It's funny in some language

I am quite certain they make pills for this.

2012-01-26T20:53:00.006-07:00

Most of the time on when I write it is about whatever I want. This is MY blog and I can write absolutely anything and if you don't like it you don't have to read it...you know...cause I'm an adult and, if you haven't forgotten already, this is MY blog and I can write whatever I want.

After I write whatever I want I go back and edit out anything likely to get me into trouble with my Dad...or my friends...or my job...or get me arrested and/or involuntarily admitted to a psychiatric ward. That is the basis of why I don't post every day...and why my posts are often short.

This post, however, isn't written to amuse or make a point. I don't have a psuedo-humorous story or a rant. I honestly don't know if I am writing this post as a form of therapy or a frighteningly misplaced cry for help. What I can say it is one of the most difficult posts I've ever written.

Depression is one of those strange diseases (yes, it is most certainly a disease) not easily understood unless you have experienced it for yourself. The sudden feeling you just can't shake that something has gone seriously awry in the world. You are convinced to the depths of your soul that somehow it will result in hellfire and/or demon frogs raining down upon you at any second. The debilitating, yet inexplicable, stealth Ninja anxiety that strikes for no reason what-so-ever at the most inconvenient moment possible. The sensation of being so emotionally and physically raw that the mere hint of someone touching you results in actual flinching.

Having been diagnosed with chronic depression in high school I have been medicated for the majority of my life. I am certain this has resulted in stunted mental compacity and short-term memory loss, but it keeps me normal ...ok, ok ... haters ... mostly normal.

The last 4 months, however, have been some of the most difficult months I can remember. I resurrected this blog in the hopes it would help me begin to ease back to what passes as normalcy in my life. It gives me an outlet - a place to put down all of the frighteningly angry and, most frequently, plain old snarky things milling around in my head. A way of keeping those thoughts from compressing into little nuggets of pure evil...like some sort of twisted anti-diamonds. While that would be impressive, I'm not sure they would have the same retail value as an actual diamond.

I truly believe, in a lot of ways, depression has allowed me to learn how to recognize the absurdity of the world we live in. It has most certainly helped me to develop my sense of humor. It removes the filter and the blinders we wear - the blinders that allow us to more easily navigate "polite" society. Don't get me wrong, I've never really had a filter and most of the time I am peeking around the edges of the blinders, but like most people I do my best not to make a total ass of myself.

When you find yourself at a point so low that you aren't even sad anymore...where you have lost any ability to feel or express emotions and are instead completely and utterly empty...the only thing you can do is laugh at the absurdity you suddenly so clearly see. The world is absurd. Life is absurd. The fact you are still wearing the pajamas you put on 5 days ago and you can't remember the last time you brushed your teeth because you are in the middle of debilitating depression and anxiety because someday, somewhere, somehow I am going to die and you are going to die and the dog is going to die and people are homeless and the rich are paying taxes and the spotted-whitetailed-horned-jumping platypus is going extinct and OMG we are all going to DIE!!!

One of my favorite bloggers recently posted a much funnier post(with pictures, y'all!) about her struggle with depression. What struck me, besides realizing I must not be the only person concerned about that platypus, is her description of hitting a point where you are so far past caring about anything that nothing can touch you. Nothing matters anymore. You've become this empty human-like thing in filthy clothes and ratty hair. She wrote about how that precise moment is the turning point. That is the moment you begin to crawl back out of whatever pit of despair you've found yourself in.

I haven't hit that point quite yet, but I think this post is pretty darn close. I can tell because I just realized I don't care what you think about what I've just told you and I don't care what you think about my particular brand of crazy.

My brand of crazy is just as absurd as yours thankyouverymuch.

Want meaningful? This is not the blog post you are looking for.

2012-01-24T21:53:00.003-07:00

Today was one of those days where not even going back and starting over would have helped. I should have known it was going to be one for the books when my beloved, and much needed, vanilla yogurt was actually Eric's blackberry yogurt. Unfortunately, inadvertant transportation of rogue blackberry yogurt doesn't qualify as a family emergency.

My original intent for this blog was to spend the entire time ranting about various crap until I felt better. Instead I will move on and talk about other stuff. It's called ~~alcohol~~ self-control, y'all.

Instead of being all ranty and stabby I'll list out random things I spent time wondering about today:

1. Is there ever a point in life where one stops and says, "You know what my day needs? More organ music, that's what."

2. How long does it take, in dog years, for karma to come back and kick a spineless piece of shit in the ass for having a complete and utter lack of self-respect? How does one bribe karma to work faster?

3. If your last name was Clutterbuck would you change it or would you have an entire line of clothing and accessories created with your own label? Would Katie design a logo for me if my last name was Clutterbuck?

4. Could I actually create a new internationally known slang term if I started using clutterbuck as my new psuedo-swear word?

5. How many times does one get to use the term "internationally known" in a sentence? Can anyone say "internationally known" in a sentence without rapping it?

6. Does anyone but me have a problem seeing Dustin Hoffman as a serious actor? Everytime I see him or hear his voice I immediately think of Rain Man and Tootsie. Dustin loses a bit of his menace at that point. I just have this mental picture of an autistic drag queen randomly counting things.

7. Who greenlit the remaking of The Crow and what sort of public humiliation can be heaped upon him?

8. Would traffic be bearable if one was driving this:

BTW - that is me standing next to the tire. For frame of reference, I am 6 feet tall.

Oh! I almost forgot! I met a famous person today! Or, an infamous person. Or, maybe a somewhat well-known person if you like motorcycles and the Discovery channel. This is me and Mikey from American Chopper. Granted, it is probably the WORST picture of me ever taken, but I'll deal because he's famous!!

And another:

Nope...this is so NOT Kansas anymore...

2012-01-23T22:11:00.003-07:00

My how things change when you abandon your blog for almost two years. I can assure you I am not anymore clever or funny than I was two years ago. However, I will have lots of interesting stories about life in small town Northern Nevada. Ok...maybe not interesting. More like, "Don't worry, you will thank the Goddess it's me and not you that has to live here because you might just jump in front of a quickly moving method of mass transit except there isn't mass transit here unless you count the buses that take all the people to the mines." Yeah. I said mines.

DISCLAIMER
While I haven't entirely embraced life in a small town I do love my job and I am really happy I have this opportunity. I am working on meeting more people and getting more involved in community activities in order to better appreciate our new town.

DISCLAIMER 2
I mean that with no sarcasm what-so-ever. Strange for me since I am generally all about sarcasm, but in this case I am really sans the sarcasm. And, really, it is quite beautiful here.

Ahem - moving on -

For the purposes of not boring you directly into a coma I will avoid recounting the entirety of the two years my blog was abandoned, but it goes a bit like this:

Lose job, wallow in self-pity, abandon blog, move to new house, wallow in self-pity, do many contract jobs, wallow, get new job, wallow less, have many hot tub parties, open pool, stop wallowing, have many pool parties, get new job in Northern Nevada, move again, resurrect blog motivated almost entirely by complete and utter boredom resulting from move to Northern Nevada.

That pretty much sums it up.

Since moving, my husband, who has clearly made some kind of deal with the devil, has managed to fit 3000 sf of stuff into a 1300 sf house. Granted, only one car fits in the garage due to a truly heinous number of boxes that haven't been unpacked, but it remains a feat of unexplainable sorcery as far as I am concerned. I've learned not to question such things.

In addition to being packed into our new house like sardines - only without the handy roll back lid - we are learning to live with an utter lack of customer service. Store clerks won't wait on you. Servers won't wait on you. Typically, you just wait a while and eventually someone goes, "Oh hey, you've been here a while. Do you need something?" This has resulted in my muttering to myself while gradually increasing volume until Eric finally threatens to duct tape my mouth shut and the employee wanders away because they have lost their train of thought and have no idea why they are standing in front of the crazy mumbling lady.

The upside? We rarely go out and are saving money. The downside is we are starting to get a bit of that snowbound insanity-thing going on and Eric is starting to get a bit concerned I am going to chop through the bathroom door with an axe everytime he has to use the toilet.

Next up -- Our fair town is being invaded by hundreds of Cowboy Poets (I seriously can't make this shit up) from all around the world. Even though I have never heard of it ever in my whole life it is quite a famous event...

...It's a tourist attraction...

...I'm a little scared...and yet, disturbingly intrigued...

Never fly with PMS

2010-05-24T13:58:00.004-06:00

I'm here. I have something to say. I'm sure of it. I just have no idea precisely what it is I am here to say. Let's ramble...

I cut my hair off last week. To just below my chin. I left the salon feeling really, really great about my hair and how cute and sassy it looked. I felt younger. And thinner. And then I showed off my awesome new haircut to my husband. Who said, "I like your hair long."

Wind. Sails. Pffftttt.....

My hair is no longer a valid topic of conversation at our house. Ever. In fact, I am thisclose to paying homage to Batshit Crazy Britney and shaving my head. Then I suppose I'll have to get a rapper wannabe baby daddy and a really good umbrella. It might be more work than it is worth.

Bah. I suppose I'll keep the hair I have left.

Summer is supposedly coming soon, but you couldn't tell by all the snow we've been getting. The next person to utter the words "Global Warming" is going to find themselves abruptly seated on their ass via the back of my hand across their cheek. I mean it, too. I have PMS this week and that means I am legally absolved of any and all responsibility for both verbal and physical attacks on stupid, insufferable people.

What else...hmmmm...what to talk about...AHA! Airlines! We'll talk about airlines! Let's specifically talk about Alaska Airlines and their fees for bags. Granted, I am sure they are not alone in their attempts to alienate all airline travelers everywhere, but they are the airline I am forced to fly most often so I shall pick on them. I'm mean like that.

They are charging $15 to check a bag. Not your second bag or your third bag, but the first and only bag you wish to check. Here's how they get you - I am convinced it is totally sexist, but can't prove it yet - they force you to fit all of your toiletries into a quart sized ziploc bag and if you can't manage this logistical feat of sorcery you have to either throw said toiletries away or check the bag. THEN...since they know us women aren't about to throw away a half-empty tube of our favorite face cream that cost a bloody fortune...they charge you $15 for the bag. WHO TRAVELS WITHOUT TOILETRIES? Seriously? WHO? Well, actually, I think I may have sat next to that guy once or twice, but that is beside the point.

I have an idea for all the airline thieves who come up with these ridiculous charges - how about you start charging for the seatbelt? How about it? It's required that we wear them so why don't you just go ahead and start charging us a fee for seatbelt usage and for maximum impact go ahead and charge by the minute. Alrighty?

Freakin' bastards. I'm just sayin'.

However, I must say, Airline People, those little cookie thingies you serve are divine. I had two packages. Not cause I wanted them, but because I wanted you to have to give them to me Mr. Smiling Flight Attendant... a flight attendant who is clearly a robot given the fact you never, ever stop smiling...it was kind of creepy now that I think about it...what WERE you smiling about anyway?

I suppose I don't really want to know. I would, however, like some more of those cookies...

Hurry up and order your Ab Shake Gazelle!!!

2010-05-11T12:03:00.005-06:00

Exactly how many diets are out there? Dozens? Hundreds? Thousands? Or, millions? I am putting my money, and my cellulite, on millions. I am truly amazed, and not just a little frightened, with how many different ideas and versions of how to lose weight you can find. One little Google search and you'll see what I mean.

I have been trying to lose weight for what seems like forever and I have reached out on more than one occasion to "experts." I have been told to eat more. Eat less. Only eat this. Never eat that. I have had a lot of people telling me lately to eat six or seven times a day and I'll magically lose pounds seemingly overnight. However, anorexics never eat and look how skinny they are. OK..I'll admit...bad comparison, but my point is no matter what someone tells you there is someone doing the exact opposite and getting fabulous weightloss results.

I am not a great dieter...I'll admit this. I enjoy eating what I like. My theory? This is life. None of us is getting out alive so we might as well enjoy ourselves, right? Now, don't get me wrong. I don't sit around and eat bags of cookies and drink a two liter of Pepsi every day. I actually eat relatively conservatively. Case in point: dinner last night was 4 oz of chicken breast, 2 cups of steamed broccoli and half a cup of macaroni and cheese (gotta keep the 7 year old happy). I drank a shit ton of water yesterday and I had no soft drinks. Today I have had some yogurt, some coffee with a bit of fat free creamer and a handful of Cap'n Crunch (gotta keep the inner 7 year old happy). I have an apple, peanut butter, a cheese stick and a Luna bar awaiting consumption. There is nary a Snicker's bar on the menu and yet I still cart around enough ass for me and all my friends. I swear I look in the mirror and see the robot Aunt Fanny from the movie Robots.

I just wonder when someone is going to clear up all the confusion. Do I eat meat? Don't eat meat? Sugar? No sugar? Bread? No bread? Are eggs good or bad? How often do I exercise? 30 minutes three times a week, right? Wrong. You need to work out, cardio only every day for an hour. And, on the second full moon of the year you hop one foot from noon until 2 and then turn in four circles and eat a loaf of bread with mayonaise and cayenne pepper.

ARGH!!! It is so confusing and so frustrating. It really is no wonder our society is obese. All these evil fitness people are out there cramming the latest Ab Roller, Sauna Belt, Gazelle, and my personal favorite, the Shake Weight, down our throats trying to convince us that withabsolutely no effort whatsoever (!) we will all have six pack abs! Just send 87 payments of $19.95 and you will be beach ready the moment the UPS guy delivers the box! Hurray!!

I guess I will just keep plugging away. I enjoy the fitness classes I am in and that keeps me going every week. I guess I just need to learn to accept my body as it is. I need to learn to be nice to it and maybe it will thank me by slimming down.

But, just to be safe, I should probably order a Shake Weight.

As an aside: I want to point out that in what has to be the best example of irony EVER -- the current ad displayed on this blog is for the South Beach Diet. I'm just sayin'.

Burpees = Death

2010-05-04T10:29:00.006-06:00

It isn't all that often I sit down and whine. Well...not too often...I mean, I don't do it every day. Seriously. I don't. Really. OK...maybe sort of often.

Damn. I hate this self-awareness crap. I prefer to be blissfully unaware of my faults. Same way I prefer to be blissfully unaware of the number of calories in a Snickers bar; but, I digress.

My original point was to whine...let's get on with it...

Those of you who know me are aware of the fact that I have really, really bad knees. Knees that make it abundantly clear the level of disdain they possess for the weight and girth of the ass they are required to support each time I heft myself from a seated position. Knees that have been through one surgery each and possess scars and screws and, if that wasn't quite enough thankyouverymuch, are arthritic. Oh yeah - and for the record - I am only 35. And have arthritis. 35. Arthritis.

Yeah. It sucks.

Anyway, last night I finally made it back to tae-kwon-do and Crossfit after two weeks away. I would think Matt, our fabulous instructor, would take it easy on me and ease me back into things. I would think wrong. Frankly? I think he decided torture was an appropriate way to ensure I think twice the next time I decide to go out of town for work. Or get sick. You know what? I am most certainly thinking. I am sure my new boss will understand when I tell her I can't fly down to San Jose because Matt will take it out of my hide in sweat as soon as I return. Right? Stephanie?

Anyway, here is the Crossfit workout from last night. Don't let the simplicity fool you. It sucks ass. HARD.

21 - 15 - 9
(I do believe the numbers are arbitrary and selected just for maximum frustration. Have you ever tried to stop counting at an odd number when your brain isn't working due to lack of oxygen? Harder. Than. You. Think.)

So - you do 21 chin-ups, 21 burpees (here is a link for those of you who are wondering what in Hades a burpee is) and 21 of these things where you throw a medicine ball at the wall with one arm from several feet away. It has a name, but I'll be damned if I can remember it. If you survive doing that you start over and do it again 15 times and then 9 times.

What does all this have to do with the whining and the knees? Well, it is the reason I was both unable to walk and unable to sleep last night. My knees were ON FIRE thanks to those burpees. Eric offered to buy me a motorized scooter. I was thisclose to finding an infomercial for the Little Rascal and taking him up on it. Instead I took a poorly timed sleeping pill and went to bed. I am so groggy today that I could feed coffee directly into a vein and I would still be half asleep.

On a more serious note -- I am having a hell of a time staying motivated to work out. All I seem to get is pain. I have more muscle than I have had in years, but my weight isn't going down and that was the whole point because I have to get weight off to get my knees to quit with all the bitching. I am not wearing smaller clothes. I still don't look good naked. Seriously? Bulimia is starting to look appealing.

Who says getting fired can't be AWESOME!

2010-04-23T16:45:00.006-06:00

The last several weeks have been such a whirlwind of emotion and change that my head hasn't stopped spinning for more than a second or two. I am currently sitting in a cube in an office in San Jose, California having just completed my first week of employment with a brand new company. Not only am I new to the company and the position, but the position itself is new to the company. I am tasked with building out a successful effort around nothing more than a basic job description and a kick-ass idea.

No pressure. Right?!

This kind of "fly by the seat of your pants" stuff is what I thrive on. I have found myself in this type of role on more than one occasion. I think that makes me some kind of sado-maschocist, but whatever...I suppose I can live with that. I've been called worse.

The whole journey started about 5 weeks ago when I was relieved of my responsibilities at my last job. The company, of course, shall remain nameless and faceless and...just to be really safe...let's all pretend they are a figment of my imagination. Alrighty?

Anyway, the job was really a poor fit and if I had been smart I would have turned it down in the first place because I knew going in that I would be something akin to oil in their water. Hardcore IT headhunters don't become corporate yes (wo)men easily. In my case, my body vehemently rejected their attempts at assimilation. In gratitude to my body I have provided it with cookies....and an occasional brownie.

So, I find myself heading off on what we shall all, heretofore, refer to as Mr. Toad's Wild Ride. I can't wait to see where it goes! I have this feeling I am about to have some of the most challenging and exciting experiences of my career...I'll keep you posted...

Repost - Death by M&M

2010-03-24T19:10:00.004-06:00

This is a repost of a blog I put up back on February 11 -- I took it down because some ass goblin with no sense of humor took offense. I am reposting it because my life has changed in such a way that my blog is no longer under the watchful eyes of said ass goblin; well, they may be watching, but I no longer care. However, I made a few minor changes. I'm snarky...not evil...or stupid.

At the beginning of the year I was very excited because I got accepted into a weightloss program NOTE: this is a totally generic weightloss program that may or may not exist in real life and any persons mentioned with generic titles as being associated with the generic weightloss program that may or may not exist may or may not be real people. In order to get in you have to meet all these requirements and agree to meet with a health coach and personal trainer so many times a week and keep a food journal and stuff - they even provide all of it for you. I was STOKED! It was going to be AWESOME! I was going to get totally skinny in no time and have six-pack abs and a firm butt and NO JIGGLY PARTS!!! Whee!!!

I lasted less than a month.

It really had nothing to do with not being motivated. I was really, really, REALLY motivated. Honest! I was supremely motivated right up to the point that my health coach gave me a lecture because I ate 10 peanut M&Ms one day. Ten. TEN! ONE ZERO. Not 10 bags. Not 10 handfuls. TEN INDIVIDUAL PEANUT M&Ms. During the entire lecture I managed to smile serenly while imagining all kinds of horrible ways to torture and maim her. Preferably, using a peanut M&M.

I know it would be one of those really weird things to have an overweight health coach. I get that the whole point is for us fat people to get a skinny health coach to help us figure how to be skinny, too. However, there is something irritating about getting guidance from someone who has clearly never met a treadmill she didn't like and has no idea what it means to struggle with weightloss. I think I would rather have a health coach who used to be fat or is still maybe just a little bit fat. You know? Someone who can RELATE. Someone who has sat down on the sofa in front of the television and somehow managed to consume an entire package of raw cookie dough in one sitting. Instead? I got Miss Buns of Steel.

I got someone who told me that I should treat myself from time to time with non-fat frozen yogurt with fresh fruit topping. Someone who advised that when eating Mexican food I should decide how many chips with salsa I am going to eat and then keep a tiny corner of every chip in order to keep count. All I could think at that moment was, "Are you shitting me? You want me to be so freaking MILITANT that I have to count my chips? And, while we are on the topic, exactly when did nonfat yogurt become a TREAT? I'd rather binge and purge you psycho."

