VeryContrary

How can you miss me when I won't go away?

2007-01-31T04:19:00.000-08:00

It's my birthday! And for my birthday, all I want is for everyone who found their way here to find your way over here, to visit the new blog. Because this? This is the old blog and I won't be writing here any more.

Not that you could call what I do writing, per se. More like regurgitating onto the keyboard, but still, it takes it out of me.

So please click just one more time and come see me. If you do, I will say nice things about you. To your face, anyway. Ha!

That isn't the only prehistoric thing around here

2007-01-29T07:12:00.000-08:00

This morning I realized that my birthday is in 2 days. I mean, I knew it was coming up and I've made no secret of what I would like for a gift, but somehow it still snuck up on me. Until this morning I would have thought my birthday was a good solid 2 weeks away.

Y'all, I think this means I'm maturing.

Which sucketh the big one.

Ok, I'm not too mature.

Heh.

So, anyway, Lynnster did me a solid and moved all my blog crap over to Wordpress in case I decided I didn't want to continue on with Blogger once everyone was forced to go with the Beta version. I have not heard one good thing about Beta and in fact have heard lots of bad things and am going to move.

My inaugural post over there will be on Wednesday, otherwise known as the day I turn officially older than dirt. There will be lots of talk about the effects of Metamucil and how to keep the tennis balls on the feet of my walker yellow and bright. Great fun for everyone!

If you want to go see how it looks, please do. Let me know what you think. If you like it, it's all Lynnster's doing. If you don't like it, it's my fault for liking the color orange so much.

Now, on to other things. Pookie sent me this link a few days ago. After staring in awe at this creature (what creature? Click the link!) for several minutes, I decided to see if I could find anything on YouTube.

Her and her puny little thumbs. It is to laugh, yes?

2007-01-24T18:18:00.000-08:00

Me (upon hearing that BabyGirl's Friday night plans had been cancelled): Well, maybe you and I could go see a movie. Ooh! Or we could go bowling. I've been wanting to go bowling!

BabyGirl: (gives me the Look) (Parents of teenagers, you know the look to which I refer)

Me: Hey, I bet I could beat you.

BG: Um. Yeah, you probably could.

Me: You were supposed to say something like, 'Oh, yeah!? Well, you just bring it, then!'.

BG (in a little tiny fraidy cat voice): Please don't bring it.

I would totally bring it, y'all. It would be broughten. I would bring it and then when I was done, I would bring it back, put it in a little box and keep it safe for the next time I had to bring it.

Consider it brung, is what I'm saying here.

Thanks everyone for the kind words about Patsy. I can't wait to see her this weekend. We're gonna take a buttload of crawfish out to her house Saturday and gorge ourselves. A buttload is between 20 and 30 pounds, depending on much they cost.

What are y'all gonna do this weekend?

Pop Pop Fizz Fizz.....

2007-01-23T19:04:00.000-08:00

There have been some things going on that I haven't been able to talk about. Work has been a major issue for awhile now. Which is all I'm going too say about that. Ahem.

One of the other issues is Patsy. I've mentioned Patsy here quite a bit. If you'll recall, she feels it's my fault that she once said the word 'fuck'. Something about me and the bad fucking example I'm setting. Hee!

Anyway, Patsy is more than a friend to me. She's also my surrogate mother. I met Patsy when I was in my early/mid twenties and my own mother had passed away several years earlier. She has been a mother to me and a devoted spoiling grandma to my kids, despite having plenty of her own children and grandchildren.

She is one of Pooter's top 3 favorite people at all times (and I, myself, only make it to that list every once in a while) and she adores him right back.

When I was single, Patsy and I made a list of qualities that any man I dated had to have. It was a long, well thought out, reasoned list. Too bad I don't remember much of it. It was a damn good list.

There's lots more I could tell you about Patsy, but I guess the most important thing I can tell you about her is that she's going to be ok. She'll be fine.

She has been diagnosed with cancer. It's made her life a living hell for the past year because of a tumor pressing on her sciatic nerve, while she assumed that it simply a pinched nerve (as did her doctor, to be fair) (but she wouldn't go back for the recommended MRI, for fear of the results, to be equally fair).

Up until yesterday, when the biopsy results came back, it looked really bad. She has cancer running through many of her bones (causing one femur to shatter, resulting in her finally getting her ass back to the doctor). She has dark spots between her skull and brain. I tell you all this so that you can understand how bad it was looking.

Then, yesterday, those results came back and the type of cancer she has is easily treated with hormones and some radiation and she has lots of years ahead of her. And I am absolutely overjoyed.

Now Pooter won't forget her, except as a person in some pictures with him when he was just a little kid.

Now I still have my friend.

Now I still have my Mom.

Now I can kick her ass for not getting to the doctor sooner.

Now I have time to talk her into moving to New Hampshire so I don't have to do without her.

Now she has time for, well, anything.

We're going back down to see her Saturday. She should be home by then and we'll get to spend some serious quaility time together. I can't wait.

The panties weren't very cooperative either

2007-01-21T10:18:00.000-08:00

I've had an exciting last few days. If by exciting I mean painful and exhausting.

I woke up Thursday morning feeling like someone had kicked in my ribcage. Since Pookie has promised to stop assaulting me in my sleep, I assumed that I had simply slept too long in one position and was just stiff. Yes, I have reached the age where a simple good night's sleep will render me stiff and sore and kinda bitchy.

However, as the day wore on (and on and on), the soreness didn't go away. In fact, it got progressively worse. By the end of the day, it was difficult to breathe deeply, move freely, or sneeze without screaming 'fuck' right afterwards.

I got up the next morning, got dressed (fuck you socks, you sadistic bastards**) and went to work. Where I was promptly told to go home. As an aside, they could have fired me on the spot and I would have only felt relief that I could go home. That's how much I hurt.

So I came home, hopped in the shower ( Ha. 'Hopped'. Good one), and then woke Pookie and asked him to take me to the doctor. ( I told him the hilarious, yet fraught with peril story of me shaving my legs in the shower. He expressed disbelief that I was able to. I told him that only complete unconsciousness would justify taking hairy legs to the doctor, even if there's no chance the Doc will see your legs. Back me up on this, fellow girl type people!)

The waiting room at the local ER was a funfest. I think the lady who kept telling her little girl that the policeman (actually a security guard) was going to spank her if she didn't act right was my favorite. The young couple who were playfully wrestling and threatening to whip each other's ass while jarring my chair ran a close second.

After a miserable 45 minutes of waiting to be triaged (so that I could tell SOMEONE that I was dying and to please make it stop now), Pookie went and got a pop from the machine. I took the smallest sip that has ever been taken of a beverage since the beginning of time and a nurse (?) popped up at my elbow to tell me to please not eat or drink anything in case my distress stemmed from my tummy.

Which made me cry. Apparently, I can take most anything, but if you tell me that I can't have a sip of Diet Dr. Pepper while I am dying, I get a little upset about it.

I was called to triage not 2 minutes later, where another nurse apologized to me and explained that she had noticed my physical distress and without knowing what was wrong with me, wanted to make sure that I could be assessed and treated as quickly as possible, so she had sent the other nurse out to talk to me.

I then felt compelled to explain (in a very sexy 'lungs can't expand without killing me' kind of way) that it wasn't really being told not to have a drink that made me cry. She said, 'I know. Broken camel. It's ok.'. Which was exactly right and why I now love her.

Anyway, I had many x-rays, during which I was repeatedly asked to take a deep breath and hold it, which would have made me laugh if I wasn't too busy DYING.

Turns out that Pookie did not, in fact, give me a good elbow shot to the ribs while I was sleeping.

I have Pleurisy. Which sounds like that nastiest little old disease in the world, but it's actually pretty benign, unless, you know, it turns into pneumonia.

So I got a big shot of something very thick and painful in my hip (read: ass) and a prescription for some Naproxen.

I'm doing much better now (as evidenced by the fact that I'm on the computer. When your lungs are caved in there is simply no comfortable way to sit up straight and type.) and I go back to work tomorrow. Where I will be essentially useless since bending over still makes me see stars and prolonged time on my feet makes me really breathless and kind of faint. But I will Be There, by God. Unless they send me home again.

** At least the socks and panties only kicked my ass long enough for me to get them on. The bra kidnapped me, transported me across state lines, ravaged me and then left me at a rest stop after telling me it knew where I lived and would burn my house down if I didn't keep my piehole shut.

$ 415.60

2007-01-16T18:09:00.002-08:00

By way of The Lynnster, I found this meme, which is both cool and kind of embarrassing all at the same time. Which makes it perfect for me!

How it works is, you look at the list below, make a note of the 'fines' for each 'infraction' and tally up how much you would have to pay if it was real. You don't count per incident, which is fortunate, because I'd have carpal tunnel from counting on my fingers by now.

*** Edited*** Because y'all have to hear this shit. Pookie just called me from work (where he usually reads my posts) and said, 'You just scared the shit out of me! I thought this was a list of shit you'd actually done and all I could think was, 'Had sex in church? Had sex for money?!' Myspace?? Myspace hasn't even been around that long!."

Then, after I finished snickering like Mr. Magoo, he asked if I had had sex in a pool and I had to tell him that I wasn't going to go through the entire list with him. Because there has to be some mystery in a relationship.

So before you read furthur the list below is most assuredly not a list of shit I have done. ***Edit over ***

Here's the list of infractions and fines:

Smoked pot -- $10
Did acid -- $5
Ever had sex at church -- $25
Woke up in the morning and did not know the person who was next to you -- $40
Had sex with someone on MySpace -- $25
Had sex for money -- $100
Vandalized something -- $20
Had sex on your parents' bed -- $10
Beat up someone -- $20
Been jumped -- $10
Crossed dressed -- $10
Given money to stripper -- $25
Been in love with a stripper -- $20
Kissed some one who's name you didn't know -- $0.10
Hit on some one of the same sex while at work -- $15
Ever drive drunk -- $20
Ever got drunk at work, or went to work while still drunk -- $50
Used toys while having sex -- $30
Got drunk, passed out and don't remember the night before -- $20
Went skinny dipping -- $5
Had sex in a pool -- $20
Kissed someone of the same sex -- $10
Had sex with someone of the same sex -- $20
Cheated on your significant other -- $10
Masturbated -- $10
Cheated on your significant other with their relative or close friend -- $20
Done oral -- $5
Got oral -- $5
Done / got oral in a car while it was moving -- $25
Stole something -- $10
Had sex with someone in jail -- $25
Made a nasty home video -- $15
Had a threesome -- $50
Had sex in the wild -- $20
Been in the same room while someone was having sex -- $25
Stole something worth over more than a hundred dollars -- $20
Had sex with someone 10 years older -- $20
Had sex with someone under 21 and you are over 27 -- $25
Been in love with two people or more at the same time -- $50
Said you love someone but didn't mean it -- $25
Went streaking -- $5
Went streaking in broad daylight -- $15
Been arrested -- $5
Spent time in jail -- $15
Peed in the pool -- $0.50
Played spin the bottle -- $5
Done something you regret -- $20
Had sex with your best friend -- $20
Had sex with someone you work with at work -- $25
Had anal sex -- $80
Lied to your mate -- $5
Lied to your mate about the sex being good -- $25

My total fine is $415.60. From that amount, if you've been paying attention, you can at least infer that I have kissed a stranger AND peed in a pool. I'm not telling you fuckers any more specifics. I have my pride, you know. (except, if you could see my list, you'd know the pride thing is bullshit)

If you're so inclined, I'd love to see some amounts in the comments. Just think, it's just like confessing, only not as bad because no one will really know the shit you pulled.

