Wednesday, October 7, 2009

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

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.

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Frankie makes it sound so easy.

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.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

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

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.


Parenting. Ain't it great?!

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

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

Tuesday, September 1, 2009


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.

Thursday, July 23, 2009

One little plague joke and this is what I get.

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!


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.

Sunday, July 12, 2009

I didn't expect the Animal Kingdom.

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.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

I am tired; therefore, I rant. Enjoy.

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.


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?!!!

Monday, June 15, 2009

Just a picture or two.

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!

Monday, June 8, 2009

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

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. 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.

Sunday, May 31, 2009

Porky McGorgealot...or was it Fatty McButterpants?

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.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

I keep telling myself it could be worse

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.


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 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 is my husband in the penalty box.

Monday, May 18, 2009

I suck.

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.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

I really need to be more interesting.

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.


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.

Sunday, March 29, 2009

If I find candy mountain will I still be old?

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's a place of sweets and joy and joyness. That'll be interesting.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

I swear I'm not dead

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.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

The Black Plague Redux; with beer.

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. 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.'d like him, too. He rocks.

Saturday, February 28, 2009

From the mouths of babes.

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!

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Valentine's Day

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.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

The kid is wise beyond his years

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.

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

25 Random Things

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.

Monday, January 26, 2009

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

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 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 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.

Thursday, January 22, 2009

One Snort Closer to the Edge

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.



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!

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

Thursday, January 15, 2009

When energy goes bad.

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.




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.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

I was thinking...

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'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.