I quit the very next day. Since starting my Tae-Kwon-Do class back in the summer I have managed to lose about a pant size, a fair amount of body fat and much of my self-loathing. I have also enjoyed every minute of it. Granted, there are times (like today) that my muscles hurt so badly I want to hire someone to kick Master Edgington's ass...well, to TRY to kick Master Edgington's ass...but, most of the time it is great fun and unless I pass out in class from lack of food no one gives a flip what I did or didn't eat that day.

I think I'll stick to the TKD. Someday soon I will be both skinny AND capable of kicking butt. And when I am? I plan to find that militant health coach and kick her ass. While eating Peanut M&Ms.

I am so NOT a yuppy.

2010-02-25T19:48:00.006-07:00

I would have to say that for much of my life I had things pretty darn easy. I grew up having everything I needed and a good portion of the stuff I wanted. I got good grades in school with little effort, got into college, had wonderful friends and ended up in good jobs. I now have a great husband and a great kid and I still have wonderful friends and a good job.

I was not raised to be one of those people that is very motivated by money and belongings. I think that owning a house bigger than you need is ridiculous. I think spending $50k on a car is completely stupid. Fancy label clothes and fancy jewelry? What a waste! I have always felt like the point of life is to LIVE and all the fancy crap is nothing more than ego. People buy fancy stuff and huge houses for no reason other than to prove to everyone else how much money they have and how fabulous they think they are. There is no real value to it at all - it's just yuppy bullshit.

I suppose you are thinking that is just something us poor folk say so we feel better about being poor...WELL, my financial goals are pretty darn simple: DON'T THINK ABOUT MONEY. That's it. I want a roof and food and a little fun and I don't want to have to think about how to pay for it. If that makes me poor then so be it. I'd rather be poor than a jackass. I'm just sayin'.

What I have learned over the last six months or so is how much we, as a society, obsess over things that don't really matter at all. I am guilty of it. I worry about bills and house payments and cars. I worry about this project or that project at work. I worry about my weight and my hair and wrinkles. What have a gained from all that worrying? NOTHING. NADA. NOT A THING. Unless more wrinkles could be considered a gain. Oh, and let's not forget the gray hair.

Instead of all the worrying I should be kicking back and counting how lucky I am that my marriage is incredibly solid, my husband and my son are both healthy, I am healthy. I have a very caring and supportive group of friends in my life. Eric and I have jobs when so many others don't and we get to tuck our son into bed every night and hear him say "I love you."

Why do I tell you all this? Well...Eric and I just made some decisions that will change life as we know it. And you know what? I feel more relaxed and content than I have in months even though I know our decisions aren't the ones we would ever have expected to make.

I have watched friends lose their jobs and lose their homes. I have watched friends literally have their lives yanked right out from under their feet. Having just decided to turn my life upside down I have said NO to all the stress and fear and frustration so many of us have invited into our lives as we have become adults. I have just given the world a big giant "FUCK YOU." And you know what? IT FEELS GREAT!!!

My laziness DOES make me smarter!

2010-01-31T15:48:00.004-07:00

Drew, Eric and I have become completely obsessed with the TV show How It's Made on the Science channel. The last 48 hours or so they have been showing a marathon and I now know how they make everything from fur pelts to halogen headlights for cars. The upside of all this TV watching is I now feel slightly smarter for my effort. The downside of all this TV watching is I have accomplished absolutely nothing of value today. I'll muster some concern as soon as this next episode is over.

Brawl in McCall

2010-01-24T20:29:00.006-07:00

Every year the league Eric co-directs holds a hockey tournament in McCall, ID, a small resort town about two hours north of here. Eric was tasked with doing league director stuff and I got asked to be scorekeeper. We stayed in a rental house with the main league director, three refs and one of the players. I, as usual, was the only girl.

Here are a few of the things I learned during my weekend adventure at the Brawl in McCall:

1. In order to become "one of the guys" when you are the only wife in a house full of guys who really don't want there to be any wives/girlfriends/whatevers -- you have to blend. My chosen method of blending is to be as loud and obnoxious as they are and to drink as much, if not more, beer than they do. The lesson? When one consumes a half rack of Miller Light and only sleeps for two hours it results in waking up still drunk.

2. When you wake up still drunk from the night before the best cure is to begin drinking again sometime around 10:30 a.m. Since I was the scorekeeper this resulted in lots of entertaining commentary and beer thievery by players in the penalty box. The lesson? When surrounded by hockey players, keep one eye on your beer at all times.

3. A wild coyote will chase a drunk hockey player down a dark, snowy street until the hockey player yells obscenities at it.

4. When you are dead ass tired on the second night of a three night tournament and at 3:30 a.m. the rest of your housemates are still partying, and you have to get up in 2 1/2 hours -- do not, I REPEAT, DO NOT open your bedroom door to yell at them. I now have, forever seared into my brain, the sight of our league director in his underwear.

5. When you are yelling at your housemates at 3:30 in the morning because they are still partying, the most effective choice of words is as follows, "It is 3:30 in the morning. I have to get up at 6:00. SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Then slam the door.

6. When you yell "shut the fuck up" at your drunk housemates at 3:30 in the morning they will, in fact, repeat said phrase to you at every possible opportunity for every imaginable reason for the remainder of the weekend.

7. A Laborador Retriever can run faster than a Honda Accord on a snow packed street.

8. At 7:00 in the morning, on too little sleep, with a hang-over, the funniest thing you could possibly ever hear is, "Dude! You just got passed by a dog!"

9. When you are staying in a house filled with guys and you are standing in front of a window naked after a shower, it is important to always, ALWAYS, be sure the blinds on the window are not completely see-through.

10. An all-wheel drive Volvo will slide down a steep driveway, hit the side of a house and get stuck. Four drunk hockey players are not capable of pushing a stuck Volvo out of an ice rut. Four drunk hockey players will try, repeatedly, to push a stuck Volvo out of an ice rut.

And lastly,

11. Keeping score for 22 hockey games in 2 1/2 days in a freezing cold ice rink with too little sleep and too much beer results in a sinus infection.

I guess it's good I don't have implants.

2009-10-07T22:19:00.003-06:00

Over the summer I decided to start taking a Tae-kwon-do class. Drew has been going for over a year and has really been doing great. I spent an inordinate amount of time over the weeks watching his class and got to know his instructors pretty well. Seeing as how I was a regular in the gym I suppose that made me fair game for harrassment. SO...when I say I "decided" to take TKD what that really means is I finally caved in to the constant prodding and elected for physical torture as an alternative.

I am not what one would call "in shape." I am A shape, but one normally found in beer brewing companies and not so much in nature. A long, long time ago in what I am beginning to suspect was, in fact, a galaxy far, far away I was a dancer and was in pretty darn good shape. Now I find myself winded from running 5 measly laps around the inside of the gym. Not the big fancy gym you are probably thinking...NO...think closer to 3-car garage outfitted for no purpose other than to make you cry.

Anyway, these classes turned out to be the Most. Awesome. Thing. Ever. and I can't even begin to say thank you to Matt and Shirley quite enough to fully express my gratefulness for having had them browbeat me into finally agreeing to regular beatings and ritualistic humblings. Actually, I am not sure thank you is quite the sentiment I was hoping to express, but it'll do.

So tonight in class after the TKD version of waterboarding, otherwise known as Burpees, we got to spar. I'm not very good with sparring. The only thing I have going for me is really long legs with which, in theory, I can kick my sparring partner from about 3-feet away. However, in my focused attempts to kick them I tend to forget to consider what they might be attempting to do to me. That results in my getting my ass kicked.

Tonight I got punched in the stomach. I got punched repeatedly in the face. AND...yes...that's right...I got punched in the boob.

The BOOB people. And yet...I shall return. And probably get punched in the boob again.

Frankie makes it sound so easy.

2009-09-30T08:05:00.004-06:00

This time last year I signed up for one of those auto subscription things to a business called Massage Envy. Basically, they take a set amount of money automatically every month and in return, I get a massage. Seemed like a fabulous deal for me - I mean, a massage? Every month? With no guilt? It was the Best! Idea! Ever!

Honestly? Those massages really feel like they are free because I don't have to pay for them when I go in. Some anonymous benefactor is covering the cost. I just have to tip. WIN! Well, in a little place called "Jayna's Delusions" they are paid for by an anonymous benefactor. In reality, I am the anonymous benefactor.

This past Monday I had my massage scheduled for 8:00. My plan: I would work all day, go to my Tae-kwon-do class and then head on over for a lovely massage. I would relax and enjoy and then go home, fall into bed and sleep like a baby for at least 8 hours awaking refreshed and happy and, with luck, richer and thinner. Yeah. Nice plan. Poor execution.

My inner monologue while on the massage table sounded something like this:

Oohhh...this table is so nice and warm. I am going to LOVE this massage. This is going to be so relaxing. I am going to clear my mind. Think about nothing. Clear my mind. Think about nothing but the soothing music. Music. Music. I love music. I need to get on iTunes and download some new stuff for my phone. I wonder if I should get a new phone. Eric really wants the new 3G and it would be nice to get it for Christmas. Ugh. Christmas. I need to finish Christmas shopping. I need to go shopping period. I really need boots for work and more pants. I mean, I only have a couple of pairs that even really look good anymore and I should get some that look better and...oh wait. Clear my mind. Clear. Think about nothing. Think about static on a tv. Nothing to see. Nothing there. Just static on the tv. I really liked that episode of Amazing Race on Sunday. I hope the team with the lawyer guy lose soon. He's an ass. He obviously has issues because he is all Mr. Workout with these huge muscles and he is so mean to his girlfriend. I hate guys like that. They think it is ok to treat everyone, especially women, like crap just because they are all buff and stuff. Thing is he isn't even good-looking! He is just an idiot! He should really get therapy. Speaking of therapy. I should get physical therapy on my knees. It is really driving me crazy how they hurt all the time and I am just sick of constantly being virtually crippled and...ah, shit. RELAX! STOP THINKING! SHEESH! Clear your mind. Relax. Empty head. Think nothing. Just empty your head. Deep breaths. Deeps breaths. In. Out. In. Out. Relax. Relax. Relax. Relax. Don't do it. When you want to go to it. Relax. Don't do it. When you want to come. ARGH! Stop it! What is wrong with you woman?! Why can't you just empty your freakin' mind like normal people. Holy crap! Clearly? You are insane! Ok...ok...I AM going to clear my mind. I can do this. I can. Clear my mind. Nothing to see here. Just my empty mind. Oh, wait. She is getting ready to work on the back of my thighs. I hate this part. I can just see the cellulite puckering up in all is cottage cheesy glory and this is really embarrassing. It's just hanging out there for the whole world to see. Good thing it's dim in here. Too bad I can't walk around in flattering lighting all the time. Wouldn't that be great? Also? I think it would be awesome to have a movie soundtrack in your head. That way, you would always know what was going to happen. You could really stay out of trouble just by listening to the ominous music that always plays when the psycho killer is waiting in the next room and it would make dating so much easier. Well, I mean, if I were single. Man, I am glad I am not single. Eric is so great. I really got lucky with him. I mean, met at a bar and all that jazz. It usually doesn't work out that way and it was just like we met and it was perfect and here we are 8 years later with a son and...AGAIN with the thinking! Just take deep breaths. Really?! Obsess much? Just clear your head you freaking loser! It can't be THAT hard! All you have to do is stop with the thinking...

...and so it went. For an hour and a half. An hour and a half during which I did not clear my mind for one single second. I did; however, mentally complete my Christmas shopping list, design the perfect Halloween costume if only I were 25 pounds thinner, determine exactly how many days I would have to starve myself in order to lose said 25 pounds before the Halloween party, calculate the emergency room costs for each visit made after fainting in Tae-kwon-do class after not eating on starvation days and planned a trip to Vegas during which I would hit a jackpot allowing me to be a lady of leisure and hire a personal trainer.

I think I need to work on that whole relaxation thing. Apparantly? I am not very good at it.

The kid sounds just like me -- I don't think I'm allowed to complain

2009-09-15T21:09:00.005-06:00

There are times I love to be a parent and sometimes I even think I want another little rugrat. Eric and I have talked about adopting. We have talked about getting pregnant. We have discussed the upside. We've lamented the downside. At times we have even been known to lean just a bit towards actually going through with it.

Just when we think we are ready to take the leap Drew speaks. The kid has got a MOUTH on him.

Granted, he got MY mouth so it is hard to figure out the best way to deal with it. We have tried time-out. We have tried talking to him about it. So far nothing we have tried has worked. I am starting to contemplate duct tape.

I just wonder how some people do it. I know there are a lot of Mom's who stay at home with their kids and they absolutely love it. Or, at least, they SAY they love it. I have my doubts. I am starting to think it is all a conspiracy. All I know is that most days I am more than happy to go to work because if I have to hear one more smart mouth comment or witness one more tantrum I am seriously going to sell Drew to a gypsy family. I am sure I'd get enough to at least move someplace they can't find me once they realize what they bought and try to return him.

Honestly, I do love Drew and I wouldn't really sell him or trade him or even return to the time before him. He is the greatest thing I have ever done...I just wish I would have made him with less mouth.

*sigh*

Parenting. Ain't it great?!

For your entertainment -- here is Drew at tae-kwon-do preparing to unleash some pent up rage. Well...as much rage as your average, spoiled rotten six-year old can have.

And here are a couple more pics just because...

Irony

2009-09-01T21:31:00.005-06:00

Driving home today I was slapped in the face by the full meaning of irony. And you know what? It felt pretty much the same as irritation. Go figure.

I have a ridiculous commute given that I live in Idaho. It seems that everyone in the area is trying to drive the same direction at the same time on the same day. We do have an interstate here -- I know! Right?! -- and it does get filled with cars in the morning and in the afternoon. It is sort of like rush hour in most places only instead of tall buildings you get fields. Fields filled with vegetables of one kind or another. Or cows. Or sometimes both. Unfortunately, I live in a location where driving to and from work can take me upwards of 45 minutes when the same drive takes 15 minutes on a Saturday morning. Is that the worse commute ever? No. Is it freakin' ridiculous for freakin' Idaho? Ummm, YEAH.

I tend to avoid the interstate because that is where most of the morons drive. Morons = Californians. Instead, I drive the back roads. While I get to happily avoid the morons I instead have to deal with the idiots. Idiots = farmers in pick-up trucks. It is akin to trading Tweedledee for Tweedledum. It isn't really an upgrade, but it helps you pretend you aren't hanging out with crazy.

There was a 5 car accident on the interstate during afternoon rush hour so a lot of traffic diverted to the same side roads I normally drive on. Yes. I know they aren't technically MY roads, but I have grown accustomed to driving sans morons and am, apparently, quite territorial.

I got stuck behind a very long line of cars waiting at a four-way stop sign and spent a few moments taking in the scenery. What I noticed was, in fact, the definition of irony.

To my right - corn field. Tall, tall rows of corn and if I hadn't been so irritated by the traffic I might have actually been a bit afraid that some crazed child name Ezekiel or Malachai or Amos would come running out with a scythe and try to kill me.

To my left - muddy pasture with cows. And horses. And two men riding horses. Horses that were moving much, much faster than I was. And I was in a car. With an engine. That was running.

In front of me - large pick-up truck, dead stopped in traffic, during rush hour, with windows rolled down in 90-something heat and the vanity plate read ESCAPN.

If that ain't irony folks. I don't know what is.

One little plague joke and this is what I get.

2009-07-23T18:26:00.003-06:00

A few days ago Eric and I were talking to a friends of ours about how I got my nickname and I made a joke about being a purveyor of the plague. Flash forward to yesterday and I have some kind of wicked infection that may actually be the plague. Ok - so that is a bit melodramatic - but, I did see something on Discovery channel last night stating that doctors actually diagnose about 3,000 cases of the plague each year. THAT'S comforting, right?!

Anyway, the nickname...When Eric and I met he was living in a house with a couple of guys and they all pretty much worked from home. I was the only person that came and went with any regularity and I was living in a house with friends that had small kids. It seemed like the three guys were constantly getting sick even though I never did. After the second or third time one of them got a cold after not having left the house for an embarrassing amount of time I got fingered as the carrier monkey. It didn't take long before carrier monkey became Carrier Monkey and then just Monkey. To this day, I am Monkey as far as Eric and his friends are concerned. I suppose it could be worse...we currently have friends with the following nicknames: Moose, Shack and Sperm. I'll take Monkey, thanks.

My current ailment is an infection in my face. The beginning of this week I woke up and my lower molars on the right side were hurting. I thought I was probably clenching my teeth in my sleep, so I took some Advil and went about my day. The next day it was the same thing again - back molar hurt, gums swollen - so more Advil and it went away. Wednesday I woke up and not only did my teeth hurt and my gums were swollen, but my jaw line hurt and my lymph nodes on that side were swollen. At first I didn't think much of it, but by mid-afternoon I was really starting to hurt. My jaw hurt and my ear was hurting. I felt feverish and decided I had better go see the doctor because I might actually be dying. Slowly. With whining.

I want to interject at this point with a strongly worded blog paragraph about how ridiculous doctor offices are. I called at 3:30 to see if they could fit me in. "Sure. Can you be here at 4?" said the somewhat surly receptionist. I replied that I normally leave work on Wednesday at 4:15 and it would be ok to come over at that time to avoid having to take off work. "No," she adamantly replied. "The doctor is only available at 4 so you have to be here right at 4." Fine. I'll be there at 4 and I'll even be nice about it even though you are clearly incapable of anything by disdain for people so you should really work in fast food.

I go explain to my boss and leave in time to be there at 4. I showed up at 3:59 according to the clock on my phone. FORTY MINUTES LATER I finally see the doctor. So I ask: If it was so frickity-fracken important to be there at 4 precisely, then why didn't the doctor see me at 4? Really? What? They needed someone to hold down that horribly uncomfortable chair in the exam room? Or did they need someone to review the incredibly outdated magazine collection for quality?

Seriously? Where else can you go and be left waiting for that long and let them get away with it? We should all really stage a coup and put a stop to it...taking advantage of miserable sick people like that...they should be ashamed!

BAH...

Today finds me miserable and tired and grumpy. I have sat in this stinkin' recliner all day. ALL DAY. I did get up and load the dishwasher at one point, but that is it. The doctor instructed me to stay home today and when I argued she gave me the best one-liner EVER...

"You have an infection. In. Your. Head."

Kind of hard to argue with her at that point. I guess infections in your head can get bad fast so you are supposed to be really good about rest and lots of fluids.

So I sit. I drink. I complain.

Such is the life.

I didn't expect the Animal Kingdom.

2009-07-12T20:18:00.006-06:00

What a weekend! It was slightly productive and incredibly lazy. I channeled all my powers of procrastination and successfully avoided doing all kinds of things I should have done. Whee!!

On Saturday we weren't too lazy. We tackled some yard work BEFORE sitting in front of the television for hours on end. Oh, and I learned a valuable lesson about yard work.

The last couple of months we have been working our tails off to get our yard in order. We now have a front yard that looks spectacular. However, we have a backyard that looks like we selected "overgrown and dead" as our landscape theme.

So, after a couple of hours of front yard maintenance we decided to work on the back. This is where the lesson learning part comes in:

Don't let your backyard weeds grow to epic proportions because you shall have unexpected interaction with wildlife.

Namely, mice and snakes.

I reached down and pulled a rather large weed next to the house and a field mouse jumped out at me. I am not sure who was more startled. All I know is my scream was louder. We found its home and decided to leave it alone. It was actually kind of a cute mouse.

Not 10 minutes later I pulled another large weed around the corner from the mouse house and a snake jumped out. The snake wasn't as cute as the mouse. Eric caught it and put it through the fence into the backyard of a neighboring house. I am trying to figure out if that is good karma or bad karma. Either way, I am certain it is only a matter of time before we see the snake again.

That was pretty much the end of my willingness to pull weeds. I was afraid I was going to find Jimmy Hoffa's body. The rest of the weekend has been spent sitting on my butt watching television. I like watching television. There are fewer creatures jumping out at me.