Unless, you know, you kissed a stranger or peed in the pool.

Together again at last

2007-01-15T14:23:00.000-08:00

I suppose it makes sense that there are almost no pictures of Dr. and Mrs. King together available for the public to view. After all, he was the famous one.

At least until she had to take over his work after someone murdered him in cold blood.

I hope their kids have more pictures of their parents together.

Rest in Peace, Dr. and Mrs. King.

The 'I Have a Dream' speech in it's entirety. It's quite long, over 17 minutes. But what's 17 minutes in the 24 hours we set aside in a year to honor this man and his work?

I still prefer Spike

2007-01-10T18:09:00.000-08:00

BabyGirl and I were watching another stellar Buffy the Vampire Slayer rerun this evening. Yes, I watch Buffy. Yes, I am still kind of upset and maybe a little bitter that it was cancelled. That's right, I'm a grown ass woman and I loves me some Buffy.

So, anyway, it was the episode with Dracula in it. Not one of those namby pamby regular vamps, but the real honest to goodness(or evil, bwahahaha) Dracula. My favorite line in the episode comes from our reliably goofy friend Xander. He says (and I'm totally paraphrasing here because I already deleted the episode and even if I hadn't, chances are my laziness would overcome my need for accuracy and I would decline to fast forward), "Where'd you pick up that accent? Sesame Street? 'One, two, three. Three victims, bwhahaha!' "

So, anyway, for some reason, I started thinking about what kind of underwear Dracula might wear. I know. That's weird, right? I'll just add it to the list.

So I tried picturing Dracula in tighty-whiteys, boxers, boxer briefs, and those icky little Speedo type drawers, and I couldn't picture him in any of them.

Neither could I picture Dracula going commando.

I mean, really. Vlad the Impaler and his dangly bits. I think not. Although, that would be a good name for a rock band. Vlad and His Bits, for short. Coming soon to an auditorium near you.

Shit Dear Abby won't tell you

2007-01-07T19:49:00.000-08:00

I have decided to start an advice column. It's going to be a little different than your usual advice column. Instead of readers sending me questions and me answering them, I'm going to accidently do really stupid shit and then tell y'all not to do it. That way, I'm learning and educating all at the same time. Great idea, right? Ok, then, let's get to it.

#1:

Dear Contrary,

Should I apply toxic hair color to the old noggin and then take a nice long walk on the treadmill. thus risking a light sweat since my idea of exercise is to take a bath instead of a shower, making me have to heave my ass up out of the tub when I'm done? Not that I'm opposed to a light sweat, but I'm afraid the sweat might mix with the hair color and make it run down my face in stripes, making me look like Tammy Faye before she got Jose Eber to hook her up.

Thanks in advance! (Only not, because I already did it)

Your bestest friend,

Contrary

Dear Contrary,

Yeah. Um. Don't do that again. Seriously. Also, not for nothing, but I heard milk will get that out of your skin. You dumb bitch.

Love, Contrary

I think I could probably manage at least one column a week if I get picked up for syndication. I mean, one stupid thing a week is really aiming low for me.

I also went grocery shopping

2007-01-04T19:37:00.000-08:00

I'm finally going to attempt to do the 6 weird things about me meme that Fauve laid on my ass. I think I did this one before, but I think I can probably come up with 6 more original weird things. I'm complex, with weirdness on many levels.

1) There are a few words I can never think of when I need to. Q-tip (in my defense, not actually a word), and hemostats being two very good examples. I call Q-tips "ear cleaner outers" and I call hemostats "ear hair puller outers" (because I use them to pull the hair of a dog's ear when I'm grooming it). Sometimes I can't even think of those, so I simply mimic how I would use each one. These are only examples, there are others. Thank goodness the people who love me (and my co-workers) are a patient lot and are willing to play Name That Object on a regular basis.

2) I'm a little weird about leftover food. I will eat cold spaghetti till the cows come home (and probably even after that if they get home particularly early) but most anything else is dead to me once it hits the fridge.

3) I put away all my laundry yesterday, which is not particularly weird, but is definitely worth a mention. For instance, Pookie mentioned it quite a bit before I put it up. Of course, he was the one tripping in the middle of the night over the baskets holding only my clothes.

4) I am absolutely powerless against a good back scratching. More than once (and by that, I mean ALL THE FUCKING TIME), I have been rendered effectively mute during a really good rant by Pookie or Baby Girl simply scratching my back. Well, mute except for the gutteral moans and whimpers.

5) When I clean out my right ear, it makes me cough. I have no idea why.

6) I can go all day without visiting the little girl's room (and frequently do, at work) but if you put me in a car, I will need to pee as soon as we're out of the driveway, even if I JUST went before we left. And at 30 minute intervals thereafter.

Okay, people. I shared with you. Now you share with me. Share one weird little thing about you. I mean, you don't have to, but if you don't, I'm just gonna make something up.

Notes.

2007-01-02T18:00:00.000-08:00

I just returned from Wal-Mart and need to dash off a few notes.

1) Dear People Who Work at the McDonald's inside Wal-Mart,

I started a diet today, and fooled myself into thinking it would be okay to have Quarter Pounder w/cheese at your establishment this evening since I hadn't eaten enough to keep a bird alive all day. You saved me from having to regret my dinner by making it truly the ickiest thing I have tried to consume in recent memory. Including Christmas fruitcake.

Thank you,

Love, Grumpy

2) Dear Wal-Mart Stocker Guy,

As my little one and I passed you this evening, you could be heard to say to your co-worker, " What if that motherfucker shows you his burner?". Now, most mothers would get all pissy about you cussing and referring to gunplay in front of their child, but I'm cut from a different cloth. I want to thank you for giving my child a bit of real world education. Why, just this evening, he told me he was gonna pop a cap in my ass if I didn't let him have some candy. I'm sure your mother is just as proud of you as I am.

Thank you,

Love, Too scared of your big gangsta ass to tell you off for that shit

3) Dear little girl who looked at Pooter like he was a mentally unbalanced alien,

You're very perceptive.

Love, The frazzled lady in the deli

4) Dear Pooter,

You have reached a milestone. You no longer wish to ride in the grocery cart because you are a big boy. I'm good with that. What I am most assuredly not good with is you acting like a crazy mo-fo, with the running and the yelling and the general bad behavior.

This is all the more frustrating because you have always been a perfect child in public.

So, I am sorry to say, you are no longer welcome to go to the store with me until you can figure out that while crazy people may be welcome at Wal-Mart, I do not wish to join their ranks.

Love, Mommy (AKA, the she-demon who is making you clean your room right now)

They don't fuck around in Iraq

2006-12-29T20:17:00.000-08:00

Saddam Hussein executed.

How do you feel about that?

(also, I hope everyone had/is having a wonderful holiday season)

Here comes Santa Clause

2006-12-21T18:52:00.000-08:00

In our little town, when it gets close to Christmas, Santa comes around on the firetruck to talk to the little ones and dispense some candy.

Now, Pooter ( my 4 year old's new internet nickname!), has had his share of Santa sightings this season, including one Santa who must have awful tendonitis from all the elbow bending he's been doing. In case you didn't catch that, Santa was a lush.

The firetruck Santa, though, you can't get any better than that. You have Santa and you have a firetruck. Add a train and a puppy and you have Pooter's every reason to live right there in one big unwieldy pile.

Before Santa came, I'd spent the better part of the evening trying to convince Pooter to clean his room. I wasn't expecting hospital corners on the bed or gleaming baseboards, but a path through the jungle of books and toys would be nice. I feel that if I've provided both bookcase and toybox, I've done my part.

I even called Pookie and had him talk to the boy, ending with Pooter happily tottering off to his room to clean, clean, clean. Unfortunately, the gravitational pull of the mess sucked him in, causing him to forget, forget, forget.

So, while Santa was here; after pleasantries had been exchanged and candy had been given to the deserving (and me!), I took advantage of Santa's presence and asked him to talk with Pooter about his room. Santa explained how he can't bring any more toys if there's no place to put them, which is the exact same logic I had used not an hour earlier, but I guess it sounds better coming from the Big Guy, because that room is getting cleaner by the minute.

Oh, and while Santa and I were chatting, he remarked on how we still had those big dogs and reminded me that he had been in our house before. See, Santa is a police officer and had helped us with a little breaking and entering issue we'd had a few years ago.

His fireman escorts didn't know why he'd been in our house, so I told them, 'It's not because I did anything wrong!', to which one of them replied, 'Oh, yeah, you're just a naughty girl.'

And then I squealed and giggled and hit him on the arm.

Ok, I didn't squeal or giggle or hit, but it was a close thing. Apparently I'm a lot closer to my inner 14 year old than I thought.

Defcon 1

2006-12-19T19:02:00.000-08:00

You can stand down, Internet. I heard from the boy. He's fine. He is very sorry he worried his mother and he will never do it again. Or, you know, else.

(I am totally attempting to use humor to mask my relief. It's what we in the business call a 'coping mechanism'. And to those who can't help but think to themselves, "what humor?", I say, yeah, no kidding, right?)

In his e-mail to me (before he called), he meant to type "(nothing) bad has happened" but he typed '...bad gas happened', which I think is the funniest typo I think I've ever seen.

That's the big news for the day, but I do have a few more tidbits to share with you.

1) Jack is back in the hospital with a DVT (deep vein thrombosis), but it is not expected to be a huge issue and they're gonna clear that bad boy right up and send him on his way. Now, all that shiny optimism aside, it still worries me so put your thinking about Jack caps back on and send good thoughts his way.

2) My daughter, who will be 17 on Christmas Day, and I were watching Inside the Actor's Studio with Eddie Murphy this evening. As a consequence, I had to explain the words 'queef' and 'cunnilingus' to her. Considering the fact that each of my chidren probably heard the word 'fuck' for the first time while in utero, I'm remarkably hesitant to discuss queefs and cunnilingus with the girl child. This is the kind of shit that happens when you tell you're children that you will answer each question they ask you honestly and to the best of your ability. They turn on you.

The fact that I have PMS isn't helping much either

2006-12-17T19:56:00.000-08:00

Let's just skate right past the part where I haven't blogged since God was a pup and get right on to the post. It's just better this way, really. I won't feel the need to defend myself and explain how busy I've been, and y'all won't have to think about how you're busy too, but you make the time to stop by here and visit and I don't even have the decency to throw up a
Youtube video and a 'Howdy do!'.

Ok then.

