with glee when I picked it and then I was informed of the size of the hole we have to dig. I suppose it could be a good thing because it will be just the right size to bury me in when I die from having to dig it.

We also have 3 yards of dirt to move from the driveway to the side of the house because we are building a new planting area in place of the flooded, mossy grass we currently have there. The displaced mosquitos will be pissed. I have to give a quick shout out to POWER ENTERPRISES in BOISE, IDAHO ---- they are hands down the WORST landscaping company on the face of the planet. No matter how many times we called them and gave them irrefuteable proof of their incredibly dysfunctional work we could not get them to fix it. Now we very proudly tell everyone we meet what a terrible job they do while we repair it slowly and expensively. THANKS CRAPPY LANDSCAPING COMPANY!! We heart you! Bastards.

OH!!! I just remembered! Eric and I played paintball on Saturday with a bunch of friends. It. Was. Awesome. We came home sweaty and dirty and bruised and already plotting all the gear we need to buy. I have not had that much fun in ages. We were out in this old orchard crawling around under trees and through the dirt stalking each other. I got shot in the head, the back, the hand, the arms, the legs and I got to shoot other people and I FREAKING LOVED EVERY SECOND OF IT! Next time I'll take the camera and take pictures for you. I have some gnarly bruises!

Oh yeah - I think I may have a homicidal streak. I think I enjoyed shooting people too much. Hmmmm...that might mean something important, but I can't for the life of me think of what that might be...

Happy Birthday Eric!

Yesterday was Eric's birthday. I won't tell you how old he is, but I'll give you a hint: He is less than 40, but more than 38. What really burns my ass? He still gets carded AND I DON'T! I have been able to create my own little land of delusion and in that happy place the only reason I don't get carded is because they ask him first and since he is old enough then I MUST be old enough so why bother making me dig my ID out of my ginormous purse? Yes, that's right. In my special place things like age spots and crow's feet don't exist and they certainly don't exist on my body anywhere. It is a place where my gray hair is actually blonde highlights and I miraculously look 40 pounds thinner. Clearly it also has padded walls and arm restraints, but that is entirely beside the point.

Eric spent his birthday weekend in Las Vegas with 10 of his buddies. I am not entirely sure what all went down, but I am a bit suspicious. He keeps using words like gambled, drank beer, went to see a show, played craps and other similar things that are CLEARLY some kind of secret man-code that actually means went to a strip club, private lap dance and boobs. I'm on to him, but I can't quite crack the code. I need a secret decoder ring or something.

Actually, I am pretty sure they gambled a lot. Eric came home richer than when he left. That's always a bonus. He also commented that if the world could ever find a way to convert silicone into fuel then gas would be much cheaper after harvesting Las Vegas. He said there was an abundance of double D's spilling out of tube tops. That image? Will stay with me forever. And I hate him for it.

I spent Friday night with some pals. We went to get Julie a tattoo and then ate yummy mexican food from the taco truck. After that we went to this little dive bar I love and I proceeded to drink. A lot. An embarrassing lot. And sing karaoke. And yes, that sound you heard? Eardrums bursting. People screaming. Dogs howling. In my mind, however, I was bringing down the house a Madison Square Garden 'cause I ROCK.

By the end of the night I had shots lined up in front of me and was drinking beer out of the pitcher through two straws hooked together. You don't have to say it. I know. I am freakin' oozing class. Rawr!! Luckily my friends have both a good sense of humor AND low expectations of me.

Eric came home yesterday afternoon and I surprised him with a birthday party. I have tried in the past to throw him a surprise party but that whole "thought in head, thought out mouth" thing usually blows the surprise part. This time? I waited until the last minute to even plan it so I didn't have time to open my big, fat mouth. And it worked! Whee!

The best part of the party? Watching my friends play Dance Dance Revolution. We tried to get Eric to play, but his walker kept getting in the way. It was really cool to surprise him though. And this time the surprise was a GOOD one! HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY!!!

Insanity? Highly under-rated.

I have lost my mind. For those of you who know me that comes as no shock whatsoever. For those of you who don't know me - trust me - it really is no shock whatsoever. It has been brewing for some time. This week? I finally snapped.

It started on Monday when I was informed that I have a cyst in my hand that has to be removed. My right hand. The hand I write with and type with and do just about everything else with and they are going to CUT IT OPEN. Next Tuesday. Yea.

It continued on Tuesday when my entire work day consisted of discovering a very long list of things that should have been done, but that I never did and now have to do and I don't seem to have time to do, but I have to figure out how to do them at some point in the very near future since they have to get done. Bah.