Unless you count Drew, of course.

I am tired; therefore, I rant. Enjoy.

2009-07-01T08:28:00.014-06:00

In yet another demonstration of my poor decision-making abilities, I stayed up way too late last night. I wish I could say that I stayed up saving the world from foriegn attack like a middle-aged, over-weight superhero, but alas, I wasn't. No. I actually stayed up until after 1:00 a.m. watching Mighty Ducks 3.

Yes. That is correct. Mighty Ducks 3. It was awful -- and I. Couldn't. Stop. Watching. The best part? Joshua Jackson, aka Pacey, with the world's most horrific haircut and no acting skill. Eric and I laid in bed making fun of plot holes, bad acting, poor hockey form, the unbelievability of the entire premise of the film and predicting what would happen next. Then at the end, Joshua Jackson's character and Emilio Estevez's character high-fived and fireworks came out of their hands. Seriously, right?! I couldn't make shit up that has more comedy fodder than this!

Comedy fodder aside. Now I am tired. And a little grumpy. It doesn't help that I have had to listen to the Canadian National Anthem about 25 times in the last hour and a half. On repeat. At full volume. I went on a fruitless search for something long enough to gouge my eardrums out, but have now resorted to plotting ways to irreparably damage my cube neighbor's speakers. Or kill him. All I need is a paperclip, chewed bubble gum and a toothpick and I could turn it into a bomb set to explode the next time the volume crosses into "the office across the hall really, really likes this song and wants to hear it" territory. I could do it, too. I learned it watching MacGyver.

Actually, I have to make a disclaimer here that I would not, in fact, blow up my cube neighbor. I actually like him quite a bit. It's his music I hate. In the time it has taken me to type this the music has switched from the Canadian National Anthem to some folksy, country-type music. I never thought I would say this, but I actually miss the anthem. It didn't engage my gag-reflex quite so much.

**SIGH**

To keep the grumpy rant going I must comment on drivers. I know. I know. AGAIN? You ask. Yes. Again. I can post whatever I like, mister, and you are darn well going to like it.

I just don't understand why people don't drive the speed limit. I mean, I get the fact that a large portion of the population in this part of the state is concerned about deportation, but I've said it once and I'll say it a million more times, THEY DON'T DEPORT YOU FOR DRIVING THE SPEED LIMIT! It's that whole "illegal alien" thing they get a teensy bit miffed about! The kicker is that even those people who don't need to worry about the pesky INS agents can't seem to drive the speed limit. Everyone around here drives 5 miles under the speed limit. On a sunny day. In the summer. In front of me. Really? Snow. Ice. Rain. Those things warrant slow driving. You being an idiot? No excuse.

Not only that, but they can't even drive a consistent number of miles under. Speed up. Slow down. Speed up. It's like one giant idiot parade. Only with no mini-cars or pageant queens. I have visions of buying one of those Mad Max style cars with the giant bumper on the front and just pushing the morons out of the way. Either that or I could install a giant boxing glove that punches them each time I hit the horn. Talk about a stress reliever.

Hmmmm...what to talk about...

OH! I just thought of something awesome! Drew has his very first loose tooth! Teeth, actually. The two bottom front are both loose and it is very exciting, but also a little sad. I don't think there is a parent out there who doesn't wake up one day and wonder who the large child is that suddenly replaced their infant. It just all goes by so fast.

Eric and I are still having the baby debate. At one point I thought we had it all settled and were going to go for it. However, we have changed our minds. I know! Shocker!! I just don't know if I want to go through it all again. I have learned to appreciate having clothes without vomit on the shoulders and I really, really like not living in a house that always smells like baby poop no matter how much you clean and spray air freshener. More than anything else, I like sleeping through the night -- an activity you don't fully appreciate until you have an infant in the house.

I like the fact that Drew is almost completely self-sufficient yet still cuddly. I am really enjoying this time in our lives and the relationship we have with Drew. He is such a cool kid and we are this really cool little unit. I don't want to ruin it.

Aren't life decisions FUN?!!!

Just a picture or two.

2009-06-15T22:37:00.008-06:00

Look, Ma! I birthday post with no whining about wrinkles or being OLD!! Instead I am going to show you some pictures from Saturday night's birthday party. It was a birthday for me, Jeff and Misti. We swooped into Terry's State Street Saloon for a night of beer and karaoke.

We sang, we drank, we sang and drank some more. The best part? I remember most of it! Whee!!!

This is seriously an unattractive picture of me, but it is also a perfect representation. I am generally up to no good. As shown by this snapshot.

Somehow I managed to marry this amazing man. I am not quite sure how I got him to love me, but he loves me. And I am the luckiest woman in the world because of it.

I love my Julie! Beautiful, smart, funny, caring...oh, wait. Maybe I hate her?! Oh...and isn't Jeff in the background seriously awesome?! Best. Picture. Ever.

Eric with the marvelous Kelly.

Misti, Kelly and me.

Me and Misti. Seriously? I. Have. No. Idea. Even Lance is looking for help. Or, an escape route.

Me. Bah.

Jeff and Julie. And me. Grabbing Julie's boob apparently.

It's me and Kelly.

Me and Dave. Gotta love The Dave!

It was seriously an awesome party! You should have been there!

It's my birthday. I can babble if I want to.

2009-06-08T23:48:00.004-06:00

My birthday is on Wednesday and this year I am actually looking forward to it. I think I might be getting to the age where I am so damn glad I get to have another one that I don't really give a rat's ass what number it is. Most of the time I can't even tell you how old I am anyway.

My present from Eric was a kitten. Here is a recreation of how the conversation went:

ME: I want a kitten for my birthday.
ERIC: Why do you want another cat. We don't need another cat.
ME: Needing a cat and wanting a cat are two entirely different things.
ERIC: What if I don't want another cat.
ME: Honey. I love you and I hate to state the obvious, but you know you are going to lose this argument. SO...we can continue to debate this and you can posture and flex your muscles while I argue and/or pout until you cave in and say yes. OR...in the interest of time, we can skip to the part where you give in.
ERIC: Hmph...
...
...
...
Are you going to the Humane Society today or Saturday?

I went on Saturday. I wanted to be able to be home with the new family member over the weekend rather than getting it on my actual birthday and immediately leaving it to navigate this haven for insanity all alone. We are still working on a name. We tried out a few, but nothing seems to work. Right now I am thinking about Piscin (pish-keen) which is the Irish Gaelic word for cat. I was also considering something that would reflect that fact that he beat the dog into submission in about 4 seconds flat. Feel free to offer up suggestions. It's a boy cat, by the way.

Anyway, this whole birthday thing has me thinking about what I have done in the last year. Because I love to torture my lovely readers with my endless drivel I thought I would share my list.

I got a little older, I got a little fatter.
I got a little smarter and then killed off more than my fair share of brain cells thru alcohol comsumption. In the end I think it averages out.
I lost my Aunt, I lost my cat and I lost my job.
I found a new job that I really love and feel challenged by every day.
I got my PHR certification.
I sent my son off to kindergarten and then watched him graduate.
I made some great new friends and lost a couple of not so great friends.
I fell in love with my husband 365 times.
I laughed and I cried.
I realized, one more time, that life is a wonderful gift and no matter what happens I am a very, very lucky girl.

Now...without further adieu...less sap, more pictures.

Porky McGorgealot...or was it Fatty McButterpants?

2009-05-31T18:01:00.003-06:00

Anyone who has known me for more than...oh...5 minutes is aware that I have a teeny-tiny, eensy, little self-esteem issue. Overall I am not too hard on myself, but I am really unhappy and self-conscious about my weight. WHAT?! A girl? Unhappy with her weight?! Shock!

I think the reason I am so self-conscious about my weight is because I am kind of a mean person and when I see other fat people eating stuff they shouldn't be eating I get all snarky about it. You know the fat people I am talking about. That 450-lb guy driving down the freeway eating a King Size Snickers bar and drinking a 64-oz Coke while wearing a Geo Metro that is dragging the left fender on the asphalt and struggling to hit 50 miles per hour. We've all seen that guy. Or girl. Gender is fully interchangeable in this scenario. In fact, that guy might as well be a girl because you know he hasn't laid eyes on his package in so long it could very well have moved to Brazil to check out Carnival and the sandy, white beaches.

See? SNARK. Don't even lie though - I know you laughed.

Anyway, I own a mirror and do, in fact, look in it from time to time. I also buy my own clothes so I am fully aware that my fat ass really shouldn't be making fun of anyone. I was the girl that was 6 ft tall and 125 lbs with a six-pack and could eat an entire large pizza without batting an eye. I was the one who would never have a weight problem so I got really good at making snide comments about those people who did.

Little tip? Yes. Even skinny bitches can have a weight problem. Especially if you think you will always be able to eat an entire large pizza and don't learn to appreciate fish and vegetables. Keep eating the pizza and you too shall have an ass with its own zip code. It's karma.

So, because I am a snarky skinny bitch living in this lumpy, middle-aged body I find it impossible to be seen eating in my car. I don't want someone to be in their car watching me eating a donut on the way to work and think, "Sheesh. That fat girl really should be eating a banana." I don't go through fast food drive thrus because someone is going to see me pulling out and go, "She really SHOULD NOT be eating there. Fatty needs a head of lettuce and a colon cleanse."

You know how Wii came out with Wii Fit? I thought I was so cool cause I got a Wii Fit and I was going to be all trim and fit in no time because the Wii Fit is my friend and it loves me. Well, I got on my Wii Fit and did the little assessment where it tells you how much you weigh and what your Wii Fit age is and all that. You know what that little fucker did? It told me I am OBESE and OLD. And then? It made my Mii fat. The Mii that I use when I bowl or play golf or anything else. I can't even play a game and escape the fat. IT FOLLOWS ME. Sort of like how my big ole ass follows me. The Wii Fit? Not my friend. It is an evil beast that finds it necessary to remind me AT ALL TIMES that You. Are. Fat.

I know. I know. I am being a little mean to myself, but really? I'm not. I am being realistic. There are some things you just can't ignore. My arms have wings. WINGS. I could leap from a tree like one of those little flying squirrels and be perfectly safe. My butt has gotten so big I could use it as a shelf and more comfortably carry around...well...anything. It's horrifying. It's embarrassing. It's also really terrible that I am sharing this with all of you, but maybe by sharing I will be compelled to get up from the couch and do something about it. Obviously, owning a mirror hasn't been enough of a deterrent to staying in my current state of fattiness.

I have started working on improving things though. In an effort to be slightly less pitiful I am walking at work with my co-workers. We walk most days for a mile and a half at a very brisk pace. My stamina has improved over the last few months. I can now keep up with the group and carry on a conversation that includes actual words rather than just panting. Next step? Get back on the Wii and try to work my way to a thinner Mii. Get it? Mii? Me? HA!

I'll keep you posted on progress. But now, Fatty McButterpants is going to watch Stanley Cup hockey. Yea Penguins!

Oh...and anyone who makes comments like, "You should love yourself just like you are" or "Don't be so hard on yourself" or "You aren't fat" is going to get a big ole slap upside the head with my flying squirrel wing. I make fun of my weight because it helps encourage me to do something about it. Sick? Yes. Effective? Yes. So keep your Stuart Smalley Daily Affirmation to yourself.

I keep telling myself it could be worse

2009-05-27T21:04:00.004-06:00

Do you ever wonder if maybe you ticked off someone powerful in a former life and are now paying the price for it? Only, the price isn't that bad things happen to you. The price is that nothing happens to you?

My life has always been one that is just interesting enough to avoid being boring, but not quite interesting enough to be interesting to anyone that isn't me. I, of course, find my life interesting. Well, interesting enough that I'd like to keep it for just a wee bit longer, thanks.

I just wonder sometimes when something is going to HAPPEN to me. Then I immediately give myself a mental head slap because I should probably specify what something is.

**sigh**

I guess, at the root of it all, I feel like I am being overtaken by the crazy. I have been weaning myself off my "quit being so crazy, Crazy" medication over the last month or so and I had about two weeks of happiness and then...well...THIS happened. My moody, bitchy, you all suck and I hate you side has reared its ugly head. At this point I am either having the world's worst case of PMS or I should consider upping the dosage. I'll keep you posted on that.

Oh yeah, the one interesting thing that has happened in the last few weeks? My poor Eric has shingles. SHINGLES, PEOPLE! I didn't know much about them until today, but what I have learned over the course of much googling is that shingles? They hurt. A. Lot. I suppose I could have just asked Eric what shingles are like, but...well, you know...digital age and all that. Gotta do the google.

The shingly one is currently stretched out on the couch trying to avoid having anything touch his abdomen because apparently? Everything hurts. AIR hurts. Breathing hurts. Being awake and devoid of pharmaceutical intervention hurts.

So, now I must go provide comfort and lots of sympathy to Darth Shingle. So, to keep you entertained, here are a couple of pictures.

This is my really awesome cat, Scooby-Doo.

This is my friend, Issa, her precious little girl, Addyson, and in the background is Issa's husband, Adam.

Here is my gorgeous husband at his birthday party. His 40th birthday party. A birthday that, clearly, leads directly to shingles.

My gorgeous husband playing hockey.

And last, but certainly not least entertaining...here is my husband in the penalty box.

I suck.

2009-05-18T23:58:00.006-06:00

I am starting to wonder if I need to just give up on the blog. I just can't think of anything to talk about. I log in. I stare. I type a few words. I delete a few words. I stare. I log out. It is truly irritating. I feel like there is all this stuff rolling around in my head, but I can't seem to get any of it to turn into actual writing.

But...because I am a glutton for punishment I will see if I can come up with something just to try and get back in the swing of things...

1. Drew is almost out of school for the year and it is freaking me out that he is going to be in 1st grade next year. How does that happen? I mean, just yesterday he was a newborn and 5 minutes ago he started walking. Now, all of a sudden, he is this little man that can act out every scene from Star Wars and play every major role with gusto. And he's GOOD at it!! I just hope he doesn't suddenly ask for that fake Princess Leia bun-hair or a Wookie suit.

2. Today is Eric's 40th birthday and he is feeling old. I keep telling him he is nuts because he certainly isn't old and he looks younger than me when, in fact, he is older than me. Everytime we go out I am convinced everyone thinks I am a freaking cougar. It's a wee bit disturbing and I constantly feel compelled to pull out my ID and wave it in people's faces and scream "Ah-Ha! See! See! I'm younger! YUNG-GER! Sucka!"

3. I was informed, in the most trailer trash way imaginable, that I am the worst friend ever. I mean, EVER. As in, "would rather go to the zoo with the anti-Christ than ever speak to you again" worst friend ever. Oddly, I am not entirely sure how I earned the distinction. I could see being told that I am not the best at phone calls/emails/etc and that maybe my inattentiveness has led to the other party determining that I am not worth time/energy/effort/etc. BUT, I certainly didn't think I had slipped into "worse than the anti-Christ" territory. Maybe I need a chart or graph or something in order to keep track.

4. I am convinced I have gone completely insane, lost all ability to say anything of interest and must shut up immediately. If anyone has suggestions on how to break through the writer's block I have had for the last few months that would be great.

Until then...I'll keep trying. Maybe the more I write the more I'll write. Ugh.

This sucks.

I really need to be more interesting.

2009-04-26T12:35:00.004-06:00

Do you ever get completely and totally bored with yourself? I have. Case in point -- I have been so completely bored with anything I could say on this blog that I abandoned it altogether. I have had guilt. I have sat here many times, watching t.v. or reading a book, and thought, "Hmmm...I should really log in and put something new on my blog." And then I realize I have absolutely no desire to write so I shrug it off and go on with the reading/t.v. watching. I haven't even logged in and TRIED to write something. Yeah. I know. I should feel guilty.

Over the last month I have been coming home from work totally exhausted. As a recruiter for a large employer in the area I get a front row seat to the devastation left by the current recession. I get the hundreds of applications for each job posted. I get the hate email when I have to decline them. I get the constant phone calls from candidates and staffing agencies. It really starts to get to you after a while. I feel guilty for having a job. I feel guilty that Eric has a job. I feel guilty that my mortgage is paid. I want to call every applicant and every agency and tell them that I do understand the frustration and the panic. I want to tell them to hang in there and stay positive, but it feels like so much bullshit because maybe it won't be alright.

**sigh**

On a brighter note, there have been some good things going on at home. Ninja Drew tested for his green belt and passed with flying colors. One of the tasks he had was to break a board with a front kick. I tell you what - that kid is one dedicated little turkey. He kept at it and kept at it. He didn't get upset or discouraged that he didn't break it on the first, or second or tenth kick. He repositioned and kept at it until it snapped. In a display of '80s butt rocker awesomeness the second that board snapped he immediately dropped his chin to his chest and threw both hands up in the hair with a double "rock on." The whole place erupted into applause and I kicked myself for not bringing my camera. I think Eric, the source of Drew's love of '80s hair metal, shed a tear.

OH...file this one under the FACEPALM category:

Eric calls DirecTV to get upgraded to the high definition receiver. We have had their service for over 3 years and when this house was built they wired it in to the house, along with everything else, to a central media panel. It is nice and neat and the only place the cables show is where they exit the top corner of the outer wall loop over the gutter and into the satellite. When we called to upgrade we thought it would be simple. Replace one satellite with another, hook up a different receiver and hallelujah we have high def.

Not so much.

The two installers arrive about 5 hours late (I of course spend all day unable to leave the house because they hadn't shown up yet) and proceed to explain how DirecTV no longer allows them to use copper clad wire like they used to and they will have to replace it all with solid copper. Oh yeah...and they can't pull out the old wire and pull through the new wire because the wire is tacked down inside and it won't pull out. I must interject at this point and ask...If they weren't actually HERE when the house was built then how the hell do they know for a fact that the wire is tacked down? Maybe the previous person was as fucking lazy as they are and didn't tack it down because that would have taken an extra 3.2 minutes. I'm just askin'.

Anyway, they continue to explain that they will have to run FIVE BLACK WIRES in THREE DIFFERENT DIRECTIONS all around the side of my CREAM COLORED HOUSE in order to hook up this receiver. They want to drill holes through my vinyl siding and through the wall in order to get the wires inside even though THERE ARE ALREADY HOLES where the wire comes out of the wall and attaches to the current satellite. Apparently they can't use those holes. They also can't use the attic crawl space to drop the wire in. Granted, I don't know anything about satellite or pulling cable or anything, but this just seems completely idiotic.

I sent them away. Eric wasn't here and there was NO WAY I was letting them drill holes in the house without him to supervise. I'm not stupid - I wasn't taking THAT bullet.

They are coming back next weekend. I'll keep you posted.

If I find candy mountain will I still be old?

2009-03-29T20:55:00.005-06:00

I keep logging in to write a new blog and I haven't managed to write anything that is even remotely interesting. It is pure drivel. Drivel that I wouldn't even read and I'll read just about anything. I seriously feel like Charlie the unicorn in candy mountain only instead of my kidney they took my brain. The last few days I have seriously been wandering across the countryside looking for the magical leopleuradon who will show me the way.

I am sure that right about now the only person who has a clue what the hell I am talking about is Issa and I would bet money she is laughing her ass off. If I mention a Unicornasaurus Rex it might just push her over the edge and into hysterics!

I think there is just way too much rolling around in my head and it is sort of stressing me out. Yes. I realize I just opened the door for all kinds of airhead comments, but I really do believe I have gone temporarily vapid. I suddenly have a strong desire to bleach my hair and say, "like, oh my gawd" at the beginning of every sentence.

A couple of weeks ago my aunt died of pancreatic cancer. I flew home last Friday and spent the weekend at my Dad's house and driving all over Hell's half-acre visiting people and going to funeral related activities. It was an absolutely exhausting weekend preceded by a long and round-about series of flights and followed by a slightly less long and round-about series of flights. I then returned to work after being gone for two days and by the end of this last week I was further behind than when I started.