I try very hard to keep any angst I might be feeling out of this blog. Mostly because I have so few reasons to feel angsty. There are a few bloggers out there who are going through genuine bad stuff and they write about it and they write about it well. You end up caring about them and how their story will come out.

Then there are people like me. Most people are like me, I think. Basically happy, with very little angst factor. When the best I can come up with to complain about is how my kid kept waking up last night, or the cat's latest disgusting hairball, or how tired I am from working a job I love which pays reasonably well and has good bennies, I should really just keep my complaints to myself.

But I've been feeling quite angsty lately and well, now I'm gonna bitch about it. Everybody who knows me in real life has had to listen to me bitch about it, so I figure it's your turn.

I'm quite peeved with my oldest son. As most of you, I think, he's in the Army, stationed in California. Which isn't all that far from here, unless you consider 'across the country' to be far.

Anyway, the last time I had direct (telephone) contact with him was about 2 1/2 weeks ago. Since then, the only signs of life I've seen from him are a comment he left on this blog, on an old post, and that he approved me as a 'friend' on Yahoo.

That's it. No IMs, no e-mail, no phone calls. Now, I know he's a big boy and all, but it's the holidays and he was supposed to let me know what he wants for Christmas and he wanted to know what we wanted. Don't get me wrong, it's not at all about the gifts (but I do wish I knew what he wants, because its late enough now that I'll have to guess and chance it getting there late.).

I guess the deal is that we're normally in touch in some way 2 or so times a week and I'm a bit worried that all meaningful communication has been abruptly cut off. Basically, all I know right now is that he's alive and is able to type.

I know he's a grown man and doesn't need his Mommy worrying about him, but it doesn't work like that. You get worried about whether you like it or not, so do yourself a favor and go call your Mom.

Ok, bitch over. For now.

Now, the good news! Remember when I mentioned my friend Jack? Well, he went through some serious stuff healthwise and almost didn't make it, but he's home and he's getting better.

He left what has to be my favorite comment ever. He said "...Well I almost died, but at least I finally got mentioned in your fucking blog..." Ha! I bet Dooce never got a comment like that.

And now, to make up for my recent absence, I have a video for you! Be prepared to 'awww'.

Book 'Em, Dano

2006-12-11T18:05:00.000-08:00

From this story:

"A Rock Hill, S.C., woman called police and asked them to arrest her son who opened a Christmas present early after being told not to, the Rock Hill Herald reported. Police went to the house and arrested the boy and charged him with petty larceny."

Yep. The police arrested him. They helped the mother foster a very deserved distrust of authority in general and the police in specific. Good call, guys!

"The women said that the boy lied to them at first, saying he was unaware of where the video game system was. After threat of calling the police, the boy apparently gave the toy back to his mother, the paper reported. But the upset mother called police anyway."

So she manipulated him into telling her the truth and she lied to him. Somebody call those Mother of the Year people and tell them we have a winner!

"I'm trying to get him some kind of help," the 27-year-old mother told the paper. "He's the type of kid who doesn't believe anything until it happens."

She said he has shoplifted, stolen money from her, punched a police officer and is nearing expulsion from school. "

I'm not sure what made her wait until now to decide to 'help' her kid, but I think her timing is off. You have to admire her resolve, though. She'll put up with shoplifting and battery of a police officer, but she by-God will not stand for early gift opening. I wonder what the penalty for just shaking the gift box is. Maybe an Indian burn?

"The mother plans to have her son placed with the state Department of Juvenile Justice in Columbia at his court appearance, the Herald reported."

While I agree that he should be removed from his mother's 'care', I tend to think the wrong person is going to jail. She's going to put her kid in Juvie Hall over this, instead of seek out and provide therapy for him to help with his obvious issues. Nice. Whore.

Of course, all those years ago when my brothers would open their presents and then open mine and tell me what I got, I coulda used a cop.

Speaking of Christmas (how's that for a segue?), I have been doing some online shopping for Pookie's gift. His only request was for 'something to do with the World Champion St. Louis Cardinals'. Which is both specific yet really kind of vague all at the same time.

I've been trolling Amazon this evening and I came up with a few ideas. Tell me what you think.

No? Really? You don't think?

I've actually found a couple things I think he'll love, but I'm obviously not posting links to those here. Because if he were to click on those links and take a look, I'm pretty sure that would be illegal. Or maybe that's just South Carolina.

Anyway, if any of you happen to know Albert Pujols or David Eckstein, please ask them to send an autographed ball or jersey over this way. Just have them write; "To Pookie, that nutjob must really love you".

Ho Ho..oh.

2006-12-07T15:51:00.000-08:00

I started my day sitting at the kitchen table in my drawers, sewing up a mighty hole in the hind end of my work pants, during which a cat fight broke out under the table.

Honestly the coffee was just unnecessary after that.

And now in the interest of giving the holiday season a kick in the ass, I would like to present the following video. Make sure your volume is up, so that you don't miss any of the sweet, sweet holiday goodness.

What's black and white and read all over?

2006-12-06T04:35:00.000-08:00

Can a person really be judged by what newspaper they read? Let's have a look-see:

(I didn't write this. I don't know who did. I "borrowed" (read: flat out stole) this from someone who also doesn't know who wrote this. So if you know who wrote this, let me know so that I can give the proper credit.)

1. The Wall Street Journal is read by the people who run the country.

2. The Washington Post is read by people who think they run the country.

3. The New York Times is read by people who think they should run the country and who are very good at crossword puzzles.

4. USA Today is read by people who think they ought to run the country but don't really understand The New York Times. They do, however, like their statistics shown in pie charts.

5. The Los Angeles Times is read by people who wouldn't mind running the country - if they could find the time, and didn't have to leave Southern California to do it.

6. The Boston Globe is read by people whose parents used to run the country and did a far superior job of it, thank you very much.

7. The New York Daily News is read by people who aren't too sure who's running the country and don't really care as long as they can get a seat on the train.

8. The New York Post is read by people who don't care who's running the country as long as they do something really scandalous, preferably while intoxicated.

9. The Miami Herald is read by people who are running another country but need the baseball scores.

10. The San Francisco Chronicle is read by people who aren't sure there is a country, or that anyone is running it; but if so, they oppose all that they stand for. There are occasional exceptions: if the leaders are handicapped, minority, feminist, atheist,
dwarfs who also happen to be illegal aliens from any other country or galaxy, provided, of course, that they are not Republicans.

11. The National Enquirer is read by people trapped in line at the grocery store.

I don't read any newspapers. What does that say about me?

Itsy Bitsy was neither itsy nor bitsy...discuss

2006-12-04T04:29:00.000-08:00

Ok, the whole spider story, because apparently, Lynnster and Mrs. Chili feel like I left some important stuff out of the story. I hope this answers all the spider questions.

I was sitting outside work, having a smoke and chatting with a pal. We spotted the huge ass black widow spider crawling along the wall and I wanted a picture. As always, I had a book with me, and I leaned the book against the wall, under the spider so that I could show the relative ginormity of good old Charlotte, as compared to the book.

Well, she apparently liked the looks of the book and crawled onto it, so I picked the book up and carried it to the shade so I could get better pictures. The spider was moving very slowly (because it was cold outside) and was surprisingly cooperative about having her picture taken numerous times, including standing on her back legs so I could get a picture of the hourglass on her belly.

My pal and I then decided that we had to show this spider to everyone, so we walked in the building with the spider still being nice and quiet on the book.

After about 5 minutes in the building (and it's warmth), our old friend Charlotte started to wake up and feeling quite peppy. She kept leaping off the book into midair, trailing her webbing behind her and then I would reel her in by turning the book over and over, like a really primitive fishing reel.

I hollered for someone to bring me a critter keeper (a small plastic box with air holes) and we used it much like a fishing net to scoop her up right before she hit ground level right after another leap off the book.

I put a stick (so she could make a web) and a few munchies in there for her and she hung out with us for awhile.

The Orkin guy came by and I showed her to him. He asked if I was trying to sell her. My reply, (and I think this is a fairly accurate representation) was, "Who the fuck would want to buy a black widow spider?".

Anyway, at the end of the day, I took her outside and let go right next to the store, where she is, no doubt, trying to get an appointment with her therapist to tell how she was kidnapped by giant aliens and put on display for other, equally large, aliens.

And that is the whole story.

I should add that I nor anyone else ever touched this spider with our hands. I did accidently touch some of the spider's poison after she tried to kill my book, but I just stuck my finger in my mouth and sucked the poison off. That's good first aid right there. Hmm..I don't feel so good all of a sud.....AHHHHH! My eyes! My eyes!

P.S. Still working on that '6 weird things' meme. Do you think 'plays with spiders even though she's deathly afraid of them' counts as weird?

P.P.S. At least I didn't do like this dumbass:

Born Free

2006-12-03T05:22:00.000-08:00

Mrs. Chili has expressed some concern over what became of my little eight legged friend from yesterday's post (scroll down if you like..it's too early for much linkage).

I let the spider go. And that isn't a euphemism for 'I stomped the ever loving shit out of it', either.

I let her go near where I found her in the first place, so she is now free to run and play with all the other terrifying arachnids.

Now, as to that 6 weird things about me meme, well, I was too busy (getting busy!) last night to do that, so I'll try to do it later today.

Barry Manilow Rules!

Eeek.

2006-12-02T04:26:00.000-08:00

Today at work, I saw the biggest black widow spider I've ever seen. So, of course, I caught it, took pictures of it, looked at it up close a LOT, and then let it go.

Because I am a 10 year old boy.

I also took every opportunity to scare the crap out of other people with the spider.

Because I am a 10 year old mean boy.

(You can't see it in the pictures, because I took them with the camera phone, but there is a little puddle of spider poison on the surface of the book. There was a couple times while handling her that I almost made a puddle myself, if you know what I mean.)

So the subject of Charlotte's Web came up, with someone asserting that Charlotte was a black widow spider. Um, well, I guess that could explain the absence of a father figure for her eleventy billion kids.

So, what do you think folks? Was Charlotte a black widow? I haven't found anything that specificly points to what kind of spider she is, but maybe y'all will have more luck. If not, feel free to post random guesses.

Coming up tomorrow, Fauve has tagged me for a meme, so I'm gonna give that a go. It's the '6 weird things about me' meme, which I've already done once, but I loves me some Fauve, so I'm gonna dig deep and see if I can find six more weird things about me. My prediction is that it will not be too difficult.

I told y'all I was having too much fun

2006-12-01T05:54:00.000-08:00

Surprise! It's December 1st, NaBloPoMo is over and I'm posting anyway. Because I feel like it. Also, I got plenty of sleep last night, which feels rather wonderful.

Of course, nobody will be reading today, assuming that my inherent laziness will keep me from it, but I have discovered that posting is like sex. The more you do it, the more you want to do it and the better you are at it. Right, Pookie? Oh, for God's sake, turn off the Barry Manilow, I gotta go to work in a few minutes.

And now, a video which could only be titled "The foot, she is taunting me"

Have a happy Friday everyone!