Today I spent all day thinking it was Thursday and then one of my friends informed me that it is, in fact, Wednesday and really? That should be enough. But for me? No - I have to really do it up right. I have to forget to pay the water bill.

We got home and Lexy got raw hamburger and made hamburger patties and she tried to wash her hands. We discovered that it is fairly difficult to wash your hands with no water. Oh, and if you have raw hamburger on your hands the dog will follow you around and when you sit down she will stare at you. Without blinking. For hours. And it is kind of unsettling.

Oh yeah - I have the crappiest iPhone EVER. I had to send it in for repair for the second time and they sent me the crappiest loaner iPhone EVER. I had a phone that would ring, but the touch screen was defective and I could answer my calls, but then I couldn't hang up my calls. That resulted in lots of people getting messages from me that started out all professional and ended with me thinking I hung up and instead they would get 5 minutes of me singing "Like A Virgin" along with the radio at the top of my lungs. Now I have a loaner phone that won't ring. I pick it up to call someone and realize I have 15 missed calls and 5 voicemails. Sucky phone. But I suppose it is better than singing "Like A Virgin" to one of my most important clients and then listening to them laugh for 10 minutes when they call me back to tell me about my serenade.

I have high hopes that tomorrow will be better. I sort of got a handle on all the stuff at work. OK. I made a list of all the stuff I need to do. But at least it's a start. I now have a visual representation of my inability to keep up with everything I need to do. On top of that we got the water back on thanks to on-line bill pay and Lexy washed her hands so Mazie quit stalking her.

I am just ready for the weekend. I plan to get outside and enjoy the nice weather. I need to plant flowers. I need to mow. I need to have some of the sprinkler heads capped off. I need to have dirt delivered to build out a new planting area. I need to roto-till the garden.

Shit. Now I have to go and make another list.

Tattoo ink and Comic book geeks

I know I am not the first parent to wish this, but there are times where I really want to put Drew in a giant hamster wheel and use the energy created to power the house for a year or two. I would save so much money on the electric bill and could use it to go on an extended vacation in Tahiti.



Drew is obsessed with Transformers and runs around the house incessantly acting like various characters from the movie. Some days he is a good guy. Some days he is a bad guy. Most days he acts out elaborate scenes from the movie and plays all the characters. It was cute the first thousand times. Now it is just irritating. I wish they would hurry up and make Transformers 2 so we can at least get new scenes. I would make him stop, but the creativity is just too awesome and he really is talented. He remembers the lines like nobody's business and I have to encourage him. I mean, come on...he could end up rich and famous and I intend to live long and prosper. Somebody is going to have to fund my geriatric world travel.



Moving on...

This has been a spectacular weekend. Eric and I went on a date Friday night. We had a nice dinner and planned to see a movie, but the theater was packed so we bailed on that idea. Instead? I got another tattoo. This one makes number 9.



On Saturday we got up early for National Free Comic Book Day. Yes. You heard me. An actual comic book day. And no. I had never heard of it either. I think you have to be hooked into the Dungeons and Dragons Network to know such things. But...I was a trooper and got up early...on a Saturday...to go with Eric to get comic books. He bribed me with coffee. Bastard. He's got my number. Either that or I am just WAY too easy. I am like freakin' Pavlov's dog. Just say coffee and my mouth immediately begins to water and I will follow you anywhere.

Anyway, we arrived at the comic book store only to find it PACKED. Seriously packed. I KNOW! I was shocked, too! I mean...all those geeks leaving their computers at the same time to go and buy comic books? Unreal. Who is guarding the Internet? Oh, and the World of Warcraft? Deserted.

Today, however, is a beautiful Sunday and I plan to go outside very soon and do some more yard work. I got a fairly good sun burn yesterday, but today I am going to put my sunscreen on BEFORE going outside. The main goal for going outside is to wear some energy off of Drew and Mazie. All I have to do is attempt to do anything productive in the yard and both of them will immediately start running in circles and wreaking general havoc to keep me from completing any project. Frustrating, but effective kid and dog tiring out activity.



Tomorrow I am back in the office after a week of travel. I can only imagine what my desk looks like. Actually? It's probably cleaner than it is when I am there.

Oh yeah - just a little reminder. I am walking in the Breast Cancer 3-day (see link at the top left of my page) and seriously need to raise money. I have to hit $2200 or I can't walk. Please donate anything you can. Every penny helps!!