This weekend was pretty darn good though. On Friday I went out for dinner and drinks with a good friend of mine. It was nice to just sit and talk for a while. After dinner we roamed around Barnes & Noble and by 10 p.m. I was headed for home. You know...there was a time when a night out with the girls meant getting a cab, going dancing, drinking too much, getting a cab home and pouring myself into bed sometime around 3 a.m. I am not sure when I got old, but it is becoming very clear in more ways than just aching knees and grey hair.

On Saturday night Eric and I went out to celebrate our 7-year anniversary. We went to this wonderful little restaurant called Cafe Viciano. Great food, great wine and great service. The restaurant is very small and cozy and we had a really good time. We had planned to go out and go dancing or have some after dinner drinks, but the old struck again and we just went home. Today was breakfast out and Eric had a hockey game. A fitting way to spend the day of our anniversary -- food and hockey!

Now, however, the old has reared its wrinkled head and I must stop blabbing and go to bed. Maybe with some extra sleep I can fend off the vapid and have something more interesting to talk about in a day or two.

Maybe I'll find candy mountain...it's a place of sweets and joy and joyness. That'll be interesting.

I swear I'm not dead

2009-03-24T22:47:00.002-06:00

I know people are wondering if I am dead. I am in fact, NOT dead. I have just been temporarily insane with work and life and travel and funerals. Many stories to come...I just need to catch up on some sleep first.

The Black Plague Redux; with beer.

2009-03-10T20:27:00.005-06:00

I don't know what kind of freaking uber-virus is going around, but everyone is sick lately. I got a cold right before Christmas and I just managed to get rid of it last week. Drew and I passed it back and forth over a few weeks. Then I got strep throat and after infecting my entire office I went to the doctor for much needed antibiotics. Then I got a sinus infection and Drew got bronchitis.

Through all of this Eric stayed healthy and happy. Bastard.

Well, I suppose it was good for me because he played nurse maid to my psycho sicky side. I am not a good sick person. I expect you to wait on me hand and foot. I moan and groan and swear we should immediately write my eulogy. I take copious amounts of cold medicine and have been known to get drunk as a skunk just so I'll pass out and get some sleep.

Oh, let me tell you...Eric LOVES me when I am congested AND passed out drunk. Says he would sleep like a baby if only he was in a soundproof room. In China. With ear plugs. And an icepick to gouge out his eardrums.

The real bonus to being married to someone who is a total invalid when sick? The fact that when YOU are sick? I'll tell you to take your sick ass to the guest room because I just managed to get well and I am certainly not going to let you infect me all over again you selfish ass. OK...so maybe it's not quite that harsh, but I am certainly not the nurturing type. The fact that I am generally the carrier monkey? Entirely beside the point.

Anyway, I am finally well and Eric is now sick. I made him peppermint tea and brought him Advil. See? I care. I just prefer to do it from a long, long way away from your germs. Don't judge.

Oh...this past Saturday we went out on the town with Jeff and Julie. We never fail to have a complete blast hanging out with those two. We should do it more often. Hint. Hint Hint. HINT. :-) Here are some pictures:

This is me and Julie. We look so demure, don't we? You really can't tell we are getting ready to go and drink way too much beer at a dive bar while playing shuffleboard and being accosted by some crazed drunken barfly who wouldn't leave the restroom so we could pee.

Here is a picture of me. I am doing that whole, "I am really shy so I am hiding behind my hair, but really I know you like me so I am going to smile and show my dimples" thing. What? Was I suddenly 21 all over again? Maybe...I mean...I WAS in a dive bar. It tends to bring back memories.

Here is Julie with my gorgeous husband. I have no clue what was so funny. This was right around the time the Ultimate Shuffleboard Deathcage Match started. I don't know who actually won, but Julie seemed to be kicking everybody's butt.

Last but not least, here is me with Julie's fantabulous husband, Jeff. We have the same birthday. I think that makes us twins. All I know is we have the same sense of humor and he once told me I am a genius. Yeah...you'd like him, too. He rocks.

From the mouths of babes.

2009-02-28T16:58:00.003-07:00

Last night Eric and I let Drew stay up late so he could watch Star Wars the Clone Wars when it came on Cartoon Network. It doesn't come on until 10, but since it is a Friday night we figure "what the heck." Right? At least that means he'll sleep a little later on Saturday morning.

Anyway, at about 9:45 I told Drew that he needed to start getting ready for bed. He didn't like that suggestion and began his pre-tantrum ritual. I quickly intervened and said he needed to quit pitching a fit because I was simply getting him ready for bed so he could go upstairs and watch Clone Wars in our bed. Drew looks at me and then he looks at Eric and says, "Well punch me in the face. I must be dreaming!"

Eric and I thought we were going to die we laughed so hard. I have no idea where this kid gets these sayings. Frankly, I am not sure I WANT to know where he gets them. I know one thing though. The kid is hysterical!

Valentine's Day

2009-02-14T10:29:00.004-07:00

I have sat here for about half an hour staring at the computer screen trying to write a Valentine's story. I wanted to tell everyone about my love for Eric and the constant contentment and strength I get from our relationship. It hasn't been going so well.

I keep getting distracted by Drew saying, "Mommy, watch this" or "Mommy, listen to this." He crawls into my lap and asks me to transform his Optimus Prime toy into a truck for the 10th time in 10 minutes. I am pulled from my thoughts by the episode of SpongeBob Squarepants on the television. It is the constant activity that is typical for our house.

What I realized is this IS the love story. Eric and I have a relationship that hasn't always been the most traditional. We certainly never followed the "rules" of how you are supposed to meet, fall in love, get married and start a family. We did things our own way and the result has been the most amazing friendship, romance and partnership I could have imagined. Eric is my very favorite person on the planet and the level of love, trust and devotion I feel for him goes far beyond a typical relationship.

We work because we embrace our differences. Eric is a hockey player and a gamer geek and a comic book collector and he loves sci-fi. I am not quite so athletic, I don't understand the concept of gaming, I don't collect anything and I would rather sit and read a book than almost anything else. Somehow it works for us. Our differences keep it interesting and I can always count on Eric for stimulating conversation. We can talk about absolutely anything and I am continuously surprised by our willingness to share ourselves with the other.

I feel like I won the lottery when I met Eric. He is an incredible dad. He always changed diapers and took the middle of the night feedings. As Drew has gotten older Eric is the first one there when Drew cries or needs a hug. Eric keeps our laundry done and most nights he cooks our dinner. He kept Drew entertained so I could study during grad school. He makes sure I wake up on time for work every day - even on the days he could have slept in. In a million different ways, every single day, he reminds me how important his family is to him and how much he loves us.

I wake up every day knowing that wherever I go, whatever I do and whatever hurdles life puts in my path I have the love of an amazing man. A man who is kind, compassionate, affectionate and willing to do whatever he has to do when it comes to his family. He is also the most gorgeous man I have ever met!

On this Valentine's Day I want to tell the world how Eric has shown me what love is and how two people can be a perfect fit for each other simply because they are willing to embrace and encourage their differences. I love you Eric.

Thank you for loving me.

The kid is wise beyond his years

2009-02-10T20:11:00.004-07:00

On Monday and Tuesday Eric is off work so he drives me to work and Drew to school. At the end of the day he picks Drew up from school, takes him to tae-kwan-do and then picks me up from work. It's very exciting. We are CRAZY, PARTY people. Really.

I tell you that to tell you this:

Typically when we all go somewhere Eric drives. He is a good driver and I think he thinks I am a bad driver so it is just easier on everyone if he drives. I don't mind. That leaves my hands free to take over the radio. See? It all works out in the end. For me, anyway.

This afternoon I wanted to shake things up a bit. You know, walk on the wild side, and I got Eric to let me drive home. At one point I happened to look out my side window at the same time the car in front of me put on their brakes. Normally I have slight tailgating tendencies, but today I was PLENTY far back and there was NO WAY I was going to hit that car. Seriously. Not. A. Chance.

Eric, however, disagreed. He totally squawked which scared the hell out of me so I squawked back. You don't yell at the driver! Ever! I practically crapped my pants for nothing! Eric got irritated at me because I snapped at him and I got irritated that he snapped at me for snapping at him and we snapped at each other just a little bit. (It's love, people. LOVE.)

So, we are snapping at each other and suddenly Drew pipes up from the backseat and says, I kid you not,

"Why don't you guys just stop fighting and talk it out."

Yes, my dear readers. The kid is brilliant.

25 Random Things

2009-02-04T18:55:00.002-07:00

Did I mention I am a Facebook junky? NO??

Well then, I am a Facebook junky. I got tagged by about a dozen people to do this 25 random things list. You are supposed to just write down 25 random things about yourself, tag 25 people and send the list into Facebookland.

When I started my list I thought it would take me about 20 minutes. It took me about an hour and a half. SO...since I spent so much time on it I figured I would do double duty and post it here, too.

So without further ado. 25 Random Things About Me.

1. When I was in high school I dislocated my knee and when I showed up at school on crutches a bunch of my classmates thought I was faking it. I went home every day for a week and cried because everyone thought I was a liar. Since then I have dislocated that knee again and had two knee surgeries. I also totally freak out if anyone messes with my knees.

2. I absolutely hate Christmas and tend to start having anxiety attacks about Thanksgiving. I refuse to put the Christmas tree up until a few days before and I take it down the day after. I also yell rude comments out the car window when I see houses who have Christmas lights up in January. My husband hates that. My son thinks it is hysterical.

3. I would really like to play hockey on the women's league here, but I refuse to do it. The reason I won't do it? The mental picture of my ass in all that padded gear is truly horrifying. I would have to change my name to Olga and take up shot-put.

4. I hate talking on the phone and rarely call anyone unless I have to. I talk on the phone all day long at work doing interviews and stuff. When I get home I don't even answer it. I have a list of about 4 people I will talk to and everyone else goes to voicemail. Most of the time I don't even listen to my voicemail either. I have Eric do it and he tells me who called. I don't do it to be rude...I just hate talking on the phone.

5. I read really fast and go through about 3 books a week. The bookstore loves me. Eric wishes I would get a library card.

6. I still sleep with a stuffed animal. It is an elephant. Eric named it Harry Elephante. The man must really love me to put up with me sleeping with a giant stuffed elephant. Sometimes I even take it when we travel.

7. Eric and I are thinking about having another baby and my favorite part of the whole thing is the ability to blame my fat ass on pregnancy. My least favorite part is everything else related to being pregnant. I hated it the first time. The concept of doing it again is utter insanity. The decision is far from being made...we change our minds daily.

8. When I get really stressed out I like to color. I have a giant box full of colored pencils, three Tinkerbell coloring books and I will sit in my bed and color until I feel better. Then I grab Harry Elephante and go to sleep.

9. I can't go to sleep at night without music playing. If the room is quiet I end up laying in bed thinking about all the things I need to do tomorrow, or didn't get done today and then I lay awake all night. I listen to the same CD every night and if I don't find something new soon Eric may find a way for it to mysteriously disappear so he never has to hear it again.

10. I owe a small fortune in student loans thanks to grad school and I have a master plan to keep deferring them because eventually... I will die. I think they may be catching on. Sallie Mae and I are good friends.

11. I am a closet "Cops" watcher. I think it is the greatest show ever because I always feel so good about my life decisions after I watch it. Seriously? At no point have I ever stood in front of a trailer house, with a baby, a cigarette and a beer telling a cop about how my baby daddy was drunk and chased me with a kitchen knife. Suddenly, sleeping with a stuffed elephant and having a penchant for Tinkerbell coloring books doesn't seem quite so bad.

12. I can talk to anyone, anywhere, anytime about anything. This comes in handy with my line of work, but can be somewhat disturbing to the people who share an elevator with me. I just can't stand being in that close of proximity with someone and not talking to them!

13. Watching my husband play hockey is one of my favorite things to do. My very favorite part is when one of his opponents trys to start a fight with him. He is such a big guy the other person tends to run into him and fall over. That usually puts a stop to it and it is truly hysterical to watch.

14. Even thought I owe the equivalent of the national debt of Serbia in student loans I really want to go to law school. I don't want to be a courtroom attorney. I want to specialize in employment law and stay in the HR field. I think it will give me another edge in the industry.

15. As a recruiter I learned how to use google and other search engines to track down just about everything under the sun. I typically use that knowledge to cyberstalk old boyfriends and old school friends to see what kind of dirt I can dig up. It is quite fascinating what you can find out about a person on the internet and most of the time they don't even know it is out there.

16. I love to drive and find it very relaxing to hop in the car, put in a good CD and just hit the road. I have driven across country on more than one occasion and really loved it. I also have some really great stories about psycho truck drivers thanks to those road trips!

17. I would really love to pack up everything we own and move to another country. I am thinking someplace warm and sunny would be great. We'd probably do it, too, except there is no way we could sell our house right now and I don't have a valid passport.

18. I like to have conversations with people about religion and politics and purposely say something inflamatory just to get them riled up. It just fascinates me to watch someone get so bent out of shape when it is a topic that is almost impossible to effectively argue. I simply drop a bomb and then sit back to watch what happens.

19. If I could change anything about myself I would make myself shorter. Pant shopping is a pain in the ass at my height!

20. I really, really want to get on the Oprah show at Christmas so I can get all the free crap she gives away on the "Oprah's Favorite Things" episode. I don't watch Oprah or really care about Oprah. I just want the cool free stuff. It would make Christmas shopping so much faster!

21. I have a knack for song lyrics and can sing just about any song I hear. I also believe strongly that if I could empty my brain of song lyrics and replaced it with something useful I would be absolutely freaking briliant.

22. I also have a thing for movie quotes and once went an entire day talking in nothing but movie quotes.

23. If I could get away with it I might never actually leave my bed. I have the most comfortable bed in the world. Seriously. Ask Eric. He knows.

24. If I had to pick one thing to be remember for it would be my sense of humor. I don't think I was funny when I was younger, but as I have grown up I have honed my smart-ass skills and developed an desire to not take anything too seriously. The best compliment I can get is when someone tells me I am funny.

25. I had the hardest time thinking of 25 things to tell people. When I started this little list I thouht I'd knock it out in a couple of minutes. It took me a freaking hour and a half! I am certain that reveals something important about me, but I am not sure I want to figure out what.

Get out of my bookstore and give me back my beer.

2009-01-26T21:28:00.004-07:00

It was an eventful weekend and, as usual, it was far too short.

Friday night Drew went to a Parent's Night Out at his tae-kwan-do school and Eric and I went to have some grown-up time. We went to Chili's and had chips and salsa and beer. Then we went to Barnes and Noble where I proceeded to spend my last night of study time for the PHR exam by reading out of one of their study guides. I wanted to get access to different questions and didn't want to buy the book. So...we sat in the cafe and I took the practice test and then read the explanations of all the questions I missed. I failed that test. By a lot. There were lots of explanations I had to read. It shoud have made me nervous, but basically I just said, "Aww, screw it." Then I went and shopped for books that I could read for fun.

I do have to say...you can definitely tell the economy is bad. It was a Friday night and that book store was packed. As a book fiend I was both pleased and irritated about the mass migration to the Barnes and Noble. I was pleased that so many adults were embracing books and were in the book store instead of watching reality tv. However, I was quickly irritated that so many adults were in the book store instead of watching reality tv. I was all, "Dude! You're missing the new season of The Bachelor! It has this guy who is looking for a girl and there are all these girls who want to be on tv. Hurry so you don't miss it! Run! Go! This is not a drill! GO! GO! GO!"

It dawned on me pretty quickly that the store was filled with lurkers...those irritating people who buy a small cup of coffee and then camp out with about 57 books and magazines on the table. They don't want to BUY the new issue of Vanity Fair, but they certainly want to read it. They don't want to BUY the new Janet Evanovich, but with a few hours and a few cups of coffee they will sit at the bookstore and read the book. Then they put it back. I figure it won't be long until all books and magazines are wrapped in plastic like Playboy so you have to buy it to read it.

Oh...and before you get all, "What's so different about all the other people not buying the books when you did the very same thing by studying with that book and not buying it? Huh?" Well, I'll tell you. Because I have single-handedly funded an entire section of that store (much to Eric's irritation) and that obviously has earned me the right to complain. Loudly. And often. The employees may not realize I am their Queen, but that's ok. I know. And that is all that matters.

I love that store. It is like my mothership. I told Eric that the best proof of my dorkiness is the fact that my idea of heaven on earth is a bookstore with a coffee shop in the middle.

Anyway, I did take my exam on Saturday morning. I actually passed it. PASSED!!!! It took lots of self-control not to fall out of my chair when the results popped up on the screen. It was this totally quiet room and when it came up and said "Pass" I did that really loud intake of air thing and then giggled. Yes. I giggled. Like the Pilsbury Doughboy. It. Was. Awesome. To me anyway. I'm not sure the rest of the room appreciated my crazed cackling as I scooted out the door doing a little dance. It was a glorious moment.

That night Drew had a sleepover with some friends so Eric and I got to go out again by ourselves. This time we decided to go eat and then potentially go bowling. We went to this sports bar type place with hot wings and stuff to watch the XGames and eat wings and drink beer. By the time the night was over I had learned a truly horrifying fact about myself.

Are you ready?

I can drink a lot of beer. I don't know if it is really sad that my tolerance is so high or if it is really cool that my liver is so efficient. Either way, I can put away some beer. We calculated it at about 100 ounces. Yes. That's right. 100 OUNCES. In one sitting. And remain coherent. And able to walk.

I'm not exactly sure what this means about me.

Oh, and Jeff...if you are reading this...at no point during the night did I drink the beer from the pitcher with an elaborate network of straws designed to keep me from having to lean forward to pick up the pitcher. I actually hefted that glass for each and every drink. I just thought you should know. I'll save the straws for the next outing to the Sunshine.

One Snort Closer to the Edge

2009-01-22T20:46:00.006-07:00

Quick post before I go back to my studying...

Today at work my boss emailed out a really funny video of cheerleaders and band people falling down, running into each other, tripping, slipping and, in general, hurting themselves. It was right at the end of the day and everyone was gone except for my boss, me and one other person. I was watching it and laughing my ass off. I laughed until I cried. I laughed until I actually snorted.

SNOR. TED.

Loudly.

And that? Made me laugh harder.

And now my co-worker very possibly thinks I am insane.

I will point out that I may have been relatively sane a week ago, but I am most definitely walking a fine line now. I have spent the last few weeks preparing for a certification exam that I should have started preparing for a few months ago.

Procrastination run amok.

I'll let you know if I pass, but for now I better get back to the books. I take the test Saturday morning. Wish me luck!

PS...
10 points and a vote of coolness to anyone who gets the musical reference!

When energy goes bad.

2009-01-15T20:48:00.004-07:00

I think I am going to seriously go completely insane. My child NEVER stops moving or talking. NEVER. He talks in his sleep. The boy moves all. the. time. ALLTHETIME.

ALL.

THE.

TIME.

I am thinking of investing in duct tape. That would kill two birds with one stone. I could both tape his mouth shut AND tape him to the wall. It's genius I tell you! That is actually how duct tape was invented. It was orginally called "Child Tape." That was back in the days when you had 57 kids so they could work the fields to sell the crops to pay for the land and the seed. Though...I have to wonder...if you have 57 kids because you are poor and can't afford to hire field hands doesn't having 57 kids and the resulting expenses just defeat the purpose? Anyway...I digress...

Anyway, eventually some do-gooder got angry at people taping their rowdy kids to the wall so the tapers started calling it Duck Tape in hopes that if they used a code word then no one would be able to figure out it was really your kid *wink wink* that was being taped to the wall and not really a duck. Eventually duck got changed to Duct because the do-gooders suddenly went, "But, The Old Lady in the Shoe doesn't have a duck...Hmmmm."

I wouldn't really tape Drew to the wall. I am, however, considering hiring an electrician who can wire him up to power the house.

And, without further ado, and because I have run out of things to say, here are some pictures of Mazie. Some friends were asking for updated shots. She is a very, very, very, very, VERY patient dog.

I was thinking...