Calling all rednecks

2006-11-30T06:46:00.000-08:00

Well, I did it. It's the very last day of NaBloPoMo. I'm pretty proud of myself, I have to say. And now, it's time for a break. I may be back, I may not. Who knows, in this crazy topsy-turvy world whether I'll have anything to say in the future. All I know for sure, is that for right now, NaBloPoMo has broken me.

Aw, I'm just fuckin' with y'all. I'm enjoying this more than ever and I have tons of crappy stories I haven't told yet. However, if y'all wanna leave a bunch of comments begging me not to quit, so that I, in turn, can post how grateful and touched I am by the outpouring of support, well, who am I to stop you?

But, seriously? You fuckers aren't getting rid of me that easily! Ha!

Now, given the popularity of yesterday's post, I've decided that I want to make an internet redneck quiz. So, if you all would be so kind as to leave your suggestions for questions in the comments, I'll put that bad boy together. Pookie says he's sure there are already some out there, but he's also sure that we can do it better. Let's do it for the Pookster!

Speaking of Pookie(s), I got an e-mail yesterday from someone here in blogland telling me that their nickname is Pookie. This person also threatened to hunt me down if I told who it was. So I'm not gonna tell y'all.

But I am going to have a lot more of this kind of thing in my posts: "OMG,Y'all, Pookie totally rocked my world last night. Pookie is the best lover evah. I just wish Pookie didn't have to have Barry Manilow playing to get off." Just to fuck with the other Pookie. Because, once again, and I don't think I can say this too often, I am immature.

Ok, on to more serious matters. I got a call from a friend last night that her husband, one of my best friends, and a true brother to both Pookie and I, is in ICU with an as yet undiagnosed illness. They live about an hour away and Pookie and I are leaving shortly to go see him.

His name is Jack and I've mentioned him sporadically here. The reason he hasn't had more airtime, if you will, is that he's always whining about not getting more airtime. So it's been my pleasure to screw with him by not writing about him. We are both terribly mature.

Jack's a good guy, and if you're the type to pray, please add him to your list today.

Finally, I have a video that I've been on the fence about posting because,well, it's kinda dirty. But I'm posting it today in honor of Jack, who would love it and would laugh until he fell over.

If you've ever heard of Rodney Carrington, you'll know what you're in for. If you haven't, get with it, you poor bastard!

The most accurate, yet really kind of offensive internet quiz I've ever taken

2006-11-29T04:27:00.000-08:00

Congratulations! You are 0% ghetto

It looks like you keep yourself out of the ghetto and are living ghetto free. Also, you may be white.

How Ghetto Are You
Create Your Own Quiz

Although, one of the questions was, and I quote: "3. Do you know anyone (including yourself) named Pookie, Nay Nay, Shaquita, Boo Boo or Tawanna?"

I answered yes, of course, but apparently the quiz sensed that Pookie is just the nickname I have for my equally non-ghetto husband. Damnit! I was hoping to be at least 10% ghetto, if only so that my kids will think I'm cool.

If one of the questions had been 'Have you ever been shot/stabbed in the face?', my score would have totally shot up. Also, I hang out with pit bulls a LOT. Surely that has to count for something.

Ok, I admit to a shortage of gold chains, but I have a lovely tennis bracelet that Pookie bought me for out last anniversary and, while I don't generally chug 40' s of an evening, I have been known to have a little Bailey's in my evening coffee.

Ooh! One of my neighbor's has a toilet in his front yard! Does that count? Although, he is renovating and therefore I expect the toilet to be gone posthaste and also, I believe the potty in the front yard is more redneck than ghetto.

Man, I just can't win.

He went after those three mice next, the sick bastard

2006-11-28T04:44:00.000-08:00

So, this one time, at band camp, my brother stabbed me in the face. Ok, so it wasn't band camp, it was our living room, but my brother did indeed stab me in the face.

About an 1/8 of an inch from my eyeball, to be exact. That's right, I was almost BLINDED whilst being stabbed in the FACE by my BROTHER (be honest, y'all. Do the caps make it all that much more dramatic or are they just a pain in the ass?)

Anyway, one day, way back in 1978, when I was about 9 years old and my brother Joel was about 15, we were play fighting. He was pretending to try to stab me and I was pretending to fight him off.

(Okay, one of the reasons I took so long to tell this story is that I cannot figure out how to tell it without my brother coming across as a vaguely retarded psychopath. I assure you, he is neither. However, I will concede that he was a huge dumbass who should have known better. In fact, he's still a dumbass, but he hasn't tried to stab anyone in years.)

So, anyway, we were playing and he was holding his old (rusty!) pocketknife over me. I, in turn, was holding his arm and hollering my head off (because that's what you do when someone is trying to stab you. I still have a finely tuned sense of drama)

Now, he wasn't exerting any pressure on my arm; he wasn't actually attempting to stab me, but he wasn't holding his arm's weight up either. So when I let go of his arm and went to get up, his arm fell and the knife landed very close to my left eye.

To be truthful, I didn't even know I was injured until my brother's face went white and he told me that I was bleeding.

We lived way out in the country then and had no phone. My mother was either at work or at school when this occurred and Joel was responsible for the rest of us. Which is rather hilarious, if you think about it.

Anyway, the closest phone available to us was at the little mom and pop store down the road from our house. So Joel slapped a paper towel or something over my eye, picked me up and started to run down the road, with my other brothers running alongside.

He ran until he couldn't carry me anymore (about 200 feet, the pussy), put me down and told me I was going to have to run. Which I did, because to be honest, the blood running down my face was really starting to freak me out.

We get to the little store and the sweet little old people there assure us that I am fine and then call my mother and assure her that I am fine and then hand out Hershey Bars and Cokes to all of us.

Now, I called Joel this evening to get his memories of it and he was hopped up on muscle relaxers because his back went out. Karma? Oh yes.

He said he didn't remember there being any blood. I asserted that this perception was due to his guilty conscience over having STABBED ME IN THE FACE, and if there hadn't been blood, why in fuck had we run down the road to get help. He conceded my point.

Anyway, I told him that he was lucky that Mom hadn't killed him. He replied that he was lucky he hadn't killed me. I told that wasn't likely but that I was very glad he hadn't poked my eye out as it would have totally lessened my attractiveness to the opposite sex. Then he said something vaguely dirty about my possible popularity as the one-eyed girl.

I think it's obvious that neither one of us learned a lesson from this, don't you?

Right after I post this, I'm going to take a nap

2006-11-27T07:47:00.000-08:00

For all two of you who might have been wondering why I haven't posted yet today, I have a good excuse. Patsy came up yesterday and spent the night and I've been busy hanging with my homie. We played Scrabble, shopped for shoes to replace the ones GargantuDog ate, and just basically hung around, doing nothing.

She just left for home (wah) and I am going to have to tell her that Little Man just said, 'Mimi can't be my pit crew anymore'. I'm sure she will be shocked and saddened by this news.

While Patsy was here, she showed me how to record audio with my cell phone, so I have two recordings of Little Man singing to share with y'all. As soon as I figure out how to do it. Which really means as soon as Pookie figures out how to do it. I think my ineptitude with all things technological has been well documented.

I have made a promise to myself that I am going to By God sit down and write out the stories of How I Got Stabbed In The Face and How I got Run Over On My Birthday tonight, so hopefully one or both of those will be up tomorrow.

In the meantime, watch this video and see if history repeats itself.

And now, as foretold, I am off to take a nap. I must be psychic or something. Y'all be quiet and keep the TV down, hear?

The Hound of the Baskervilles

2006-11-26T10:20:00.000-08:00

Meet Tonka. Her name used to be Honkytonk, but they were calling her Honky for short. Now, even if I didn't have neighbors of many colors, I wouldn't be real hot about stepping out my door and yelling 'Honky!'. I also wouldn't call a dog 'Cracker'.

So we're calling her Tonka for two reasons:

1) It sounds enough like her old name that she won't be confused, and..

2) She resembles a Tonka Truck in her ability to go anywhere she damn well pleases. We're thinking about painting her yellow and installing a horn.

She's the sweetest old girl you ever saw. Never met a stranger, apparently. Her behavior thus far has been pretty exemplary with a few notable exceptions. First and foremost, whoever said this dog was potty trained was a lying sumbitch. We're working on it and coming along just fine, but in the meantime, just know that there are few worse ways to start your day than finding one of the Great Lakes in your front entrance way.

Secondly, I have to take Contrary Jr. shoe shopping today to replace the three pairs the dog knoshed on, kibble apparently not being enough. It was a one time incident, mostly because we immediately went out and bought the biggest fucking bone in the world for her to chew on.

Thirdly, she thinks she's a lap dog. Even as you protest, wheezing and short of breath, she will climb into your lap and take a nap.

Other than that stuff, which we're working on and making progress with, she's just about the best dog you could hope for. Plus, she stinkin' cute.

How could anyone resist this?

Nevermore

2006-11-25T06:53:00.000-08:00

We have a guest post from my stepson, Pookie Jr., today! I think you'll find it very amusing, especially if you're a Poe fan.

You all, no doubt, remember Gracie, the nudist pug, from my story of her sweater, or, more specifically, her refusal to wear it. For those of you newer to this blog, the short version is that I sent an e-mail to Contrary describing my valiant efforts to clothe my pug, Gracie, in the dead of winter with a sweater, and of the... less than satisfactory outcome that ensued. Contrary thought it humorous enough to post on her blog. I think this was on her old site, so the actual text has probably been lost. (Ed: Oh, ye of little faith)

Gracie, when she is hungry, has a very destructive habit of tearing at the screen door. Now, the glass door behind the screen is always closed, so she has no hope of getting through it, but it does usually does grab somebody's attention, thus getting her fed. Over time, this has ruined the screen door, destroying it completely from about knee-height down.

Recently, when we grew tired of staring at the ruined screen door, we decided to purchase one online that was advertised as "indestructible", much in the same way the Titanic was advertised as "unsinkable". See, the thing about these "indestructible" screen doors, is that, like the Titanic, they take a lot to destroy, but when they do go, they go spectacularly. At first, everything appeared fine. Gracie scratched and bit and chewed at the door, all to no avail. Yet one day, while I was sitting watching TV and eating a turkey sandwich (the door is right behind our couch), all of a sudden I hear a very loud ripping sound. I turned around, and almost half
the screen, in one piece, had come off the door.

Gracie and Dixie (my other pug) were busy having a fine game of let's-chew-each-other's-faces-off, as they are prone to do, right in the middle of a pile of what just moments before had been the lower half our screen door. Gracie was promptly yelled at, which sent her into some kind of doggy-funk, and she sulked off to her doghouse. Dixie chased her tail for five minutes and the ran in circles for awhile.

Below is what I imagined happened to Gracie after I went back inside, and the thought process she had while committing the heinous act. It is slightly more poetic form than is my normal style, but nonethless I believe it still gets the point across. Oh, and in case you had any doubts, yes, it is shamelessly plagaraized from The Raven, and no, I don't care.