2009-01-07T22:28:00.007-07:00

Some random things I have been pondering lately:

1. If no one actually understands David Lynch movies and most people hate them then why does he keeping making them?

2. Are my achy knees more accurate than the local weatherman? I'm thinking yes.

3. How exactly did Kyle McLachlan go from brutally hot to absolutely not in less than a decade?

4. Same question: Mickey Rourke.

5. If Eric was going to follow in the footsteps of Dog the Bounty Hunter what would his bounty hunter name be and would Ozzy sing his theme song?

6. Could I get acquited for murdering a tailgating Hummer driver when there is 2 inches of fresh snow over ice and the driver is from California?

7. Where does that lost sock go?

8. How do I go about becoming a movie star's personal assistant? Preferably John Cusack's. I totally want that job.

9. Isn't a period torture enough? What's up with the freakin' cramps? Dammit.

10. Seriously? David Lynch? I. DON'T. GET. IT. I mean, he wrote it and thought, "this is awesome I should show it to someone" and then that person went, "this is awesome we should really make this into a movie" and then someone else went, "you are totally right, here is a big check" and another person piped up with, "this is a great script I should really star in it." Then, as if that wasn't bizarre enough, people made the movie and someone else distributed the movie and then people paid money to watch it. I dare any one of you to go watch "Lost Highway" and tell me what the heck that movie is supposed to be about. Actually? I just challenge you to watch the whole damn thing.

Last but certainly not least:

11. How in the name of underwire does Dog the Bounty Hunter's wife manage to function with those freakin' enormous boobs. It's like two torpedo shells strapped to a walrus. A walrus armed with hooker nails and a tazer. Three words for you: Breast Reduction Surgery.

Oh - one more thing before I go...here's a little story for you. It's a true story entitled "How Jayna Committed to Diet and Exercise." Enjoy.

Sunday night Drew and I are watching Eric play hockey. I know. SHOCKER! The game is pretty much Eric's team scoring goals while the other team looks just a bit confused and maybe even a little surprised to find themselves holding hockey sticks and wearing skates. Think: Operation Shock and Awe on Ice.

So the game quickly deteriorates to cheap shots and lots of shouting. One particular player on the other team got incredibly beligerent and got kicked off the ice. Drew, me, another wife and another little boy are sitting right by the ice entrance and as the player exits he is yelling profanities at the ref. Lots of "F*#$ your mother" and "F*@% you" -- you know -- the poster child for good sportsmanship.

So, I yell at him that there are small children in earshot and he needs to shut up. He yells "F^&! you." I yell at him again that he needs to shut it since this is a family rink and there are small children that can hear him. He then turns to me and screams, "F@#$ you!"

Yeah - I love a robust vocabulary as much as the next girl, but this is where I got just the teeniest bit irritated. Don't worry though...even though I was sitting at the perfect level to kick him square in the face and had on the perfect shoes for face kicking I managed to restrain myself. Whee!!! All hail my self control! Small children around, remember?

Instead of introducing hockey player to boot tread, I stand up, point the Mom-finger in his face and say, "Listen Porky" --- quick interjection --- this guy and Porky the pig? Twins. Seperated at birth and I am not even exaggerating. --- ahem...back to the story... "Listen Porky, you need to shut your mouth because there are small children here and if you can't shut up then get out of here. RIGHT. NOW."

He looks up at me and says, "Porky? Look who's talking...Tubby."

Jaw -- dropped.
Ego -- crushed.
Motivation -- FIRED UP.

And that is how I learned to love carrot sticks.

THE END.

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

2008-12-31T19:44:00.005-07:00

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

2008-12-20T18:21:00.004-07:00

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

2008-12-07T14:11:00.003-07:00

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.

2008-11-26T20:05:00.005-07:00

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.

2008-11-13T22:57:00.009-07:00

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

2008-11-05T22:37:00.006-07:00

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

2008-10-28T21:31:00.004-06:00

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.

2008-10-16T21:39:00.005-06:00

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

2008-10-09T21:19:00.004-06:00

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

2008-09-29T20:35:00.002-06:00

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

2008-09-25T18:41:00.006-06:00

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

2008-09-23T09:40:00.005-06:00

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

2008-09-16T19:35:00.006-06:00

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.

2008-09-07T23:13:00.008-06:00

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.

2008-09-01T22:30:00.005-06:00

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?

2008-08-18T18:03:00.007-06:00

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"

2008-08-04T11:26:00.003-06:00

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

2008-07-28T21:14:00.004-06:00

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

2008-07-17T22:03:00.002-06:00

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.

2008-07-02T16:23:00.004-06:00

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.

2008-06-24T12:34:00.007-06:00

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

2008-06-18T12:27:00.000-06:00

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?

2008-06-02T20:59:00.007-06:00

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!

2008-05-19T12:21:00.008-06:00

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.

2008-05-14T20:09:00.008-06:00

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

2008-05-04T12:45:00.010-06:00

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!!

Red Wine and Chick Flicks DO NOT Make You Cooler.

2008-04-25T16:32:00.003-06:00

I have a serious red wine and chick flick addiction. Point proven by the 4 bottles of wine that have been polished off in the last few days and the facial tic that Eric has mysteriously developed. He also keeps waking up at night screaming something about John Hughes and Andrew McCarthy trying to kill him, but I can't quite sort it out.

I read an article last week about all the antioxidants in red wine and how that is supposed to be really great for your health. At the rate I have been consuming the stuff I might actually live forever.

The good news? It's all in my master plan to take over the world.

Step 1 - live forever
Step 2 -

Well, I am still working on step 2 and will have to update you at a later date. I am hoping it has something to do with eating lots of cheesecake or creme brulee.

Last post I talked about how Lexy has led me down the primrose path to the Fountain of "You Are Fucking Old." Well, guess what? I AM STILL OLD. And getting older. But, just informing me of my complete and utter lack of coolness wasn't enough. Oh, no. That is too easy for teenagers. Apparently they need a little challenge just to see if they can get us to voluntarily check into an assisted living facility. TODAY.

In my case, I was showing Lexy some pictures of me from my senior prom. She was amazed and blown away at how beautiful the dress was and my hair and my makeup and everything. Then comes this:

"You were so pretty! And skinny! I mean, seriously skinny! How did you get fat?"

And she was SERIOUS.

I closed the album, walked downstairs to the kitchen and opened a beer.

I am currently planning my revenge.

Nothing makes you feel quite as old as living with a teenager...

2008-04-16T23:24:00.003-06:00

We recently had a teenager officially join our family. I thought I had several more years to prepare myself for a teenager. I have always been that person who thought I would be the cool Mom. I was going to be that Mom who listened to the same music they did and drove a cool car and wore cool clothes and never said stupid stuff that embarrassed my kid.

Yeah. That'll happen.

I am now getting a clear picture of what living with a teenager is like and you know what? Me? I'M A DORK.

Lexy has been a regular visitor to our house ever since Drew was tiny. She was about 13 when we first met. When she was younger I was kind of cool because I wasn't quite as old as a Mom would be, but not quite close enough in age to be just like her friends. Instead I was like this older sister type that she didn't actually grow up with, but who bought her shit all the time. It helped that I bought copious amounts of Starbucks for the two of us. I also never enforced bedtime, encouraged late night cookie dough binging, fully sponsored all night chick flick marathons, made sure she played hooky from responsibility whenever possible, kept the fridge fully stocked with Pepsi and paid her WAY too much when she would babysit.

Flash forward to today. Lexy is 18, about to graduate high school and has moved in with us. I am now five years older than when we met, five years more jaded and five years more removed from anything resembling modern teenage culture. I am also bugging her about school, job, grades and going to college in the fall. I think I have officially entered that purgatory between cool older sister and nagging Mom. I still encourage late night cookie dough binges, but there is no playing hooky from responsibility. I can most definitely plant at least one foot in the "old camp." It doesn't help that I got a social security statement in the mail today.

Thanks Mr. Government Man. Your timing is impeccable as usual.

Anyway, this evening's family festivities have consisted of eating hotdogs and french fries while scaring ourselves silly watching Ghost Hunters. Then we sat around watching Pants Off/Dance Off and shouted incredibly rude comments about the contestants. I must interject that I may be old, but I am still the Queen of the insanely-rude-but-still-funny commentary.

In between my loud and quite snarky musings, Lexy played portions of rap songs and attempted to educate Eric and I on modern teenage culture. It's fabulous how incredibly out of touch we are. We feel like Martians. And not cool Martians. The uncool Martians that Marvin the Martian would zap with his death ray. You might even say that we are mullet-wearing butt rockers trying to hang with Jay-Z and Beyonce and throw out gang signs.

Here is some of what I have learned:

1. I could not possibly text message as much as teenagers do. Even if I texted every single person in my Outlook address book 10 times every day I still couldn't keep up with the volume of text messages flying back and forth.

2. I don't understand the fashion. I just can't get comfortable with showing my underwear. Even on days where the underwear are pretty AND clean. I still don't want to show them in public. Oh. And boys in pants that sit somewhere around their knees and their undies are all hanging out? I just want to pants them.

3. I can't understand half of what teenagers are saying. Some examples:

"Beezie" = this is sort of like being called a bitch, but worse.
"Crunk" = wasted. Crazy drunk.
"Hyphy" = this means going dumb or going stupid.
"Ghost riding" = getting out and dancing on your car while your car is still moving and no one is driving.
"Whip" = car
"spit your game" = hit on a girl
"Super soak that 'ho" = not just hitting on a girl, but giving her your best game
"what it do" = what's up
"yadidi mean" = do you know what I mean
"yada digga my jig" = do you like what I am doing, do you feel me
"yada digga my jigga my cut" = do you like my song, do you like my music

I am sure you can understand my complete and utter confusion. You can also understand how I came to the horrific discovery that FEELING like you are still 18 and actually BEING 18 are SO NOT THE SAME THING.

Sometimes when I am driving Lexy and her friends somewhere and they are so sweetly trying to include me in their conversation I feel like that part from Finding Nemo where the little turtle is trying to tell Marlin and Dory how to exit the East Australian current and Marlin says, "It's like he's trying to speak to me!"

I don't think Lexy thinks I am all that cool anymore. She very kindly tells me I am not a dork, but I know that I am only slightly less dorky than I would be if I was her Mom. I think that is only because I still buy lots of Starbucks for the two of us.

No matter how old I am I still need my Mom.

2008-04-06T13:35:00.005-06:00

I miss my Mom. Every day. It's been just over 6 years since she passed away and I still have a hard time talking about her. Today I am going to try.

My Mom was one of the greatest people I have ever known. She was funny and suppportive and strong and caring. I look back and I remember how she made growing up fun. She taught me how to be adventurous. She taught me unconditional love and how to stay postive no matter what is thrown at you. She taught me how to try every day - even on the tough days - to make life fun for my son. I only wish she had lived to meet him. I know she would get such a kick out of the little guy.

Here are some of my favorite things about my Mom:

I remember the slumber party when my Mom came running into the living room and mooned all of my friends for no reason and then ran giggling down the hallway to her bedroom. We took chase and all mooned her back while she laughed uncontrollably while hiding under the covers on her bed.

I remember another slumber party where she bought rolls and rolls of toilet paper, helped us all get dressed in head to toe black, shoe polish our faces, take pictures for posterity and then sent us out at midnight to toilet paper one of my best friend's evil ex-boyfriend's houses.

I remember when my grandfather gave me a big, green, 1960-something Ford Fairlane with no power steering and no power brakes. I was completely unable to drive it so my 5'2" Mom traded cars with me. She could barely see over the steering wheel and still reach the pedals, but she used to race punk kids in sports cars because she knew that big old engine would blow them off the road. She would giggle and grin the entire time because they looked so shocked!

I remember when I was 16 and mouthing off for the 10-millionth time. Mom had a sack of bread in her hand and she got so ticked she hurled it at my head. I ducked. It hit the china hutch behind me. My jaw dropped and then she just cracked up. It was one of the last times my Mom and I had one of those stupid teenage stand-offs. After that we started to be friends.

I remember sitting on the front yard swing after she got sick making bead necklaces and talking about life and love and marriage.

I remember all the letters she used to write me just because she had a feeling I might need to be cheered up. I still don't know how she knew I needed her when I was living so far away, but she always did. She picked me up from the floor more times than she ever knew.

I'll never, ever forget the sound of her voice when she would leave her silly message on my voicemail. "Dees is yo Mama. Call yo Mama."

I remember sitting on her bed when I was little listening to her sing and play the guitar. She was the most beautiful, talented woman I ever saw. I sing because of her.

I remember watching her, front row center, at every dance recital, piano recital, twirling lesson, drill team performance, baseball game, beauty pageant that I was ever in. She was a constant supporter, always smiling, always making sure I knew she would be there no matter what I wanted to do. Or how well I did it.

I love you Mom. Thank you.

In September I am walking in the Susan G. Komen breast cancer 3-day in Seattle. I am walking 60-miles over the course of 3 days and I am walking every step of it for her. I hope that each person reading this will take a minute to click on this link and learn a little more about this incredible event. I need to raise a minimum of $2200 in order to walk and if any of you would be willing to donate whatever you can to help me I would be unbelieveably grateful.

Sick and tired of being sick and tired...and fat.

2008-04-01T15:29:00.003-06:00

I don't know what kind of evil, uber-bug is running rampant in my house, but I am about ready to open a big 'ole can o'whup ass on it. Whup Ass thy name is LYSOL. I am home sick for day 2 and I am really tired of my chair. It has a big imprint of my ass in it and that? So not good for my self-esteem.

I wandered outside today to enjoy the spectacular weather and to throw the tennis ball for Mazie. I sat out in the grass in the backyard and it was quite glorious. Until I stood up and saw the imprint of my butt in the grass. I hereby decree that I shalt never sit in the grass again. Or sand. Or mud. Or anything that could potentially end up with an imprint of my ginormous derriere.

One of my very best friends called me today to tell me about a dream she had. It was about me. Gotta love it when my friends are so enamored of all that is my awesomeness that they DREAM about me! Hee! Anyway, in her dream I had my current job, my current part-time second job and I had decided to go and work at a bar, too. Apparantly in dreamland I not only don't need sleep, but I get super skinny from the stress of three jobs. I'm not even gonna lie - I considered it. For longer than you might imagine. I do have to stop and ponder, however, why my friend is dreaming that I am skinny. Is it because I am constantly complaining through my mouthful of chocolate about how much I am sick of being overweight and I reallly, really, really need to do something about it? I plan to do something about it. Right after the Easter candy is gone.

On another note: Saturday was our wedding anniversary. Six whole years of wedded bliss! It was kinda funny because we got up Saturday morning and were cleaning the house when all of a sudden I went, "Holy crap! It's our anniversary!" And Eric goes, "Shit. You're right!" Then he put down the can of Comet and I put down the Windex and we high-fived our mutual awesomeness. Then I called my lovely friend Misti and conned her into babysitting. Unfortunately, by the time the evening rolled around I was starting to get this lovely flu and all we did was go to dinner and then to the drugstore for Nyquil and then home where I took my Nyquil and went straight to bed. I think that in some countries cold medicine is the official 6 year anniversary gift so it wasn't a total bust.

Sunday we went to a 4-year old's birthday party and ate hot dogs and cake and then we came home and I fell asleep on the couch while trying like a champ to keep down the hot dogs and cake. Note to self: Do not, I repeat, DO NOT eat hot dogs or cake or both when sick with the flu.

Yesterday I slept until 3 and then moved to the couch and played Ratchet and Clank for about 6 hours straight. Such is the life. Tomorrow it's back to work. I tried to work today, but my brain isn't cooperating what with all the stomach cramping. I am trying to do some planning around a new employee that starts on Monday and I keep getting derailed. My thought process goes a bit like this:

"I think she will need to spend 25% of her time working on...shit...that hurt...does that mean I have to poop? Again? Ok. Maybe not. Anyway, if she spends most of her time recruiting then that means I can...ouch...maybe I just need to burp. Or fart. Or both. Man, this sucks. Well, at least I'm not puking. That would really be sucky. Ahem. Ok. Recruiting first and then some business devel...EEK! this is not a drill. I repeat - not a drill. Get to the bathroom now! Go! Go! Go!"

Do I really have to tell you how much I hate the flu?

The Bar

2008-03-28T16:08:00.006-06:00

When I was in college I worked as a bartender. I loved the job and I was really good at it so I worked as many shifts as I could get my hands on. The downside was that I would bartend in my sleep. You could order a drink and I would talk my way through making it. "Shaker, ice, vodka, martini glass, coat with dry vermouth, shake vodka, pour, olive..." I would wake up the next day exhausted. And thirsty.

These days I would give my eye teeth to go back to a job as wonderful as bartending. I always felt so free and it was always fun. Even on nights where the 2nd bartender called in sick and you were trying to cover a crowd 4 deep all by yourself it was fun. Granted, there was an evil dark side to bartending...a lot of the blended, frou-frou, chick drinks were translated in bar speak to "Miller Lite in a bottle." I mean, seriously? Do I look like I have time to blend up the perfect banana daiquiri for your size 2, blond, vapid ass? NO. So take the freakin' beer and sashay on back to your equally vapid boy toy.

Bitter? Me? Of course I am and if you spent 6 years serving umbrella-ish drinks to scantily clad bimbos who don't tip you might be thismuch bitter, too. I did learn a whole lot about how bars operate though. I was already an old pro at navigating the bar scene by the time I became suddenly single at 26.

Here's some of what I learned:

1. Wear jeans. Guys don't really understand that whole stripper heel/ass baring skirt thing. You don't want to confuse them. They don't like that.

2. Drink beer. Preferably from a bottle. It makes you more approachable and the upside is they see you as someone that could hang with the boys and not want high-priced dinners and $10 applepearpassionfruitguava martini's all night.

3. Don't travel in a pack. That scares the ever-living-shit out of guys. You see it as having a bunch of friends around for safety. They see it as a pack of perfumed hyenas just waiting for the weak one of the herd to wander over.

4. If you see a guy at the bar and he has highlights in his strategically gelled to look like it isn't strategically gelled hair, fake 'n bake tan, a man-purse and just possibly a hint of eyeliner...HE IS GAY. And NO, he won't miraculously convert because you wore your shortest denim skirt and the shirt that looks like a handkerchief with strings tied around your back.

5. Yelling at the bartender, banging your empty glass on the bar or otherwise acting as if the entire bar should hold their breath just waiting in anticipation for you to order your chocolatehuckleberryvanillakumkwat daiquiri IS NOT going to get the bartender to make your drink faster. Just hold up a $20, make eye contact and wait patiently. Oh...and if you are holding a bottle of beer? It helps.

Rabbits + Eggs + Chocolate = Jesus' Resurrection. Yeah. That makes perfect sense.

2008-03-24T10:07:00.003-06:00

Another holiday that didn't feel so much like a holiday, but instead felt like a regular day only with lots of chocolate. I don't know what it is, but I am terrible about holidays. I never seem to get in the spirit soon enough or go far enough down the road of decorations and fun things to do. I tend to wake up on the day and go, "Oh crap. It's [insert holiday here]. Are the stores open because I need [insert related holiday item here]."

It isn't that I don't like holidays or anything like that (with the exception of Christmas and you all know how I feel about that holiday). I just seem to have at least a million other things to think about and it always feels like whatever holiday it is just sort of creeps up on me Ninja-style and catches me completely unaware with a Num-chuck upside the head.

So yesterday I got up early and had breakfast with one of my very best friends. We pigged out on more food than would really seem possible and just when you thought we were done? We ate a cinnamon scone. With butter. And more coffee. There was this moment when my stomach crawled out of my mouth, grabbed me by the throat and screamed, "What the hell? Stop with the eating already! The crew down there is tired. They're pulling doubles to keep up and we're still buried in hashbrowns! It's complete and utter madness! And to top it off Mrs. Ass is down there gobbling up territory like she's freakin' Queen Elizabeth and the Intestine's have gone all 'The Godfather' and asked Small Bowel for protection. You! Have! Got! To! Do! Something!"

After that heartfelt plea I stopped at Starbucks for a latte 'cause I am not sure I am fully onboard with the needs of my Small Bowel. I'd rather have a latte and save any political statements or picketing for causes related to my liver. Gotta keep the liver happy. It processes the alcohol.