The Pigeon

Once upon a pug so dreary, as she pondered, fat and weary
Over many a quaint and curious day of yonder lore
While she lay there, only napping, suddenly there came a tapping
As of someone gently rapping, rapping at her house's door
'Tis my Andrew,' she muttered, 'tapping at my house's door-
only this and nothing more'

Ah, distinctly she remembers, though she really ought have not,
As each seperate dying thought wrought its ghost upon the ground.
Eagerly she wished she wished the morrow; - vainly she had sought to borrow
From her Andrew to his sorrow- sorrow for the lost screen door -
For the new and costly mesh whom he'd only, only called 'screen door' -
In tatters now for evermore.

Presently her soul grew stronger, hesitating then no longer,
'Andrew,' she said,'For only thine forgiveness I implore;
but the fact is I was starving, and I saw you that turkey carving,
and so now here you come tapping, tapping at my house's door,
O forgive me, for thine mercy' -here she pushed open her door-
Her bone there, and nothing more.

Deep into her bone peering, long she stood there, wondering, fearing,
Doubting, thinking thoughts no poor pug had ever dared to think before
Yet the silence was unbroken, and the bone, it gave no token,
And the only word there spoken were the whispered words, 'Screen door!'
This she whispered, and echo mumered back the words, 'Screen door!'
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into her doghouse turning, all her thoughts within her burning,
Soon again she heard a tapping somewhat sharper than before.
'Surely,' she thought, 'surely that is something at my door;
Let me see then, what there is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!'

Open her she flung her door, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
Came that way a stately pigeon of the wonderous days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made it; not a second stopped or stayed it;
But, with the mein of Andrew it sat, perched next to her doghouse door -
Perched upon her bone of rawhide just beside her doghouse door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this smoky bird beguiling her sad tail, oh, into wagging,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
'Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, though,' she said, 'art sure not smidgen
Ghastly grim and ancient pigeon wandering from the daily yore
Tell me what thy business be here beside my doghouse door!'
Quoth the pigeon, 'Nevermore.'

Much she marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living canid being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing this bird beside its doghouse door
Bird or beast upon a rawhide bone, beside a doghouse door
With such a name as 'Nevermore.'

Startled at the stillnes broken by reply so oddly spoken,
'Doubtless,' she said, 'what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
of "Never-nevermore."

But the pigeon still beguiling the pug's sad, sad tail into wagging,
That she nudged her cushioned bed in front of bird and bone and door;
Then upon the plastic sinking, she betook herself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking 'Nevermore.'

Then, she thought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls muffled on the grassy ground.
'Wretch,' she cried, 'thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from my thinkings of screen door!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget the lost screen door!'
Quoth the pigeon, 'Nevermore.'

'Prophet!' said Pug, 'thing of evil! - prophet still if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee at my door,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this grassy land enchanted -
On this house by regret haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there forgiveness for his pug yet in Andrew, I implore!'
Quoth the pigeon, 'Nevermore.'

And the pigeon, never lifting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the rawhide bone of Gracie's, just beside the unhappy hound;
And its eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the sunlight o'er it streaming throws its shadow on the ground;
And Gracie's soul from that shadow that lies floating on the ground
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

A cool contest and a hot recipe

2006-11-24T05:03:00.000-08:00

There is a really cool Swiffer contest going on that I thought you all might want to know about (Thanks Nicole, for the head's up!).

Y'all can visit here from November 15 through December 30 and submit a photo(s) of your interior holiday decorated home. During this time, one photo will be chosen each week and posted as “favorite home of the week”

In addition, participants will be chosen via random sweepstakes selections and will win the following:

1. Grand Prize Winner: $3,500 toward a home makeover
2. 25 First Prize Winners: A Swiffer WetJet
3. 6 Weekly Winners: A year’s supply of Swiffer Products

Now, who couldn't use $3,500.00? I know I could. So carry your butts over there and see what the fuss is all about.

Now, onto other matters: There was a minor clamoring for the stuffing recipe that my mother-in-law gave me. So here it is. Oh, and no pressure or anything, but if you screw this recipe up, your crock pot should be taken away from you. Seriously. If I can do it, anyone can do it.

Ingredients:

4 1/2 cups cornbread
1- 16oz package Pepperidge Farms Herb Seasoned dressing mix
2- 10.5 oz cans cream of chicken soup
2- 14 oz cans of chicken broth
1 medium sized onion-chopped
1/2 cup celery-chopped
4 large eggs
1 tbs rubbed sage
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp pepper
2 tbs butter

Combine all ingredients except butter in large bowl and mix well. Spray inside crock pot with Pam (or otherwise lube that bad boy up), spoon mixture into crock pot and then put pats of butter on top. Cook on low setting for 4 hours. Serve and collect compliments graciously.

Ok, I've talked about a Swiffer contest and posted a recipe. Honest to God, what is the world coming to? I have an awesome entry coming tomorrow from my genius stepson. Be prepared to be amused and amazed.

Gobble, Gooble Bitch

2006-11-23T10:36:00.000-08:00

Attention people of the internet, for the first time ever, I made good stuffing. It's not too dry, it's not too bland, it's just right. And I made it in the crockpot.

(Thank you World's Best Mother-in-Law for telling me about this recipe!)

(also, if you're interested in the recipe, I will be glad to pass it on)

I stole the following from Lynnster, but it's ok, because she stole it from someone else. This is a case where two wrongs make a right. Because it's awesome.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving Eve

2006-11-22T05:19:00.000-08:00

So, is everybody ready for Thanksgiving? I'm not. I mean, I'm ready for the parade and all the good food and the after dinner nap with Pookie, but I'm not prepared.

This is the second busiest week of the year for groomers, only slightly behind the week before Christmas. Work is kicking my ass and the cold I picked up at work is standing there cheering nastily while work kicks my ass.

This also explains (but not excuses) why I haven't been doing much reading or commenting on other blogs. To those who are getting the short end, I'm weally, weally sowwy (isn't that cute? don't you want to forgive me for slighting you and your blog now?).

In better news, I have a three day weekend coming up. Lots of company coming, but also lots of time to sit down and type out some actual posts. Time to put some thought into what I'm writing and make an actual effort to entertain and/or amuse. It's gonna be great! Or maybe that's wishful thinking combined with a cold medicine haze.

So what are your plans for Thanksgiving?

P.S. We got a new dog yesterday. After all those odd mix jokes, we ended up with a Great Dane/Bloodhound mix. Think gangly meets droopy meets sweet meets goofy and you have a pretty accurate idea of what she looks like. Pictures soon to come.

Gone to the dogs

2006-11-21T04:39:00.000-08:00

I mentioned the other day that I got bitten at work. Holly then asked in the comments what kind of work I do that I can get bit. I'm a pet groomer.

I work primarily with dogs, but I do see the occasional cat. I also trim bird wings and will nip the nails on a rabbit, ferret or sugar glider if needed. I also once bathed a 13' albino burmese python for mites.

In fact, I think the most memorable bite I ever got working with animals was when I was working in a small pet store and one of the large snakes got loose. I was the only one in the place at the time who wasn't scared of snakes, so I got snake finding and catching duty. The finding part wasn't so hard, as it had wrapped it's 10' long body around a dog food display. The catching part was a bitch though.

It wasn't a poisonous snake, but bites from a large constrictor still hurt and it struck me on each hand at least three times.

(Do I count that in the list of times I stupidly hurt myself or was this an episode of When Previously Tame Animals Attack? You be the judge.)

I would estimate that I have been bitten with intent to cause boo-boos by any nymber of species at least 500 times in my life. Obviously, the vast majority of these bites weren't worth writing home about, but there have been a few doozies. One that springs immediately to mind is the time a cat bit the heel of my left hand and 10 minutes later, I had a lovely red streak halfway up my arm.

Speaking of cats, people often express shock at how expensive it is to get a cat groomed. Let me explain. If a cat bites you, chances are, you're going to a doctor. The doctor will then prescribe you some super-antibiotics, for which there is no generic equivalent, and those pills will cost you 120.00 (last time I needed 'em, anyway). Most grooming places do not provide health insurance or workers' comp, and the groomer eats the expense of the medicine and any lost work time.

Anyway, despite the inherent risks, I love what I do. Like any self respecting lazy mo-fo, I would prefer not to work at all, but as long as I continue to lose the lottery and have to work, I choose to do this.

Oh and give me a nice pit bull anyday, over a bad tempered little dachsund or chihuahua.

By the way, I had an odd dog in today, as a matter of fact. A pitbull/poodle mix. Apparently he's not much of a watchdog, but he is a vicious gossip. (I know. That was awful, but I could not resist)

You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here (AKA, the pity party is over)

2006-11-20T04:29:00.000-08:00

How I spent my Sunday evening, besides wallowing in self pity:

1) Made a pumpkin gooey butter cake, which is just as sinfully delicious as it sounds. I'll be taking this one to work tomorrow and making another for Thanksgiving. I took one to work last year and have been hearing about it ever since. For a recipe I flat out stole from TV (thank you Paula Deen!), it sure does make me look good.

2) Made jalapeno jelly, which is also quite awesome. There are lots of different recipes for this stuff, but we're simple folks and so all I do is drain the juice off of about 6 small jars of jalapenos, dump them in a bowl and put a buttload of sugar in there (about 3 pounds), then stir occasionally over the course of a day.

Then you take a wheat cracker (or whichever kind you prefer), spread a little cream cheese on it and then add a little bit of the jelly on top. Will make you slap your Mama or the nearest convenient maternal figure. If that's your Mother-in-Law, so much the better. (I'm kidding. I love my MIL. I'm also kind of scared of her.) (and when I say 'kind of', I mean in amounts that have yet to be measured.)

3) Had my brothers over and played Scrabble with them. Ignored them when they said something stupid. Won at Scrabble, was only mostly successful at the ignoring.

In other words, I got over myself. I'm obviously still a bit bummed that my oldest won't be home for Christmas, but I'm working on it. And I'm hopeful that Patsy's car will cowboy up and be able to make the trip next Sunday.

Coming up this week (hopefully), the story of how I got stabbed in the face and the story of how I got hit by a car on my birthday. You know, it's like I lived my childhood knowing that one day I would have a blog and I would need stories for it.

Everyone have a good Monday!

This counts as a post

2006-11-19T12:23:00.000-08:00

Ha Ha! Just kidding. Although, if I hadn't just posted a diatribe about how much that irritates me, I'd be tempted to see if I could get away with it. However, you should feel totally free to skip this post entirely. In fact, I'd recommend it.I'm not having a very good 24 hours. Nothing tragic, nothing life altering, just a couple things that have me a little bummed out.

1) My oldest won't be able to come home for Christmas. I'm pretty upset about it, as is he. We likely won't see him until next June.

2) Patsy(my best friend, along with Jo. Yes, I have two best friends. It's all very middle school) was going to come up today and can't because her car is being a shit. I haven't seen her in forever and I was really looking forward to it.

3) At work, yesterday, I got bitten, and while it's nothing serious, it hurts and caused kind of a crappy night's sleep.

So, anyway, I'm kinda grumpy and low level depressed, which I will shake off pretty quickly, but if I waited to post until I was over myself, it would be tomorrow morning and I would be a failure at NaBloPoMo would be another reason to be grumpy.