Anyway, here are the pictures from yesterday's "Easter Egg Hunt o'Gluttony 2008." Drew had a blast even though it was just a couple dozen plastic eggs hidden in our yard. Drew, much like his Mom, is easily amused. Any activity becomes The Most Awesome Thing Ever so long as it ends with chocolate.

Travel and Eyebrows. Or was it Traveling Eyebrows? Oh, nevermind.

2008-03-18T17:59:00.006-06:00

Last week I was traveling for work and the entire time we never had more than an hour window to do nothing. It was a whirlwind of meetings and dinners. That explains the lack of posting. That and the fact that I took on a part-time gig on top of my already 50 or more an hour a week job. Seriously? I must hate myself.

Anyway, the day I left on my trip I was sitting in the airport jotting down notes of some of the things I saw. I was going to turn it into this really funny blog that would entertain the masses and bring gifts and money raining down on me and mine...OK...I just wanted to have something to post because I am not exactly overflowing with things to talk about lately. My plan was to jot stuff down and then just fill in the blanks and wha-laa! Blog.

Yeah. That worked out well.

What I ended up with was a bunch of sentence fragments that are pretty much gibberish now that I finally sat down to write said blog. Luckily, the snippets are actually pretty funny.

1. Fat pilot. Fiery, plummeting death by cellulite.
2. Lady in argyle sweater. Hello? 1984 called. They want their sweater back.
3. Another argyle sweater? On a guy? Dude! 1984 is gonna be so pissed!
4. Desk agents + Hawaiian shirts = No. Just. NO.

Moving on...

While I was in Seattle Eric was in Las Vegas. He went down to play in a hockey tournament. They all rented a house and I was seriously fearing for their safety. They were sans wife/girlfriend/significant other and the house had a pool table, hot tub, Foosball table, giant TV, pool, etc. It is actually surprising they made it to any games. All Eric really said about 5 days in a house full of guys was that a few of the guys kept beating each other up when they got drunk. They'd be sitting watching TV or playing pool and one guy would suddenly run in the room and randomly slap another guy across the head. For fun. Yeah - I don't get it either.

The funniest thing is when Eric got home. His bag was on the floor in the bedroom and I noticed a roll of toilet paper in it.

"Did you take toilet paper to Vegas?"

"Hell yeah I did. A house full of guys? You bet I took toilet paper."

"Didn't the house have toilet paper?"

"Yeah, but you can't COUNT on that toilet paper."

Yeah. I know. That is the first thing us ladies think of when packing for a girl's trip. "Mustn't forget toilet paper," we all think. "There is no toilet paper like MY toilet paper. Forget that extra pair of shoes and my curling iron. Gotta make room for the two-ply!" I am seriously starting to think that Mars and Venus guy was on to something. Apparently there is no toilet paper in locations where men gather. Rite of passage or something.

1. Voice changing? Check.
2. Untimely erection? Check.
3. Losing virginity? Check.
4. Going on trip with guy friends and realizing there IS. NO. TOILET. PAPER? Check.

Oh yeah - on a totally different but kind of the same since it is about guys topic. On the radio the other day they were talking about this friend of the DJ's that had his eyebrows waxed. The question was, "Is it gay for a guy to have his eyebrows waxed?" All these people called in and said that it was as gay as gay can be and the waxer guy should just come out of the closet already and slap the rainbow sticker on his car with pride. And flair. And possibly a cute pair of red stilettos.

I totally disagree. In my not-as-humble-as-it-should-be opinion here is how the decision should be made:

1. Look in the mirror.
2. Are your eyebrows eerily similar to anything found in the insect world?
3. Do you have eyebrows going against the regular flow of traffic?
4. Do you notice your eyebrows before other, larger features. You know...like...YOUR HEAD?

If you answered YES to any of these questions then you should quit worrying about being gay and start worrying about being freakishly hairy. Please. Wax your brows, dude. It's practically charity work because personally? I can't afford to be distracted by your ginormous freakin' eyebrows waving at me across the conference table. Maybe you want to pluck instead? Fine. Pluck, but it doesn't make you more of a man. It just makes you hurt for longer and that, my friend? Is stupid. Just wax and get it over with. Trust me. It hurts and you can always tell your friends you plucked. But, if your friends actually notice your eyebrows and ask if you plucked or waxed then it might actually be THEM that should wear the dress. I'm just sayin'.

Speaking of waxing...I really hate that little window of time between when they put the wax on and when they rip it off. You suddenly have this moment of clarity where you realize "that wax is coming off no matter how much I scream." Whether you like it or not the fabric strip, wax and hair are coming off and You. Can't. Change. Your. Mind. I am always worried that I might pee myself just a little. Shut up. It's scary. Haters.

I didn't really say that...did I?

2008-03-08T22:35:00.004-07:00

It is 10:30 on a Saturday night and I am here...with you...fully prepared to write something...funny? amusing? witty? clever? I guess we'll see. Hmmm...

I suppose it seems a bit sad and a whole lot boring that I am at home on a Saturday night. I even had a babysitter lined up. AND I CANCELLED! I know! Ca-ray-ay-zee! It's just how I roll [insert gang sign here]. I fully blame the siren call of my recliner and fleece blanket. Seriously. You'd stay here, too.

It has just been a really, really great day. We stayed in last night and after Drew went to bed Eric and I stayed up way too late talking about movies and screenplays and such. We haven't done that in far too long. We usually end up talking about bills or Drew or bills related to Drew or Drew's bills or **sigh** lack of money to pay bills. For those of you who aren't parents I'll explain what conversation is like once you have a child old enough to use full sentences:

Step 1: Get lobotomy.
Step 2: Well...I guess there isn't really a step 2...

So anyway, after late night pre-lobotomy-ish conversation I was roused from sleep by Mazie at the usual time of 6:45. Whee! Once Drew and Eric were up we had coffee and pancakes and then we cleaned the kitchen. Then we went outside and played in the backyard with Drew and Mazie and enjoyed the mid-50s weather. It. Was. Glorious. GLORIOUS I tell you!

Just take a look at Mazie and you can tell it was one of those days that turns your brains to Skittles and makes you all goofy:

Isn't she is getting big?! She is such a sweet, beautiful pup!

She is also becoming just a teensy bit unhinged because she is under constant threat of Drew attack. He does this sneaky Ninja-style creep and pounce thing that drives Mazie nuts. She never quite knows when it is coming since Drew, much like lightening, never strikes the same place twice.

After our backyard romp we went to Hastings and rented a movie and then went to the grocery store and then came home and made yummy tacos and watched Meet the Robinsons with Drew and then he went to bed and now I am sitting here talking to you. Aren't you just thrilled?!!!!

We were actually going to go out tonight, but the closer it got to time to get ready to go the less motivated I was to get dressed to go out. I did actually go upstairs to change clothes, but instead of putting on a cute outfit I put on a pair of men's flannel pajama pants that are about two sizes too big and are literally the most comfortable pants I own. I would so totally wear them to work if I could get away with it. I just don't have the right shoes.

On a completely different note, I have to post a list entitled "Things I Never Imagined I Would Ever Say Outloud Until I Became A Parent." I post this partly because it is funny and partly because one of my blogger friends promised to post her list if I post mine. So...without further ado...Strange Parental Utterings:

1. Drew, DO NOT swing the lightsaber over your head when you are standing on the coffee table.

2. Drew, DO NOT lock the dog in the BBQ grill. Do you understand me?

3. One more time, Drew, and I WILL throw the monkey out the window.

4. I have duct tape and I am not afraid to use it.

5. How the hell did you fit that up your nose and why did you push it in that far?!

6. Drew, I am not going to drive Bumblebee through the Hoover Dam so stop asking!

I am sure there are more, but I'll be damned if I can think of them right now. I really need to start writing them down or something. I just worry that if I do and someone finds the list I would be committed to a mental institution or thrown in jail. That would suck...except that I could probably sleep past 6:45...

Blogger's Block

2008-03-05T16:02:00.003-07:00

I don't know what it is about the last couple of months, but I have been completely unable to post on a regular basis. I start a post and about halfway through I realize that the topic is completely assinine and I am boring myself to sleep...so, why in the world would anyone else want to read it? Then I delete it and close my laptop and go play with Drew and the Mazie dog.

I suppose that is good for Drew and Mazie. Not so good for the blog. So...today I am going to just make a little list of random things that have irritated me in the last few days.

Enjoy.

1. Went to Sonic the other day. Ordered a bacon cheeseburger with meat and cheese only. They asked me if I wanted the bacon. Um. Yeah. That would be the reason I ordered a BACON cheeseburger and not a cheeseburger. Oh. And bacon? It's a meat. I know. Shocking! Bacon? A MEAT? Who'da thunk it? Since it comes from an animal and all.

2. Pet psychics. There is a local station that has a pet psychic take calls one morning a week. That alone is freakin' hysterical, but you know what's even funnier than that? PEOPLE CALL. Lots of people. It's awesome. It is one of those train wrecky things that you can't help but watch. You know? So people call and ask questions like, "I just want to know if my dog, Spot, is happy with us because we just adopted him from the pound." And the psychic is all, "Oh yes! Spot is very happy living with you. He likes your house a lot better than he liked the pound." AND PEOPLE EAT THIS CRAP UP! I think I am going to call in one day and ask about some imaginary dog I adopted named Cornholio that keeps barking and I want to know if he is happy. Then when the lady is all done with her psychic message I can tell her that there is no such dog. That would be awesome. Because I am mean...but in a carefree and funny kind of way.

3. People who put their picture on their resume. I look at literally thousands of resumes in an average week and the very last thing I want to see? Your smiling mug. Why? Well...if you really want to know...it is because, as I mentioned earlier, I am mean and instead of looking at your skills and qualifications I am most likely going to be making fun of your hair, your teeth, your shirt, your smile, your glasses, your whatever. Oh, and seriously? Your picture? On your resume? WHY? In the name of all that is dorky...WHY?

4. Gummy bears. But that is only because I ate one a minute ago and now it just. won't. go. down.

5. Bill collectors. But that goes without sayin'.

OK. I guess that'll do for now, but for my next post? "Things I never imagined I would ever say out loud until I became a parent." Example: "Drew. You DO NOT lock the dog in the BBQ grill. Do you understand me?"

In case you forgot. Me? Not so much with the joining.

2008-02-26T21:12:00.005-07:00

I just got through eating a piece of turtle cheesecake. Turtle cheesecake with extra caramel and chocolate sauce. I really big piece of turtle cheesecake with extra caramel and chocolate sauce. Somewhere a Weight Watchers founder rolled over in her grave or an angel lost her wings or a kitten died or something. (Me? Melodramatic? Nope. Not a chance.)

See? Terrible joiner.

Just wanted to reiterate that point from my last post. I keep hoping I will get on board with the whole points counting thing and be a good little trooper. OK...that isn't entirely accurate. What I really hope is that at some point I will grow a backbone and quit letting turtle cheesecake, or one of it's cohorts, turn me into a quivering pile of cellulite.

*sigh*

I guess I'll just keep at it and eventually I'll get off my butt and start working out or something. Right after I finish the last of that cheesecake.

If the dog is cute does that make me a better joiner?

2008-02-20T19:25:00.008-07:00

I discovered over the last several weeks that I am a terrible joiner. I like to think I am a good joiner so I keep joining shit, but it always goes wrong. Why, you ask? Because I never show up for meetings. I hate meetings. So why do I keep joining crap that requires meetings? Over the last few days I have been trying to figure out exactly why that is.

I mean...I have this ridiculous deep-seated need to be included and it actually sucks when I don't get invited to stuff. The problem? I am not a fan of people in general so people in groups are even more likely to piss me off. Now don't get me wrong - I love my friends and my family and I meet some really great people all the time because of my job, but also because of my job once I get home I don't want to see or talk to anyone but Eric and Drew. I talk to people All. Day. Long. When I leave work I am pretty much done with people. Anyway, because of that quirk when I do get invited to something I will almost always come up with any excuse I can think of no matter how spectacularly implausible just to avoid going. To put it into perspective: If Drew actually got sick as often as he "gets sick" then we should really seek medical intervention. And fast.

I must pause and point out that if I call in to work because Drew is sick then it is because he is sick. Honest. It is. Really. Sick. As a dog. Deathbed. I mean it.

Ok - so to delve deeper into that whole joining thing? I have a confession to make. A really embarrassing confession. A confession that shouldn't be embarrasing, but it just is anyway.

I joined Weight Watchers.

I actually signed up before Christmas and I have managed to lose about 10 pounds since then, but overall I am a horrible Weight Watcher. The only way I could be considered good at being a Weight Watcher is if we were supposed to be watching our weight stay exactly the same. If that is the goal then I am a freakin' super rock star. Gold medal, baby!

I just hate going to the meetings. I can deal with the scale and all that, but when the meeting part starts I start to feel like I need to stand up and say, "Hi. My name is Jayna and I am a Fatty McFatsalot." They even give you key rings and stuff when you hit certain milestones. I know they mean well and I know that millions of people have lost tons (pardon the pun) of weight doing it, but it is starting to border on CULT and what with that whole "not a joiner" thing I am REALLY, REALLY, REALLY averse to joining a cult. I swear on all that is cellulite-ridden that if they ever offer me Kool-Aid I'm leaving the state. Immediately.

Anyway, it just seems like when I walk into those meetings I start to feel even crappier about myself. I would go on to say that it has become one more thing I suck at, but that would be depressing and I am going to pretend that I am all self-assured and shit. Bad self-esteem? ME? Never.

Moving on to the Best. Puppy. Ever.

My neighbors still think I am crazy. That hasn't changed, but what has changed is that it takes progressively less "Go Potty's" before she actually does it. I am less cold and much happier. I am also getting to sleep almost all the way through the night. She only wakes me up once and it seems to be about an hour or so before I would get up anyway. This dog is bound and determined to make me a morning person. I am not entirely sure because I don't have proof (yet), but I think that getting up early is making me a much snarkier person. I would take a poll of my friends, but seriously? I don't care. I embrace my inner snark. Snark is good. Snarkiers (Snarkinators?) unite.

And, because she is too cute for words, here are some new pictures of Mazie.

My neighbors must think I am completely insane.

2008-02-16T02:04:00.004-07:00

In case anyone out there wasn't clear on this...Puppies? Have to go to the bathroom. A. LOT. I never really thought about how often a dog will pee until I got Mazie and became responsible for ensuring her timely bathroom usage. She still hasn't gotten the whole "go outside" thing down, but we continue to work at it. Eric is threatening to make Mazie AND me sleep in the backyard until potty training is complete so I am trying hard to be consistent with her when it comes to when/where/what/how/what I say/etc. That means that I have to take the dog out about every 45 minutes or so during daytime hours and 2 to 4 times overnight.

Anyway, the first trip to the great outdoors is around 1:30 and the second time is around 4:30. From time to time we add a couple of other trips since it keeps me on my toes. I must remain stealthy. Like Ninja. For both of these trips I carry Mazie down the stairs to the kitchen, slip on a pair of shoes that sit by the door, shrug into a coat and go outside with her. Once outside I will put her on the ground and wait to see what happens. I learned through trial and error that if I put her down before reaching the door it is kind of a crapshoot (pardon the pun) whether or not we get the pee/poop/whatever to be deposited outside as opposed to in. Once we successfully make it out the door and I have put her down on the grass, I have to begin repeating ad nauseum, "Mazie, go potty."

The trick to this little adventure is that no matter what I have to stay out there in the cold, snow, sleet, hail, tornado, tsunami, nuclear explosion and keep repeating the same phrase until she actually does something. Most of the time she will pee the minute her feet hit grass. Other times it becomes a 15 minute battle of wills. I generally win because it is cold and I am the only one of us wearing a coat, but the fact remains I am standing in my backyard in the middle of the night wearing a ski coat over...well...over not much else and pleading with my dog to go potty.

"MAZIE! PLEASE. GO. POTTY. If you don't go potty I swear I will leave you out here all night and I don't care if you freeze because I am tired and I don't want to stand here waiting for you to christen the lawn. I mean it. You better start peeing. RIGHT. NOW. You take a piss THIS VERY SECOND. Quit playing. Just pee so that we can go back to bed. You. Must. Go. Potty. Mazie. NOW. RIGHT NOW. Just pee for criminy sake! Pee. I mean it. You really have to go potty. Mazie, go potty. Go potty. GO POTTY. GO! POTTY! Go potty RIGHT! NOW!"

I am beginning to wonder which one of us is more intelligent. I swear the little shit is laughing at me. I just can't prove it.

SO...why does all that make me think the neighbors are mere moments from having me either committed or murdered? Well, it is partly because I turn on the back porch light on each of our bathroom adventures and that light just happens to shine directly into their bedroom. In addition, the way our yard is shaped we have a very short distance from our back door to their bedroom window and I am sure they get to hear these middle of the night discussions between me and the dog.

I walked outside this morning at about 7:30 and they were on their back porch smoking. The second I opened the door they did a mad scramble to get rid of the smokes and go back in the house before I could make eye contact. I am not even sure they have figured out that I am, in fact, talking to an animal of some kind. For all I know they think I am talking to an alternate personality that I force to pee in the yard. I would explain if they would stay outside long enough. I honestly think they have just accepted the crazy neighbor shouting about going potty while wandering around the backyard at odd hours of the night. It really isn't too far from what could be considered normal in our house.

And that? It's a little scary.

And a just a little bit sad.

Chuck E. Cheese and Mardi Gras Beads

2008-02-10T20:59:00.000-07:00

This weekend we had two big parties. There was a time that would make for a great weekend. Not so much with the constant partying now that I am old. Put two parties in the SAME DAY and you might as well plug me in to the caffiene IV because I need some kind of chemical fuel. Caffiene? My drug of choice.

The first, and most important, party was Drew's 5th birthday party. He decided that he wanted it at Chuck E. Cheese's (damn you, you giant singing mouse). So, we invaded. At noon. On a Saturday. With about 17 of Drew's friends.

It was pandemonium in the best possible way.

I don't believe I have ever witnessed such a spectacle. Kids? Everywhere. Volume? Ear splitting. The basic principle behind the place is to fill it with video games and lots of children. Then you crack them out on soft drinks and pizza. Add in animatronic Chuck and friends singing weird songs at full volume and you have the basics.

It. Is. Insanity.

Times a hundred.

But we lived. There was one moment at the end where my life flashed before my eyes. Drew was trying to turn in all his tickets for cheap prizes out of the display case and for one brief second I thought we were going to be taken out by an 8-year old with a crazed look in his eye, but we escaped relatively unscathed. The only obvious victim? My sanity. But, it was already the weak one of the herd so I'm not surprised that the band of screaming kids took it down.

That night we had a Mardi Gras party to go to. We go to the same party every year and it is always a lot of fun. I get all decked out in some crazy outfit and lots of beads. You know...as an aside...you have to give props to the guy who managed to convince millions of women that they absolutely HAVE. TO. HAVE. cheap, plastic strings of beads. MUST. HAVE. THEM. Oh...and then? Convinced them that flashing their boobs to random men is a perfectly reasonable sales price. That guy? Needs to come and do marketing for my company. Seriously.

Anyway, this year I painted on a Mardi Gras mask. It actually turned out really cool.

See?

Now it is Sunday night and I am getting ready to go to bed. Between the two parties yesterday and the new puppy keeping me from sleeping through the night for the last week I am pretty much a bag o'crap today. I don't remember being this tired in a really, really long time.

It's been a long time coming

2008-02-07T13:48:00.000-07:00

After 6 years of marriage I finally got Eric to agree to the one thing he swore he would never agree to. No - we didn't hire David Aebischer as my personal masseuse; and, NO - he didn't let me drive to Chicago and attempt to propose marriage to John Cusack. However, I am still working on those.

Instead?WE GOT A PUPPY

I grew up with dogs. We had a Hugo and then Fritter (hey, don't blame me I didn't name him) and then Gator. When I moved out of my parent's house I got Bodie and Scout. All the childhood dogs are long deceased. Bodie now lives happily with my ex-husband and Scout lives with my Dad. I have been dogless for a long time and about 2 years ago I started The Great Dog Campaign.

Eric has always said that he is "just not a dog person." I get the concept. I am not a bird person. Or a snake person. Or a spider person. My argument was that I AM a dog person so shouldn't we at least talk about it? Last summer Eric finally said, "OK. We'll talk about it.

Someday.

Some day that isn't today.

Or tomorrow."

I figured that was as good as an invitation to pick the dog of my dreams. So, I began searching for just the right puppy. When Eric caught on (the nightly recitation of puppy ads off Craigslist might have been a little hint) and told me to stop it because we? Are not getting a puppy. AND - I might as well just drop it because if I don't then I will have the opportunity to go live with someone else's puppy. At their house.

So, after two years of near constant harrassment I finally gave up. The Great Puppy Campaign had come to a disappointing end.

And then...

Last weekend we are at the hockey rink because Eric is in a hockey tournament. My friend and co-worker Issa comes to the rink with her brand new puppy. I am unaffected. I am bitter from the long years of battle and no longer care if I ever get a puppy. I am resigned to my puppyless existence.

I pet the puppy a little. I hold the puppy a little. I am happy Issa got a puppy because I can hold and pet the puppy and not have to return to the fields of war to do it. Then Eric walks over and looks at the puppy and then looks at me and says:

"Do you think it is a cute puppy?"

(with caution)"Of course I do."

"Do you want a puppy like this one?"

(with extreme caution)"Ummm...if we were ever going to get a dog then this would be the kind of dog I would want."

"You should find out where they got it."

This is where I lost control of my bladder. And fainted.

SO...on Sunday we got our puppy. We adopted her from a no-kill shelter. She is one of a litter of 9 and she is the sister of Issa's puppy.

Her name is Mazie and she is black lab with just a little bit of border collie. She is also the cutest thing EVER!!! Except at 2:00 in the morning when I am sitting outside in 19 degree weather while it is snowing and she flat refuses to go to the bathroom. Then she's not so cute. At that point she is more like the devil incarnate and I can hear that little voice in her head that is saying something along the lines of:

"Alpha dog my ass, lady. You only THINK you are the alpha dog. Let those toes of yours get just a little more frostbitten and I'll SHOW you who the alpha dog is."

Anyway, I am now in the midst of potty training and crate training and don't bite me training and don't jump up on my leg training. I am sleep deprived. I am frustrated.

I am starting to think Eric was spot on with that whole "not a dog person thing."

Yes, kid, you do rock me like a hurricane.

2008-01-30T17:24:00.000-07:00

It has been snowing like crazy here this week. The upside is I have worked from home for three days without any of the guilt I normally feel when I stay in my pajamas all day. The downside is that, as I have blogged before, snow makes the people here become complete freakin' idiots before the first flake hits the ground. I went to get my coffee this morning and it was like entering the Seventh Circle of Hell. You know the Circle I am talking about - it's the one where Musak and Chuck E. Cheese were invented.

Speaking of complete freakin' idiots and Hell we have these neighbors (who Eric and I lovingly refer to as the Clampetts) renting a house in our cul-de-sac and I hate them. HATE....THEM....with something close to a burning passion. These people push all my buttons. Some of them more than once. They have a constant party going on. Constant. To add insult to injury their parties are like a redneck convention with lots of big 4X4s and shouting on the front lawn at 3 am. Every now and then you get a faint "Yee-Haw" or a "Get along little doggies." I don't even want to know what they are up to because I am not sure my fragile psyche could take it.

There are never fewer than 5 cars and they park end-to-end out to the center of the cul-de-sac. IT.MAKES.ME.CRAZY. A good portion of the time they are even parked in front of my house and even though I don't actually own the street I OWN the street because it is in front of MY house that I BOUGHT and therefore it is mine so just back the f*ck up you sucky renter bee-otches.

**sigh**

Oh yeah - did I mention the snow? We had at least 6 inches in our driveway and while Eric worked on removing it via snowshovel Drew worked on removing it via consumption. To quote Eric, who is a very wise man, "At least it isn't yellow snow."

And another thing -

Drew isn't quite dexterous enough to play Guitar Hero, but that doesn't stop him from unleashing his inner rock star. I know these pictures are cute and all, but I have to point out that at the time these were taken Drew had been singing two lines from "Rock You Like a Hurricane" for about an hour straight. He only knows two lines so he just repeats them over and over and over. He does shake it up a bit though. Sometimes it is: "HERE I am. Rock you like a hurriCANE."

And the next time: "Here I am. ROCK you like a HURricane."

And then: "Here I am. Rock YOU like a hurricane."

Sometimes he is loud. Sometimes he is on key. Sometimes he is just shouting at the top of his lungs. But, no matter how he is singing it he has that crazy guitar and he is working the crowd like a pro. Granted - Eric and I are generally the "crowd" and we are only half listening because we have been listening to it for HOURS, but he doesn't care. I think the kid has a future in show business.

I should start researching independent living facilities. Immediately.

2008-01-22T10:12:00.001-07:00

I have been trying to post - I swear I have! I just haven't been able to think of anything interesting to say. I know I have been busy (excuses, excuses), but I can't seem to remember what the heck I have been busy doing.

Oh! I know! I have been busy figuring out that I am old. How, you ask? Well, let me count the many ways:

1. A bunch of us went to a hockey game Friday night. We had seats that were right behind the home net and directly above the ramp where the zamboni drives in. It just so happens that a cameraman stands down there and films the game and the crowd. I was on the jumbo screen doing the chicken dance. Yes, you heard me, THE CHICKEN DANCE. And you know what? I wasn't even embarrassed. I laughed and waved because me? I. Am. Old. and I no longer care if the "pretty people" think I am cool or not. I already know I'm not. Because? I'm old. That's why.

2. Eric and I went, at the last minute, to a small party on Saturday night. We were all talking and laughing and having a great time. I wasn't really paying attention to how much I was drinking. Eric wasn't really paying attention to how much I was drinking. I didn't think it was all that bad until I woke up on Sunday. You know? Old people? They get hangovers. Really bad ones where the sun cranks up the bright factor and everything is at a volume intended for the neighbors to hear...you know, the neighbors IN CHINA.

3. Monday we enjoyed the holiday by going ice skating. I am not a very good skater and Drew and Eric skated circles around me giggling while I held on to the edge and tried to skate. Slowly. With wobbling. And some screaming. There were these three teenage boys that were proudly wearing their hockey gloves so as to show everyone in the rink that they are Hockey Players and are, of course (DUH), far cooler than anyone else in the rink and we should all just freakin' respect their ice since they are all, like, letting us losers use it and all. Sheesh. They were zipping around and doing that quick stop thing and on many occassions knocked down unsuspecting victims. I took it upon myself to tell them to "cut it out before someone gets hurt" and I SHOOK.MY.FINGER. Seriously? Finger-shaking? Eek.

4. The ice skating? Threw my back out. Eric says it's because I was so tense and was using muscles I don't normally use. I hobbled around all night hunched over. I groaned a lot. And whined. And complained. Then I went to bed with a heat wrap around my waist. To add insult to injury - the heat wrap was too tight and it cut off circulation to my legs. Thank you Mr. Heat Wrap for reminding me that I need to eat less and exercise more. I'll get right on that. Just as soon as I can stand upright.

I suppose I am being a bit melodramatic, but I swear everyday I am one step closer to standing on my porch, shaking my fist and yelling at the little kids in the neighborhood to get off my lawn.

If you are looking for an actual topic just keep on movin'...

2008-01-14T20:57:00.000-07:00

I was thinking - why doesn't Britney Spears just move to Canada? I mean, no one really cares what happens in Canada so odds are the paparazzi wouldn't follow her. I'm just sayin'.

Oh, and as an aside, I think the girl is batshit crazy, but deserves a medal for not having run over all the stalkerazzi with her Mercedes. I mean, seriously? If 42 people with cameras surrounded my car and started snapping pictures of me and my kid I would just floor it. If you aren't quick enough to get outta my way then that's just too f'ing bad. Losers.

Moving on...

Eric and I went out on Saturday night and met up with a bunch of friends to go dancing. Our favorite dance club is a gay bar. See how open-minded and accepting we are? Actually, we're just covering all the bases. I've seen pictures of God. He wears long, white flowing robes. There is a 50/50 chance he's a cross-dresser and is batting for the other team. I'm not takin' any chances.

Anyway, it got all hot and smokey in the bar so I went out on the balcony to cool off. The only place to sit was at a table with a bunch of gay boys. Seeing how I was having some difficulty with vertical I chose to invite myself to sit with them. They were quite welcoming. Well, until I asked "THE QUESTION." I have wondered this for quite some time. Unfortunately none of the gay boys would give me an answer. If any of you out there have an answer please, please respond. It's making me almost as batshit crazy as Britney.

If gay boys like boys then why do they dress up like girls to attract other gay boys? AND...if gay girls like girls then why do they dress up like boys to attract other gay girls?

I know! I don't get it either!

OH - and for the record - don't get all pissy about the God is a cross-dresser thing. Seriously? You haven't met him either so just get over it already.

OH - and for the other record - I could care less about your sexual orientation. I just wonder about that whole drag/butch thing.

Moving on again...

Do you know what is funnier/sadder/scarier than Eric playing World of Warcraft all night? Listening to him talk to other gamers on the "chat channel" while he plays and getting undeniable proof that there is truly an unlimited number of geeks that play World of Warcraft all night. Seriously people? It's called a life. Some people really like having one.

Oh wait. I blog. Regularly. Could it be? That? I? Don't? Have? A? Life? Either?

No. Nah....I think Sunday's hangover proves that I have a life. It may end with my pickled liver reaching up into my esophagus and choking me until I find myself lying at the feet of an angry, non-cross-dressing God, but at least it was a life. Of sorts.

Oh yeah - some folks were asking for a picture of my wrist tattoo so here it is. This is an actual tattoo and not a brand or a scar. It was done in a tattoo parlor, with a tattoo needle and WHITE tattoo ink. It is on the inside of my right wrist.

And - to end my post on a happy, joy, joy note. Here are a few new pictures of the greatest kid on the planet...

Deportation with a side o' grape

2008-01-10T22:28:00.000-07:00

OK - so I have this rule where I never, ever blog about work. It's sacred. It's protected. It's...well...it's the way I pay my mortgage so I figure it's probably best to keep my deviantly sarcastic side far, far away from the possibility of my (gasp) boss reading it. Today, however, I will be blogging about work.

Deep breath.

GO...

So I went to Seattle on Tuesday to meet with one of my clients. It was a scheduled trip and I go fairly regularly so my expectation was a nice meeting, some business discussion and a fabulous dinner. This particular client is a blast to hang out with and dinner is quickly reduced to too much wine and a fair amount of giggling.

The problem with this trip is that it also had a serving of deportation, a heaping helping of legelese and a dash of ghetto somalier. The upside was the fact that I got to wash it down with a big ole' glass of grape.

Let's see if I can explain without really explaining...hmmmm...how to frame story without admitting fault...WAIT! I got it! Pretend I am talking to my husband about lack of funds in bank account...

My company has a business relationship with an individual from Holland who has been helping us with a client in Seattle. After much legal advice seeking we bring said business person into US and he begins his consultination/consultivities/consultyness and all is right with the world. Flash forward to last Saturday...business-person/Consultinator returns to US from holiday in Holland only to be detained at US customs. I get phone call. Panic and much frantic drinking ensues. Monday arrives - many calls to attorney. One attorney becomes two attorneys. Attorneys disagree. Chose to listen to attorney who seems most lucid - granted that means he is also most likely more expensive, but throw caution (and yearly budget) to the wind due to feelings of guilt.

Fly to Seattle. Passportless Consultinator kindly picks me up at airport. Go directly to Starbucks. Do not pass GO. Do not collect $200 (even though I could really use the money to pay for upcoming lawyer bills). Conference call with Consultinator and new, lucid attorney. Get informed that halting deportation is impossible. Scan room for nearest door. Remember I don't have car. Resign self to fate. Pray for alcohol. Angry Consultinator unceremoniously drops me at client offices 3 hours early for client meeting. Sit in lobby with no internet connection playing FreeCell on laptop in attempt to self-medicate.

Meeting time arrives. Discuss business. Shake hands. Meeting over. Meet car and driver (oddly enough WAY cheaper than cab) for ride to hotel. Get in backseat, put on earphones, close eyes for short trip to downtown Seattle. Open eyes in Everett. Inform driver he just drove half an hour in the wrong direction. Close eyes.

Check into hotel. Check email. Raid mini-fridge. Change for dinner.

The client picked the Metropolitan Grill for dinner. It is a fabulous steak house and I am very excited because I haven't actually gotten to eat there. We get our table and are promptly greeted by our waiter. He looks like Vin Diesel. Only heavier. With a beard. And a Brooklyn accent.

"Welcome to The Met. What can I getcha to drink?"

ME: "Wine. I need wine."
CLIENT: "She really needs wine."

"Whatcha celebratin'?"

ME: "I got somebody deported today."
CLIENT: "She's not kidding."

"Really? Just one?

ME: "Day ain't over yet."

At this point I ask about a particular wine and our waiter informs us that he will need to get the somalier to answer our questions. Let me pause at this point to insert the descriptive commentary from one of my fabulous co-workers. It really sets the stage well:

"Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about. A NICE dinner. As she’s telling me this story, I envision a thin man with a pensive look in black turtleneck, black jacket. You may think of a European woman who’s been in the back listening to Zazie. I could go so far as to even conjure up a Hemingway-look with a hint of pipe."

OK - you know - a SOMALIER. These guys are slick and polished and...well...FRENCH or something.

Nope. Not MY somalier. Here's how it goes:

S: "You have questions about the wine?"

ME: "Um...yeah. Can you tell me about the Wolf Blass Shiraz?"

S: "Oooohhh. Ah man, dat's a good one. Yeah. It's all, like, fruity."

ME: "Fruity?" I am SOOOOO dubious at this point. "Is it spicy?"

S: "Naw. It ain't all dat spicy. You'll like it. You can taste it. Let me getchyoo sum. It's off the hook." (Somalier exits stage left)

I look at client. Client looks at me.

ME: "That didn't exactly go the way I envisioned."

CLIENT: "No. Not so much."

ME: "Look like we gonna be poppin' the cork and bustin' up wit sum grape up in here. Yo." (Throw gang sign)

As a sidebar - the wine was very good. Full bodied. Not too spicy. Went GREAT with both the filet AND the molten chocolatey thing we ordered for dessert.

Yeah - Elmo scares the crap out of me, too.

2008-01-06T23:23:00.000-07:00

I don't know what I did wrong in the last 5 years, but my 5-year old's favorite television show isn't Winnie the Pooh or Sesame Street. Nope. That would be too...well...NORMAL.

No. Not my kid. Not in THIS family. This family? We don't do normal. So, in an effort to continue with the family tradition of not so much with the normal - my kid's favorite television show is Ghost Hunters.

So, as I type this we are watching a marathon of Ghost Hunters episodes that we Tivo'd over the last few weeks. Eric and I are sitting in our recliners and Drew is sitting in my lap. About two episodes in he fell asleep in my arms so Eric carefully moved him to the couch.

Now - this is the part where I give you a short description of our house layout. You enter the garage, through a door and into the laundry room. The laundry room opens to a hallway with a bedroom to your right and a bathroom to the left. That short hallway leads directly into the living room. From the couch you can see down the hallway to the backdoor.

I tell you that to tell you this:

The minute Drew is moved to the couch he wakes up. He sits up, looks at me with those enormous brown eyes and says, "Mom, I don't like sitting on the couch when we watch Ghost Hunters."

"Oh Drew. I can reach out and touch you from where I am sitting. You are fine. Just lay still and try to go back to sleep."

"But Mom. When we watch Ghost Hunters that hallway freaks me out."

I suppose I should make him watch Sesame Street instead, but that Big Bird character is WAY scarier than ghosts. It might just make things worse.

As a side note: Drew isn't afraid of Big Bird so much. His nightmare nemesis? Elmo.

I think it's all the giggling.

My resolution for today is to drink less - but, check back tomorrow just in case.

2007-12-30T19:32:00.000-07:00

I am glad this week is over and all the holiday cheer stuff is done. It is on to the holiday with no pretense. New Year's Eve. I love this holiday because everyone is really, really honest about their intentions...gettin' smashed. It is the Official Alcoholiday. Whee!

My smashiness was last night at our New Year's party. What are my plans for the real New Year's Eve, you ask? Simple. Watch Dick Clark. Figure out where they put the batteries. The man is a robot. I swear it.

Anyway, we had about 25 couples here and it was loud and rowdy and you can't. Even. Imagine. the sheer volume of alcohol bottles we put out in our garbage can today. If we weren't so hung over we might take them to the recycle place and pay our way to Tahiti. But alas - we just ain't that motivated.

So, without further ado here are things I actually said/did last night:

1. Honey, would you please tape the refrigerator shut 'cause if anyone drinks my RockStar I'll kick 'em in the balls. I'm not even kidding.

2. Whaddup bitches! (drunken shout to room full of friends) Who's my booze fetcher for the night?

3. Who's drink is this? (shouted over full volume death metal) Anyone? (takes sip) Gak! This is disgusting. Who made this? Who was drinking this crap? This sucks. (pours gross drink into my half empty cup) Anyone? Going once!(shrugs) Going twice!(takes drink)(shudders) No takers? Well, it's mine now suckas! (throw gang sign)(turn to leave room)(run into wall)

4. What happened to the door? Why won't the door open? Who broke my door you MoFos. (screamed over frantic pounding by party-goers trapped in garage by broken door)

5. Seriously people. What. Were. You. Doing. To. BREAK. A. DOOR KNOB? In the laundry room no less. Heathens.

Yeah. It was a great party. I ain't gonna lie.

Oh, and here are a couple of pics of me and Eric before the party started and my makeup left the building.

Yeah - Eric's hot. It's ok. You can say it. I know.

Yeah - Eric's still hot. It's ok. You can say it. I know. I was seriously born under a lucky star.

Happy Holidays - with no Bah-Humbug undertones.

2007-12-29T12:55:00.000-07:00

What an awesomely crazy week! My brother, sister-in-law and their two kids came for Christmas and we had the best time! Even the kids managed to make it through the whole week without beating the crap out of each other. Whee!

Here is how it all went down...

First there was Christmas morning. Weeks of work and preparation culminating in 5 minutes of crazed package shredding. Oh...and the kids had fun opening their presents, too.

On Christmas night there was sledding at Bogus Basin. It was about 13 degrees and windy as hell, but we were out there for two hours having a total blast. We outlasted almost everyone out there because we? Are crazy MoFo's and there ain't nuttin' that will stop our fun havin'.

The day after Christmas we went up to the cabin and did a little snowmobiling.

After an afternoon in ONE DEGREE temperatures racing around on a snowmobile at forty miles an hour we went back to the cabin and crashed.

The next day it was up to Tamarack for a day of skiing/snowboarding. Drew started skiing last year and Eric has been both a skier and a snowboarder forever, but this was the first time they got to go together. I got a little teary. Seriously. It was freakin' cute!

It was another frigid day - about 10 degrees - and I was the biggest wimp of the group. I walked around at the base of the hill and took pictures of everyone. They were all smiling and waving and having a blast. I was cold and grumpy and couldn't feel my toes...Thinsulate boots my ass...I am thinking of writing a strongly worded letter. I should have just gone snowboarding with everyone, but I had visions of knees twisting and kneecaps dislocating and monks burning themselves in protest and thought, "Nah - why ruin everyone's week? No monks are gonna die on my watch."

See? I AM a philanthropist so quit bein' haters.

Overall it was a fabulous week. My family left today and I already miss them. Tonight is our big New Year's party. Yeah...I know...it isn't New Year's yet, but I figured we would have it tonight and I would have more time to recuperate before I have to actually go to work and THINK. See...I am using my brain cells before I kill them off with copious amounts o'alcohol.

So...since I hate resolutions and refuse to make any, I will tell you what I am most grateful for. It's an easy one. A bit sappy and it might make some people throw up a little, but that's ok. They are just jealous. Haters.