Anyway, I'll be back tomorrow in a much better mood. I promise.

My bird peed on my while I was typing this. Wah.

2006-11-18T04:40:00.000-08:00

Why, yes, it's another NaBloPoMo post about NaBloPoMo! Because I say so, that's why.

So the whole deal is to post at least once a day every day, right? It doesn't matter what you post, as long as you post. Technically.

Using the randomizer, I've seen quite a few bloggers posting something like this:

"This counts as a post"

That is just chickenshit. It's like observing the letter of the law, while stomping the shit out of the spirit.

I understand being time constrained and/or feeling like you don't have anything to say. TRUST ME. But, damn, tell a joke, post a cool YouTube video, if all else fails, tell us what you had for lunch. Put some effort into it, for Pete's sake.

How much personal satisfaction can there be in doing the bare minimum to meet your goal?

I actually have more respect for those who have missed days completely, because at least they didn't throw some crap up on the screen and call it done.

There's a chance I'm taking this all too seriously, I suppose. Hell, knowing me, there's a very good chance. But still, if you're going to do something, don't do it halfway. Don't do the very least you can get away with. If you're going to do it, do it right.

You'll notice I'm not saying 'do it right or don't do it at all'. I don't mean that. Just do it right!

Ok, I'm off my combination soapbox/high horse now (soaphorse? highbox?)

And now I have to post this video. It's mostly for my cousin Jo, but I wish everyone would take a few minutes and watch it. If you're a Johnny Cash fan, you will be blown away. If you're not, you may just gain a new appreciation for the man. I just sent it to my son in IM and here's how that conversation went:

Me: Hey, I have something for you.

Him: What? (But thinking: Dear God not another lecture on finances from the woman who had to take a loan out on her car every year to buy our school clothes)

Me: (posted the link)

Him: OMG

Him: No friggin' way!

Him: This is my Christmas gift, right? It has to be.

Me: Ha! I'm still cool and relevant and shit! (ok, I only thought that part)

Me: Damn. I should have held on to this until Christmas. Saved myself a few bucks.

Anyway, here it is. I hope you enjoy it.

Maybe I should go live at Sears.....

2006-11-17T04:44:00.000-08:00

......with all the other tools.

So yesterday I griped that the review I got from Holly was vague and non-committal.

Then she left this very nice comment: "I'm not very creative, I mentioned you because I liked your blog. Sorry it was so vague!"

She didn't even call me an ungrateful bitch or anything. I think it's clear to everybody by now that Holly is just a nicer person than I am.

The verdict is in: I am a whiney tool. A whiney ungrateful tool.

Thank you, Holly, since I didn't say it yesterday, because I was too busy whining. (man, why am I such a tool?)

Also, for those of you interested in finding out when and by whom your blog will be reviewed (if you're a NaBloPoMo participant), Holly was also kind enough to give us a link to that page.

To summarize: Me= whiney tool .......... Holly= nice person

(By the way, please be careful in the mad rush to agree that I am a tool. I don't want anyone hurt. I'm not a mean tool.)

And now I have something for your viewing pleasure. I am loathe to use the word awesome to describe a video clip, but I'm gonna have to, because it's AWESOME.

'V' for Vague

2006-11-16T04:36:00.000-08:00

Y'all know about this whole NaBloPoMo thing, right? So a group of bloggers have been kind enough to go through the list of participants and do reviews of each blog. They get assigned a letter or two of the alphabet and review the blogs starting with that letter. Pretty cool, right? I would have been happy to volunteer, because, hello! Guaranteed blog fodder!

My review is in! I present it to you here verbatim, in it's entirety, as written by Holly.

"Very Contrary: Had a silly post about her perverted cousin and washing cats. I also found the following acent (sic) quiz there."

That's it. That's the whole thing. Now, to be fair, she had 23 'V' blogs to review, so I certainly wouldn't expect a full on review, but, I have to admit, I don't get any sense of whether or not this person enjoyed reading here or not. Is 'silly' a good thing? A bad thing? An irritating thing?

Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining; let's face it, she could have said something like, "Very Contrary, a big steaming pile of crap. I also found the following acent (sic) quiz there."

I just wish it hadn't been quite so non-committal. When the only word denoting opinion is 'silly', it's very hard for me to get an idea of how she feels about it.

Though, I have to admit, if anyone asked me for a one word description of this blog it would be 'silly'. Wait? Is 'ill-conceived' one word or two? Nah, I'll go with silly. So, I guess since she perceived it as I conceived it, I have achieved it. Right?

****************************************************************************

Ok, I usually try to spare y'all the cute utterances of my child, because for the most part, they're only cute to the people who know him and love him and also, let's face it, there isn't exactly a dearth of cute kid stories on the Internets, but this one I had to share with y'all:

This evening, as I was sitting on the couch, cruising around the internet while wearing my nightgown and watching TV (multi-tasking!), he comes up to me and says,"This is how you spend your day off?" He sounded like Olympia Dukakis in Moonstruck.

So, of course, I laughed and his Daddy laughed and his sister laughed. He then asked why we were laughing, in a very disgruntled voice (He's reached that stage where he understands that there is a difference between being laughed at and being laughed with. He's just not sure what that difference is yet).

So I told him that I was laughing because it was funny. He said, "No, that wasn't funny. And I know funny."

Which? Apparently he does, because he cracked us all up again.

Come on Down!

2006-11-15T08:25:00.000-08:00

Bob Barker will be retiring after 50 years on television at the age of 83. In case you're wondering how he kept going, well, I have a theory.

In other, non-boob news, today is a banner day here for two reasons:

1) Today is Little Man's 4th Birthday. He's old enough for T-ball. I'll be weeping intermittantly all day.

2) Today is the official halfway point for NaBloPoMo. I can see a light at the end of the tunnel. The light is telling me something. I can't quite make it out..wait..ohhh, the light says "Thank God it's almost over because you just aren't that creative, Bitch."

Fuck you, Light, you're just jealous.

Have a great Wednesday everyone!

Gesundeit! *

2006-11-14T04:45:00.000-08:00

So every other Monday morning, I have to take a conference call. This is truly the most boring waste of time in any given day.

I am including reruns of M*A*S*H here (we get it; Radar has ears like a bat, Hawkeye is a tortured yet hilarious greasy haired Lothario, Hotlips is a Ho, and Frank is a freak of nature. Thanks.) (Ok, even though I said all that, I still totally love M*A*S*H and will watch it late into the night. Forgive me Alan Alda!

So, erm, anyway, usually during these conference calls, I doodle, or make funny faces or color in all the letters with holes in them on the call agenda sheet, or stare at the ceiling and wish for the sweet release of death.

My boss, who also sits in on these calls just generally puts up with me, because despite my astounding lack of maturity, I happen to be good at my job.

I know I'm good at it, because almost 3 months ago I told him that I no longer wanted the job and in fact wanted to go part-time. I told him that I would continue to do the job until he found someone else. Can you see how hard he's working at finding my replacement? 3 months people. I could have gestated a third of a kid by now.

Ok, so as usual, I was incredibly bored during the call (blah-de-blah, grow the business, blah-de-blah, customer satisfaction, YAWN), and didn't feel like doing any of the things I usually do to occupy myself, and blatantly reading the book I had in my purse might stretch even my boss' patience.

I thought about writing out a blog post in longhand, but really, I think we all know I'm too lazy for that kind of thing. Right? Shut up.

So I decided to take a page out of Chris' book and write some haiku. Sadly, Chris is much better at it than I am (don't believe me? Check out every Monday morning on his blog), but I was pretty pleased with these.

Behold, my foray into really bad Haiku:

1) Who's to blame for this?
Alexander Graham Bell
can kiss my heinie

2) Please shoot me if I
ever agree to be boss
again. I beg you.

3) Big fish in small pond
will, in time, find hook in mouth
to be a relief

4) When idiot says
something spectacularly
stupid during call

It is most prudent
to keep your 'well,duh!' quiet;
don't say it out loud.

Oops. Though, I have to say the look on my boss' face, coupled with his frantic (yet quiet!) shushing noises was pretty hilarious.

*Get it? Haiku? Gesundeit! Funny, right?

Meow!

2006-11-13T04:28:00.000-08:00

Remember this bit from my cousin Jo's guest post?

"I used to call Contrary's Pet Grooming business (in different disguised
voices) and ask if she groomed cats, then giggle like a school girl
when she responded professionally about baths, flea dips and brushing
away matted cat hair tangles. She cured me of making these calls.
I'll let her tell you how."

Well, at least one of you expressed interest in hearing that story, which around these here parts counts as a clamoring. So I'll tell ya.

The deal was that Jo would call me often, asking if I washed cats. Now this sounds like a rather innocuous question, except that my baby cousin has a dirty, dirty mind and she wasn't talking about felines. Please don't make me spell out what she was talking about. If you're that innocent or sheltered, and don't know to what she was referring, I'm not going to be the one to corrupt you.

Lest you think I'm an idiot for falling for it so often, we had many legitimate callers asking if we bathed or washed cats. Plus, she always disguised her voice. Let me just stop and say right here that if Jo were to use her espionage skills for good instead of evil, she could be a high ranking official in defense of our country. The little twerp.

Anyway, time after time, she would call, ask her dirty little question and I would attempt to answer it. Then, she would cackle her dirty little cackle and then I would hang up on her. Well, I would hang up after threatening to kick her ass.

So, one time, she called and asked, "Do you wash cats?". I took the chance that it was her (she did this almost every day, people. There was a pretty good chance it was her. I figured worst case scenario, I was wrong, it was an honest to God potential customer and they would think I was nuts, which isn't all that far off the mark. After all, look who I'm related to)

So after she asked her question, I said something like, " Yes, we sure do. But only tame cats, not big filthy wild cats like yours who might bite us and give us some awful disease.".

It wasn't all that funny, but apparently being accused of having a feral, unclean hoo-ha was enough to make her stop. What a wimp.

Now tell me another Mommy on the internets who would have told y'all a semi-filthy story instead of posting pictures of her baby's birthday party. I'm not sure if this makes me cool or just kinda icky and sad.

How R U?*

2006-11-12T07:55:00.000-08:00

So, um, yeah. I'm taking the easy way out today because I've got a birthday party to throw for my little one. Who is on his way to becoming a not so little one.

(insert standard weeping for the transition of toddler to little boy here)

Anyway, I found this site from Mrs. Chili. They have lots of cool little quizzes. They are, of course, probably wildly inaccurate, but they're fun!

What American accent do you have? Your Result: The Midland "You have a Midland accent" is just another way of saying "you don't have an accent." You probably are from the Midland (Pennsylvania, southern Ohio, southern Indiana, southern Illinois, and Missouri) but then for all we know you could be from Florida or Charleston or one of those big southern cities like Atlanta or Dallas. You have a good voice for TV and radio.
The South
The West
Philadelphia
The Inland North
The Northeast
Boston
North Central
What American accent do you have? Take More Quizzes

This one is almost accurate. I am technically from Iowa, and spent a few years there intermittantly throughout my my childhood, but I spent most of my time in Louisiana, with brief stops in Ohio and Oklahoma. I have an accent, it just depends on how I feel at the time. If I am angry, the southern in me comes out more. Like this, "I am so mad at yew".