I am grateful for Eric. He gave me all the things that make my life worth living. I don't know where I would be if it weren't for him and want the whole world to know how much I love him.

Finally...some Holiday Cheer. Whee!!

2007-12-22T20:54:00.000-07:00

It is a few days before Christmas and my family has arrived. We now have 4 adults and 3 children running around like crazy people in our house. It started snowing today and the kids all ran around and threw snowballs at each other. There were a few adult casualties, but no blood or tears. I consider that a good snowball fight.

Tomorrow we are taking the train to the North Pole. It has been at least an hour of, "Seriously? The North Pole? By train? And Santa will be there? Really? I wonder if there will be elves. I wonder if they will give us candy canes. I wonder if we'll get to actually talk to Santa and get our picture taken. I wonder if..." Eric finally told me to shut up.

We are still trying to finish Chrismas shopping. My sister-in-law, Julie, and I went to the mall today. I know what you are thinking. I was thinking it, too. The mall on the last Saturday before Christmas? Have you Lost? Your? Mind? Because the mall? Filled with psycho-shoppers.

It was actually not that bad. I only shoved one person the whole time we were there. Really. I swear! So stop with the judging already. I tell you...that kid deserved what she got. I totally called dibs on the last Hannah Montana PSP game and she used her low center of gravity to her advantage. I do have to give her snaps though because even when she lost her balance she never lost her death grip.

Now we are at home drinking. Heavily.

We are trying to prepare for tomorrow morning's trip to Target. We have a plan for this one. Won't catch us unaware again. Oh no. This time? We have a map and a plan.

We. Shall. Prevail. Jingle Bells!

Frosty the Snowperv

2007-12-16T21:47:00.001-07:00

I am surrounded. They're everywhere. And they're watching me with their beady little eyes.

Don't let those little raisins shaped into smiles fool you. They won't hesitate to stab you through the heart with their carrot noses and then glide away giggling because summer? It's six months away and until then you're their bitch.

Seriously...it is an army of snowmen and I am slightly afraid to close my eyes at night. A couple of them are wearing either skis or ice skates for mobility and they are going to get me because I keep them locked in cardboard boxes in a closet for at least 50 weeks out of the year.

Eric keeps telling me to get them out sooner, but I just. Can't. Do. It. They get taken out of the boxes and before you know it there is a snowman in every freakin' room. They watch me eat. They watch me sleep. They watch me watch t.v. and if I didn't put my foot down they would probably watch me pee.

Seriously. I'm a little creeped out.

On the up side the tree looks spectacular and my family will be here in 4 days.

If I play my cards right I might be able to make the snowmen disappear one at a time, slowly, so no one notices. Gotta keep an eye on those fluffy, white bastards and get them before they get me.

Winter wonderland, my ass.

2007-12-11T12:44:00.000-07:00

It snowed yesterday morning. I went to bed and all was right with the world. When I got up Monday morning I went downstairs, opened the blinds in the front room and was greeted by a wonderland of white.

Pretty, you say? Sure. Pretty. Also? Slippery.

My Monday morning commute took 2 hours. Two teeth-grinding, white knuckling, profanity screaming, headache making hours. A normal commute for me is half an hour and even though I normally scream profanities I don't normally grind my teeth.

I slipped. I slid. I skidded. And that was just backing out of the driveway.

I think the thing that drives me bat shit crazy is the fact that people Lose. Their. Minds. at the first sign of snow. IT'S IDAHO PEOPLE. IDAHO. IT SNOWS HERE. EVERY YEAR. ON MORE THAN ONE OCCASION. GET A GRIP.

All you have to do in order to navigate snow is drive slowly, don't make any sudden movements and don't slam on your brakes. Sort of like when you did the lights off drive-bys on your high school crush's house and all your girlfriends ducking behind the seats in fits of giggles.

Instead of slow and careful driving, I had an insane number of ass hats in giant SUVs blur past me on the freeway. Little tip: Four wheel drive? They slide. I know this because I have a four wheel drive and although I drive slightly faster than Miss Daisy I was still virtually skating. At one point I was surrounded by traffic and I started to slide. I managed to stop the slide, but I think I peed a little.

Part of the problem with drivers in Idaho is that most of them are from California. It is my snarky opinion that Californians living in Idaho have the trifecta of poor driving traits:

1. They have a strong sense of entitlement and the road? Well, it's theirs.
2. They drive GREAT. BIG. TRUCKS and drive thisclose to the car in front of them because the world? Yeah, that's theirs, too. Oh, and it starts at the end of thier noses.
3. They are impervious to inclement weather that might make their large vehicle an instrument of death. You know. They are from California so, like, DUH.

OK - so those are total over-generalizations and probably largely inaccurate, but the next time you drive for two hours across the frozen tundra with bright lights and a California license plate in your review mirror then we'll discuss my prejudice. Until then? Shut it.

Luckily, the snow melted because I lost my voice on the way in from yelling "Ass hat" at the crazies.

And you thought I was just being melodramatic.

2007-12-04T21:07:00.000-07:00

Everyone seems to think I am kidding when I say that all things bad, frustrating, financially devastating and/or otherwise craptastic happen to me in December. Here is an example:

Monday, December 3
- Driving to pick up husband's Christmas present.
- GET SPEEDING TICKET. (I must point out that my last speeding ticket was 3 cars ago.)
- Purchase present. Drive home...slowly.
- Arrive home to have husband say, "I have bad news." That's funny, sweetheart, because SO.DO.I.
- Husband informs me that our dryer...our not quite 2-year-old dryer...has gone into the light and is now on the fluff cycle in appliance heaven.
- Open bottle of vodka.

Tuesday, December 4
- Dad deposits Christmas money into my account.
- Write check to pay speeding ticket.
- Write check to appliance repair man for the priviledge of having his smiling face and visible butt-crack cross my thresh-hold.
- Have appliance repair man inform me that the cost to repair my dryer is more than the cost to replace my dryer.
- Write check to replace dryer.
- Have unexpected bill for medical services arrive.
- Write check to medical facility.
- Begin early planning stages of "The Great Toy Heist of 2007."

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Bah Humbug...with gusto.

Yeah...it's getting close to Christmas. Bah.

2007-12-01T16:03:00.000-07:00

Every night for the last week I sat down and started to post. As you can tell, that little plan didn't work out so well. It was one of those weeks at work where the day just wasn't quite long enough. I was going to petition the government to create a 26-hour day as opposed to the current 24-hour model, but instead I just brought stuff home. Every night last week I would get home, eat dinner and log right back in to finish whatever I still had to do. I didn't hit the sheets before 1 a.m. a single night last week. The good news is: the week is over and I survived. The bad news is: next week is likely to be just as bad.

You would think that after a week like that I would spend the weekend sitting at home doing nothing. Yeah - I would normally think that, too. Instead, in what must have been an exhaustion fueled psychosis, I decided to go to the Christmas Expo with Eric, Drew and one of my friends. For someone who doesn't really like Christmas it was sort of like walking into the 7th circle of Hell. If I had need for handmade quilts, handmade soaps, handmade clothes, handmade toys, handmade ornaments, the world's best salsa, a chiropractic adjustment or Avon then I was in the right place.

So - here is basically the Christmas expo in a nutshell -

1. Take really large building.
2. Add about 600 booths filled with a random assortment of items no one would ever even think about buying the other 11 months of the year.
3. Add a minimum of $10 to the price of everthing.
4. Fill building with about 5000 people - preferable really old, really young or really fat people with no sense of direction or a realization that they share the world with other people.
5. Sprinkle in at least 500 women with double strollers.
6. Crank heater to simulate a sunny day in Jamaica.
7. Play the most irritating Christmas music you can find.

That describes my afternoon. I was run into, stepped on, pushed, shoved, glared at and basically abused all in the name of Christmas spirit. Whee!

Oh, yeah...I also had to keep up with Drew and he was truly amazed at all of the really.cool.stuff. they kindly provided for us to buy. You mean all we have to do is give them some of that, what do you call it, Mom? Money? Well, in that case I want one of these, and one of those, and one of those things over there and...huh?...my $12.00 of allowance won't buy that four-wheeler? Well, just front me a loan then. Sheesh.

We didn't get the four-wheeler even though it would've been cool. Instead we got a PVC-pipe "gun" that shoots marshmallows and some homemade bread and a bracelet and a stuffed dog. I managed to stop myself before I bought the Western wall hanging made out of rope. *sigh* I hope I can survive without it.

Beware the Ferrets.

2007-11-26T22:32:00.000-07:00

I was talking to a couple of coworkers today about my complete and utter horror of the holidays. It begins right about the time the Halloween sugar high subsides and it ends right about the same time as my New Years hangover.

The reason I mention this is that I started thinking about why I hate and/or am afraid of certain things. I am terrified of spiders. Completely, utterly, incredibly, beyond all sense of reason driven insane at the mere sight of a spider. It doesn't matter the size. Size of a dinner plate or size of a pencil eraser - I am equally convinced they are deadly and out to get me. I have no idea why I am afraid of them. It might have something to do with the grand-daddy longlegs my brother used to throw at me when we were kids. I am not sure though...my therapist never decided.

That reminisence led me to my fear of ferrets. Oh,shut up. They may not have eight legs and venom, but they have those beady little eyes and those little scratchy feet and...shudder...it squicks me out. This, however, is one fear I can vividly recall the origin of.

I was about 4 or 5 and my Mom and I stopped at the pet store. I have no idea what we went there for and I don't remember if we actually got what we went to get, but I DO remember the ferrets. They were in these big wire cages on the floor and I thought they were so cute. Like little kitties and I was immediately fascinated by them and I bee-lined for those adorable little creatures because I was FOUR and that's what little kids do and it isn't my fault that the pet store manager (who obviously had no children) put the cages where I could reach them because they were so cute and I really wanted one and "Mommy, can I have one? Huh? 'Cause they are the cutest things ever. Even cuter than my Cabbage Patch Doll and I really want one..."

...AND THEN...

I.Stuck.My.Finger.Through.The.Bars.

And the ferret did what any animal would do if a small, crunchy, human finger came through the bars of their prison cell....he bit me.

I screamed.
The ferret shrieked the shriek of an animal possessed and bit harder.
I screamed louder and proceeded to yank my finger as I hard as I could trying desperately to get it back.
That, of course, resulted in the ferret having his head bashed against the bars of the cage.

SO - I am screaming and systematically beating the evil ferret senseless and the store manager is yelling at me stop yanking on my finger and killing the merchandise and my Mom is yelling at the store manager to stop yelling at me and scaring the piss out of me because "for Christ sake she is already terrified so stop with the yelling already" and finally the ferret loses consciousness and his grip loosens.

Sweet relief.

Apparently, ferrets get some form of lockjaw when they bite. It is some kind of defense mechanism they can't really control. Precisely why ALL pet store owners should put them well within reach of the patrons most likely to stick their finger through the cage bars...that Ass Goblin pet store owner has earned my eternal wrath.

I didn't get the ferret, but I did get a lollipop and a lifelong fear of those beady-eyed little suckers. I swear this is a true story. Seriously, I couldn't make this stuff up.

I sure hope crazy is the new black. I'd love to be cool again.

2007-11-26T00:25:00.000-07:00

What a fun holiday weekend. One of my very, very best friends in the whole world came to spend a few days in Drewville - it's sort of like Margaritaville only with less margarita and more Star Wars figures. Katie is single and childless and there came a moment when I was certain she was going to do bodily harm to me or possibly herself for being dragged into the fray. Drew is a handful and it becomes even more obvious when we have guests...or maybe I just become more aware of it.

Before I met Eric and decided I.Had.To.Procreate. I was the girl voted least likely to be impregnated. It drove me batshit crazy to be around small, sticky, wailing children. I had a very good friend that had four kids and as much as I loved/love those kiddos and as quickly as I would have jumped in front of a bus for those little stinkers I was still regularly driven to the liquer cabinet after mere moments of entering the room with them.

The most amazing thing to me was how my friend could ignore them. Not ignore in an "oh crap I forgot to feed them" kind of way, but more of a "that is the 87th time in five minutes she said that and I can no longer hear her" way. She and I would have a conversation and the entire time one of the kids would be crawling on her, pulling on her clothes, asking her a question, bringing her things to open/close/look at, etc and she never missed a beat in the conversation. In the end it was pointless since I missed the whole conversation because I was too fascinated by the Mom-auto-pilot to hear what she was saying.

Now that I am the proud Mama of a very active almost five-year old it seems I have developed that same talent. Only, my powers are weakened when others enter my orbit. I can totally keep track when it is just me and Eric, but I can't seem to stay focused with others. I get distracted because I can see the look on my friend's face as I open the juice, open the wrapper, change the channel, start the movie, pause the movie, tell him where the stuffed horse is and put the cap on the marker. My conversations probably sound like some kind of bizarre performance art and all that is missing is a haze of cigarette smoke and enormous cups of cappuccino.

"Yes, Katie, my job is going great and I really like it there. I said to keep the fingerpaints in the kitchen."

"Oh yeah. Eric is still playing hockey and his team is doing so much better this season. No more caffiene this close to bedtime."

"I really wish you would move here, Katie, because we would have so much fun hanging out together all the time. You are big enough to wipe your own butt."

I think Katie went back to Portland with a newly invigorated love of her childless existence and a strong desire for a long nap. Between the copious amounts we drank during our Alcoholiday and the constant whirlwind that is Drew I am pretty certain we wore poor Katie out.

I do have to say though - I love being a Mom even if it does make my existence a bit crazy. I heard a rumor that crazy is the new black.

Is there a Thanksgiving equivalent to Bah-Humbug?

2007-11-22T16:03:00.000-07:00

It is no secret that I am not a fan of the holidays. I would bet money that my friends are totally sick of hearing me talk about how much I don't like the holidays and how I always get all anxious and rude and nasty about this time of year. I know...I know...I am rude and nasty during other times of the year, but the holidays generate a special brand of rude and nasty.

So I am at the bank yesterday depositing a check that is soon to be sucked up by the retail machine that is "the holidays" and the guy helping me says,

"Happy Thanksgiving! Do you have some really great plans for tomorrow?"

"No. I hate Thanksgiving."

"Really? You hate Thanksgiving?" At this point he has ceased to make eye contact.

"Yes. As a matter of fact, there is only one thing I hate more than I hate Thanksgiving."

"What is that?"

"Christmas."

It was then that the poor guy behind the counter must have decided I was the anti-Christ because he gingerly placed my receipt on the counter and pulled his hand away and mumbled something like "burn in hell" or "have a nice day" or something like that. Clearly, any direct contact with me would be akin to touching the Devil.

I love scaring the holiday cheer out of unsuspecting strangers. It is the one thing I DO like about the holidays.

My Kid Beat Up Your Honor Student

2007-11-17T14:01:00.001-07:00

The last few weeks have been difficult in the child rearing department. Drew keeps getting into trouble at school for hitting the other kids. Of course, no one seems to be able to determine who started the hitting and Drew insists that it certainly wasn't him because everyone knows he is Gandhi reincarnated and would never in a million years open a can of whup-ass upon his peers because he is all about peace and love and is actually considering a hunger strike until these heinous and false accusations cease.

We went to the grocery store the other day and they have a "playland" where you can leave the kiddos while you shop. Drew loves it there because they have movies and coloring books and lots of toys to play with. When I picked him up after completing my shopping the attendant informed me that Drew and another boy got in trouble for choking each other. Yet again, my stealthy Ninja child managed to avoid detection at the outset and there is no proof of who started it. At that moment I realized that maybe my "let them eat cake" parenting style might not be the best way to go.

Drew is no longer allowed to play his favorite video games. No more World of Warcraft, no more first person shooter games, no more violent video games of any kind. We have even hidden his light sabers in hopes that he will stop taking a whack at everything within arms reach. I guess the fact that Drew always insists on shooting the good guys in all those games should have been a red flag, but honestly I just thought it was funny. Bad Mommy.

We also had to take away a good number of his favorite movies. No more Star Wars movies, no more Transformers, no more War of the Worlds. It was a sad day for the little man. Now he informs everyone who will listen that he is only able to watch Disney movies until he learns not to unleash violence on his friends. I have to tell you that it cracks me up to hear my not-quite-five-year-old use the phrase "unleash violence." I especially love it when he tells complete strangers because as a parent nothing beats watching someone you don't know go through the internal battle over whether or not the authorities should be contacted because clearly if your child says things like "unleash violence" and then giggles you must be a parent in need of intervention.

On a brighter note - Eric and I got a sitter so we can go on a date. With each other. Alone. Whee! Now, anyone who knows us is aware that we go out a fair amount, but it is usually to a party with friends instead of just the two of us. This will actually be exciting to go out and spend some time together. It also means we have to figure out how to carry on a conversation without Drew to help us out. Gee. I sure hope we can manage it.

Off and Away...Flying the a Bit too Friendly Skies

2007-11-12T11:01:00.000-07:00

Today begins a week of travel. That may sound fun, and sometimes it is, but for me it ends up being a nightmare of epic proportions. The airlines are on to me and immediately upon seeing my name on a passenger manifest the flight is unceremoniously delayed. It's a conspiracy. I know it.

Today I am off to Las Vegas and I am going to stay at a hotel I haven't stayed at before. Vegas is a regular trip these days since my company has a big client there. This trip we are staying at the Paris Las Vegas. I hope I get a view of the fountains at Bellagio. That would rock...but, since the airlines have a conspiracy going I am sure the hotel mafia is in on it, too. Last time I stayed in a hotel in Vegas we had a view of an alley and the neighboring hotel. Whee! I kept looking out the window in hopes of a peep show from one of the rooms across the way, but yet again...denied.

The rest of the week is comprised of Portland and Seattle. I'll keep you posted on how those two cities treat me. I am sure Seattle will be good to me since I consistently profess my undying love for the lakes, bridges, mountains and yes...even the rain. I can't wait to move back there someday. I am already plotting. Can't you just hear my evil cackle? I've been working on it so you betta recognize.

Can I just pause for a moment to point out that airports crack me up? I especially love how even on airlines with assigned seats the second they call your flight everyone is jumping up and standing in line. Why? Why - I ask again? You have your very own seat. The plane won't leave you. In a very short minute we are all going to be sitting thisclosetogether so why are you leaping up to rush into the cylinder of personal space invasion? We are all going to get there at the same time. I.Guarantee.It. Would I lie? Of course not.

I also love how everyone sits around trying their best to look at everyone else without actually looking at everyone else. That is my favorite part. I amuse myself by looking directly at everyone and when they catch me looking I wink. You can tell a lot about a person just by their reaction to that wink. They guys either look disturbed that I would dare wink or you can see the internal battle start..."Is she flirting? Does she want me to talk to her? Should I wink back? Look away? Fart?"

I also really love the ladies who are decked out in full hair and makeup. Now...the ladies in business suits are exempt from my ridicule because I have been that girl in full hair and make up with a suit because I was traveling for one day of meetings and then right back home. It's the ones in jeans and stiletto boots and enough makeup to outfit an entire cheerleading squad on Homecoming night that really crack me up. If I had my camera I would post a picture of one such creature. The best part about this particular specimen is the fact that she is 50ish and is dressed like a 25-year old tart. I mean come on...I appreciate fighting old age and all that, but there is a more graceful way to fight for Christ's sake. Chiseling off some of that makeup and covering your tits is a fine place to start if you ask me.

Not that you did ask me, but since when do I keep my trap shut about such things? Never. That's when. What makes you think I would start now?

Silly reader.

Besides...I know that you appreciate me in all my smart assedness and you lurv me precisely because I say exactly what I think even if it ends in embarrassment. Specifically if it ends in MY embarrassement.

UPDATE:
First leg of trip from Boise to Portland - ON TIME leaving and ON TIME arriving. Whee!!
Second leg of trip from Portland to Seattle - LATE. LATE. LATE. Still in Portland praying to the Gods of the airline for some miracle to take place because I have a dinner meeting at 6:30 and at this rate I am not gonna be there. And I was so looking forward to that steak. Dammit.