Your Language Arts Grade: 100%

Way to go! You know not to trust the MS Grammar Check and you know "no" from "know." Now, go forth and spread the good word (or at least, the proper use of apostrophes).

Are You Gooder at Grammar?
Make a Quiz

This one is completely correct. I am the Gooder Grammar Goddess. Ok, so maybe not, but like much of much of high school, I managed to test smarter than I actually am.

Ok, go take some quizzes! Feel free to come back here and report your findings, whatever they may be.

* That title was almost physically painful to write and the people who know me well are probably half shocked and half worried about me. I hate chat shorthand or whatever you call it, but it seemed appropos. TTYL! (argh. make it stop!)

Best Friends Forever

2006-11-11T06:33:00.000-08:00

I asked Jo to do a guest post and she has kindly (yet reluctantly)
agreed. She then wrote about, well, me. So, anyway, here's what my
baby cuz has to say.

Contrary asked me to guest blog. I pretended to forget. She didn't,
however, pretend to forget when she reminded me. Damn it. I'm much
better in person. I mean, I can't even use hand gestures on here, and
I'm Italian. I don't communicate well without erratic wild hand
movements.

Why the hell should I give in to her request? Who the hell is she to me?

Well, I'll tell you...

She's my Thelma.

Is there anyone in your life that you can tell anything? I do.
She's honest and will tell you how she feels about your actions, yet
not judge you for them.

Someone who loves you enough to help you bury the body? Sure,
she'd bitch about digging, but she'd dig.

Does that person have great integrity? She does. Her integrity
is unrivaled.

Does this person make you laugh so loud that people stare? Yep,
they stare and I really don't give a flying fuck, because I like her
much more than I like them

Once (as adults, young ones, but old enough to vote) when her
little brother called my home, we pretended to be confused oriental
girls. Not letting it go, we called him back as the police and told
him that he needed to stop harassing the girls. We laughed so hard,
we almost peed our pants. Almost.

I used to call Contrary's Pet Grooming business (in different disguised
voices) and ask if she groomed cats, then giggle like a school girl
when she responded professionally about baths, flea dips and brushing
away matted cat hair tangles. She cured me of making these calls.
I'll let her tell you how.

We do come from a long line of dysfunctional white trash, whom we call
"family" (notice I didn't say "whom we LIKE to call family...ha!).

As children, she was the tomboy with 4 brothers, I was the
cheerleader and an only child. Not alot in common besides us both
having a "Y" chromosome and some shared DNA.

As young adults we found we had common beliefs, morals, and maternal instincts,
as well as a strong will to achieve more then the examples that had been set
for us. We became friends.

And at age 31, when my marriage became too much to bear, she saved me.
But, that's another story. (and she won't let me tell it; it's all
about how she saved me and is my hero and all) Just know, it involves an
abusive husband, a phony dental appointment, a digital recorder, a long
road trip, a plane ride, rental cars, a 3yr old who wouldn't eat his fries
and one devoted cousin.

See?

Contrary is my Thelma. I'm honored to be her Louise.

I pray each and everyone of you has a "Thelma" in your life.
.
P.S. At no point have Contrary and I buried a body together. (we
always tied them to a cement block and tossed them into the river...HA!)

Oh...come on... it's only a joke!

Everybody's workin' for the weekend

2006-11-10T05:06:00.000-08:00

It's Friday! I am practically beside myself with joy. I'm actually off this weekend, which doesn't happen often. Little Man has a birthday coming up and we are doing his parties this weekend.

Yes, I said parties, with an 'ies'. He's like Lindsay Lohan with the all the birthday partying, only we're planning to limit his alcohol intake (because we are responsible parent types) and he probably won't be making out with anybody in the back of the room. Unless you count the dog, and in that case, the dog will totally have started it.

We're going up to Pookie's Mom's house for the first party on Saturday and then having another one here on Sunday for the locals and my folks. This kid is gonna make out like a bandit. A really cute bandit whose tastes run to trains and race cars.

I'm also planning to sleep late and nap often. That's right, I'm old and a weekend of sleeping is my idea of a good time.

In other news, tomorrow, we will be graced by a guest post from my cousin Jo. She's awesome. She's also very short. I'm pretty sure these two facts are unrelated.

I could be wrong though. To all short people and the people who love them: Is shortness related to awesomeness? And if so, how do you explain that I am Gigantor and yet am too awesome for words? Discuss.

I leave you with yet another YouTube offering. Y'all have to admit I haven't steered you wrong yet. I defy you to watch this one and not laugh out loud.

Can I get a (con)census?

2006-11-09T04:34:00.000-08:00

I thought this was a pretty cool little deal, although I'm not entirely sure how accurate it is. Anyway, go see how many of you there are and then come back and tell us. Because the internet wants to know!

HowManyOfMe.com

There are:
1,504
people with my name
in the U.S.A.

How many have your name?

(Also, sorry for the very abbreviated post but I've been preparing my posts the night before because I wake up at the ass crack of dawn to go to work and don't have time to write anything before I have to leave. I stayed up about 2 hours later than I should have last night waiting to see if the internet was going to come back on. Needless to say, it did not. It was back on this morning though, which means this isn't coming to you from Starbucks, at least.)

Just Imagine...

2006-11-08T04:37:00.000-08:00

A long time ago (in a galaxy far, far away), Pookie sent me a link to this piece. It is truly one of the coolest things I have ever seen. Let me see if I can adequately describe it for you:

This lady draws in the sand with her fingers.

No. That doesn't do it justice.

Ok, this lady plays in her personal sandbox, and it's caught on film.

Wow. That sounded really dirty. And not in a sandy gritty dirty kind of way, but in a low rent porno kinda way. Wait; "sandy gritty dirty' sounded pornish too. Somebody stop me!

Ahem.

Anyway, it's art. It's incredible and you should watch it, so you can be amazed too.

Aren't y'all proud of me for not even mentioning the whole Britney/K-Fed thing? Ok, so I mentioned it, but I didn't write a whole entry about it. Instead, I gave you art!

VeryContrary- for the most discerning blog readers only.

Coupon, Schmoupon

2006-11-07T04:39:00.000-08:00

I went through the Wendy's drive-thru last night, to get the kids some supper.

Because chicken nuggets are health food. I read that somewhere. In some medical journal. It also said that sloth is actually good for you.

Anyway, I ordered the little man a chicken nuggets kids' meal. Now, the only reason I get him the kids' meal is for the toy or prize that is supposed to come with it. Without the toy, it's just food. Health food. Only, this meal didn't have any toy or prize. It came with a coupon for a free kids' meal.

The coupon states "All Kids' Meals include a choice of small fries or mandarin orange cup; a Kids' soft drink, 2% white milk, or 1% chocolate milk; and a special fun surprise!"

Ahh, the irony is delicious, yes?

Let me explain the reason why this coupon does not count as a special fun surprise. In his nearly four years on this Earth, the kid has not once had to pay for a meal. ALL his kids' meals are free. He eats gratis, 3 meals a day, 365 days a year and I don't see that changing anytime soon. He's not on a budget, is what I'm saying here.

His entire interest in the whole kids' meal thing is the toy. It doesn't have to be a good toy. In fact, we kind of expect it to be a crappy toy with no point to it and a short lifespan. We're ok with that, as long as we get the toy.

I suppose I could have folded the coupon into a paper plane, but I never was any good at that (though I do make an awesome paper boat out of magazine subscription cards. Martha Stewart, eat your heart out).

Dave would SO have kicked your asses for this.

Confucious say,

2006-11-06T04:36:00.000-08:00

We went and had Chinese food for lunch today. As usual, everything was delicious, but I didn't really ask you here to tell you what I had for lunch. We'll save that kind of boring crap for later in the month when I can't think of anything else to talk about.

Anyway, the highlight of Chinese food is always the fortune cookies. Well, not the cookies themselves, because, let's face, they have the general taste and texture of cardboard. But we love the fortunes.

We are kind of immature, as you may have figured out by now (feel free to browse the archives if you need proof), and we play that game where after you read a fortune, you add the words "in bed" to the end.

For example, one fortune said "Beauty will surround you - open your eyes to see it (in bed)" Get it? Immature? Yes. Funny? You betcha!

Another fortune said, "A good time to finish up old tasks (in bed)"

But the kicker was my fortune.

It said, "All great things had small beginnings (in bed)".

Best. Fortune. Ever.

In NaBloPoMo news, I figured out how to put the randomizer button on my sidebar. And when I say I figured it out, I mean Lynn e-mailed me and gave me instructions that a developmentally delayed monkey could have followed. Thanks Lynn!

So check it out. Click that button. It's the gateway drug to more blogs than you can shake a stick at.

In other news, Little Man informed me last night that he wanted to go to bed. These are words that have never passed his lips in his almost four years of life. I checked him for fever and then made sure he wasn't back on the sauce. Apparently, he just wanted to go to bed.

Huh. My baby's growing up. I'll spare y'all the teary montage of baby photos enhanced by Barbra Streisand singing 'Memories'. You're welcome.

Oh, Doogie!

2006-11-05T00:11:00.000-08:00

Apparently Neil Patrick Harris has come out of the closet, according to People online.

I quote:

"The public eye has always been kind to me, and until recently I have been able to live a pretty normal life. Now it seems there is speculation and interest in my private life and relationships.

"So, rather than ignore those who choose to publish their opinions without actually talking to me, I am happy to dispel any rumors or misconceptions and am quite proud to say that I am a very content gay man living my life to the fullest and feel most fortunate to be working with wonderful people in the business I love."

I have to admit, I'm shocked. I'm not sure why, it's not like he was always in the news with a new girl on his arm, but I have to say, if pressed, I would have pegged him as decidedly heterosexual.

It'll be interesting to see if his character on How I met Your Mother, who is an unashamed hetero hound (and kind of a chauvinistic asshole to boot), will change at all.

Maybe instead of telling his friends to 'Suit up!', he'll tell them 'Lip balm is your friend!', or 'Checks and stripes do not go together, no matter what that one guy on Queer Eye wears!'.

Seriously, I think it would be interesting to see where the character could go if Barney came out of the closet too. Would Barney continue to be a bed hopping scalawag? In this day and age? Now that would be some edgy television.

In NaBloPoMo news, Lane has created an awesome thing. It's a randomizer that can and will take you to any of over 1100 blogs that are participating in NaBloPoMo. Click on it! You won't be able to stop! (don't forget to stop and comment too!) (Also, somebody take my exclamation point key away from me! Before I hurt someone!)

Also, if any of you can help me get one of the buttons she made for it on my template and make it clickable, I would really appreciate it.

Also, also, if you missed my last post, you really should go and watch the Steve Irwin video. It is the funniest fucking thing I've seen all year, and it's November. That's almost a whole year worth of funny shit and this tops it all.

Pineapple! Pineapple!

2006-11-04T04:35:00.000-08:00

I think we can all agree that Steve Irwin had a sense of fun, but I never really thought of him as being a funny person. Until I saw this video. I might have peed my pants while watching it. But you can't prove it.

You may find yourself yelling 'Pineapple!' before it's over.

What's new Pussycat?

2006-11-03T04:26:00.000-08:00

We have a couple of new additions to the household. They're about three weeks old and somebody dropped them off at work.

I got elected to bring them home and finish raising them for two reasons. 1) I'm really good at raising babies and finding homes for them and 2) How could I not bring them home?? Look at them!

By the time I'm done with them, they'll be fat and sassy, spoiled rotten and no damn good.

One's a boy and one's a girl, so for now, we're calling the boy Tiger and the girl Lily. Isn't that so sweet you could just puke? Yeah, me too

And maybe one day, if they eat right and exercise, they'll be like this:

In case you can't see it, that is a mountain lion, caught stalking a deer. The camera was a game cam and the deer appears to have no idea that there is a big hungry cat about 3 feet behind it. Here's hoping the deer wised up about a second after this shot was taken and took off for home.

An open letter to John Kerry

2006-11-02T08:45:00.000-08:00

* This is not a political blog. I have, in fact discouraged political discourse here. I'm not arguing with Mr. Kerry's politics. I simply have something I would like to say. Feel free to respond in comments, but I would prefer this not turn into a political debate. Please understand that I would be upset with anyone who made the remarks that Mr. Kerry did, even GWB.

Never let it be said that soldiers don't have a sense of humor!

Dear Mr. Kerry,

Words have power. Especially when the media keeps being foolish enough to broadcast your words.

Allow me to quote you: "You know, education, if you make the most of it, you study hard, you do your homework and you make an effort to be smart, you can do well.
If you don't, you get stuck in Iraq."

Now, your claim is that your remarks were targeted at the current administration. That's all well and good but I don't entirely believe you. If, however, that was the case, you really have no business speaking in public, because you're not very good at making yourself clear.

You've accused people of deliberately misinterpreting your words. I've read that quote over and over and I can't see how you could have been talking about George Bush. After all, you both graduated from Yale, only he had a higher GPA than you. He's not an uneducated man.

I don't wish for this to turn into a defense of George Bush, mostly because I don't believe you were really talking about him, but I do give you points for trying to turn it around once you realized how badly your comments were received.

Let me explain why I'm taking your comments personally. I, as much as anyone, wish we were no longer in Iraq. Why? My 19 year old son is a soldier, a calvary scout to be specific. He is not in Iraq, but there is every possibility that he will end up there. Of course, I would rather he didn't. However, if he were to get orders to go there, he would. He wouldn't shirk from his duty.

It's obvious by his age that he joined during this conflict. That's right, he joined knowing full well that his country was at war and that he might be required to join the fight. He's a good man and a good son and a good citizen.

So, bash Bush all you want. I'm okay with that. But keep your mouth off my kid and his fellow troops.

My soldier and his baby brother.

I'm askeered (Updated!)

2006-11-01T13:33:00.000-08:00

Hello and welcome to the first day of NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month), wherein I and many, many other bloggers have committed to posting every single day in November.

The upshot is that you will likely be very, very tired of me by the end of the month.

I've spent the last few days putting togther some ideas and frantically recalling stories of injuries past to entertain you people, so for God's sake, be entertained, or at least pretend to be.

Now, this first entry was going to involve pictures, but sadly, Blogger is screwing with me today and will not upload them. Not even the really cool participant buttons Mrs. Kennedy made for all of us. So. Wah.

So we will save that for tomorrow. Y'all will want to check back because the pictures? They are of the cute. And the scary. No, I can't tell you any more than that, because then why whould you come check back in?

My plans for the evening involve watching 6 hours of Ghost Hunters Live! with my daughter. It was actually on last night, but it went from 10pm (my bedtime, because I am the old) till 4am (about 2 hours before I get up). I don't think people want me grooming their dogs on two hours of nightmare riddled sleep. So we're going to watch it tonight and then not be able to sleep because we are a couple of very cute wusses.

How was your Halloween? Did you get plenty of candy? Felt up in the Haunted house?

I got felt up in a haunted house one time. Because it was dark, I still don't know who I hit or where I hit them, but I heard the pained grunt and the falling over of a large body, so hopefully I rendered them incapable of having children and disinterested in groping teenagers for a very long time. Also, I've never been back to a haunted house since.

Ok, y'all...check back in tomorrow. I'm going to try to get it together and get each day's post ready the night before, but I know me and I'm incredibly lazy and a bit of a procrastinator, so we'll see how it goes.

Update: I now have a lovely participant's button in my sidebar! Thanks to the wonderful Sarah, who held my hand and gave me the html code.

Happy Halloween

2006-10-31T15:09:00.000-08:00

I hope everyone has a great one. And a safe one.

Save me some Tootsie Rolls.

P.S. Tomorrow I start blogging everyday for a month. I hope y'all stop by often.

This is the last thing I'll say about it, I promise

2006-10-29T19:13:00.000-08:00

To the person who googled this: detroit tigers D + pumpkin template, and found me instead:

You are obviously a Detroit fan and I'm sure the smug tone of my last post did not make you feel better about the crushing defeat your team suffered at the hands of my team, the St. Louis Cardinals.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not sorry your team sucked, but I am sorry if I made you feel bad about it.

(I know, I'm being totally mean, but for the first time in my life, a team I was rooting for won the World Series. I swear I'll go back to being a good person very soon. Really.)

Go Cards! (Updated!)

2006-10-27T18:12:00.000-07:00

I don't hear much about baseball in the blogging world. I guess everybody's too busy creating actual content and being all writerly to care about it.

However, as y'all know, I could give a crap about content, I use all my creativity to figure out what kind of ice cream tastes best with chocolate cake (vanilla), and I use non-words like writerly.

So we're talking about baseball tonight. Specifically the World Series.

Now, I'm a Cubs fan. It's genetics, I think. My dad was a Cubs fan, and my brothers are Cubs fans. Since I've already forsaken the family name by not being a Democrat, I stay true to the Cubbies to make up for it.

However, as per usual, the Cubs had their collective heads up their collective asses all year and the post season was but a dream for them.

So, Pookie is a St. Louis Cardinals fan. Our running joke is that we have a mixed marriage as Card fans and Cub fans do not generally get along well. We compromise during the regular season by rooting for each other's team as long as the two teams aren't playing each other.

This leads to lots of snarky phone calls from Pookie at work during evening games as the Cards are invariably whipping the Cubs asses.

Anyway, I've come to respect this team and it's players and the manager, Tony La Russa. I love watching them play.

The Cards made it to the Series this year, against the Detroit Tigers. The entered the Series as the underdog, but are now leading 3 games to 1.

They've come this far through skill, strategy, persverence, a hell of a bullpen and the sheer force of my will.

That's right, I'm taking partial credit for this. My eyes have burned through that screen every game night willing them to win.

Ahh! The Tigers just scored a two run homer. This makes me unhappy.

I'll be back later.

Update: Ha! Take THAT, you crack smoking Tiger fans! Ha!

The Cards have won the series. Oh, and Tony? You're welcome. I was glad to do it.

It seems like it's been longer than that

2006-10-26T13:46:00.000-07:00

Y'all, we missed a very important occasion. It was my first blog birthday on Oct. 17. As my gift to you to commemorate the occasion, I give you this. No need to thank me!

Now that I've gorked out you entirely (well, if you clicked on that link, anyway), I offer up my very first post for your consideration and/or ridicule:

"Well,after much futzing (it's a word!) and fidgeting, I am now down with the blog. Now I gotta write something, huh? Damnit, I knew there was a catch.

I'm still learning all the bells and whistles here. Serious clicking of random buttons goin on here.

It's Monday. And I? Am not at work. Because I? Am totally the boss. Except for the many thousands of people who are my bosses. But they're stinky and we don't like them. I am the boss of my little spot and I do make the schedules, so here I sit; Monday morning and nothing better to do than create my first ever blog. Whoo. It's good to be the Queen."

I know, literary genius, right? I actually spent the morning reading through my archives and enjoying myself immensely. Not because the writing is any good, but because of the comments. Back in the day, my family would just take over the comments section and say the most awful things. I actually kind of miss that. I am the crazy.

Speaking of my archives, I never did figure out how to just move them here, but I do have a link to them up in my blogroll, so please feel free to go peruse if you're so inclined. It's the very flrst link (of course). Just don't peruse too throughly, because I totally plan to re-post some of those during November. Because, let's face it, there's no way I can be interesting 30 days in a row without borrowing from myself.

I'm actually really excited about National Blog Posting Month, a lovely idea from the lovely Mrs. Kennedy.

I'm still open to any ideas y'all might have so feel free to post them in comments.

Some things you can look forward to in November:

1) The story of how I got stabbed in the FACE. With bloodshed and everything.

2) How a miracle occured in my van!

3) Some excellent YouTube offerings that I have been holding onto.

4) And some other random shit.

Exciting, yes?

Testing...Testing....

2006-10-24T18:54:00.000-07:00

Ok folks, I added Haloscan commenting to this blog. It shouldn't change anything for y'all, but it gives me the ability to answer your comments individually in e-mail without hijacking my own comments section and it also gives me the ability to delete comments.

I'm not a deleter by nature, believeing in freedom of speech and all that, so I don't expect it to happen often, but I do like having the option.

So, just to see how this works, I want y'all to go take this test to see how cool you are and come back and tell me in comments how you did. It's not just a cool test, it's a cool test.

So, go. Take the test. Come back and tell me how ya did. That's an order.

P.S. I still love Fonzie.

2006-10-24T16:36:00.000-07:00

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

I Have Arrived ( Now edited for your pleasure)

2006-10-20T17:54:00.000-07:00

This just in from the comments!

"anonymous said...

Why don't you write a post on the reasons why Little Miss Sunshine, the perfect wife of the perfect doctor, tears strangers down...low self-esteem or jealousy are my two guesses. Anyone in Texas or blog land want to chime in?

Perhaps more people would read your stuff if it was enlightening or even well-written.

Go back to baking cookies and wiping butts...methinks your true talent lies there. Most writers don't need a "hook"--their words speak for themselves. Your criticizing others speaks volumes of your character.

I'm ashamed for you."

I know. Awesome, right? My first mean comment! Well, my first mean comment that didn't come from a close friend or family member. Because those are some mean motherfuckers, and Anonymous looks like an amateur in comparison.

Nonetheless, I am excited by ths development, because only the big bloggers get mean comments. So don't let the amateurish quailty and poor writing here fool you; I've hit the big time, baby.

I do have a few issues with the comment though, and I thought I'd take a moment to list them here.

First off we have:
"Why don't you write a post on the reasons why Little Miss Sunshine"

Sadly, I am not Little Miss Sunshine. I realize you don't know me all that well, Anonymous, but I am not the least bit sunshiney. I am however, incredibly cute , especially when I smile, what with the dimples and all.

Then we have: "the perfect wife of the perfect doctor"

Ha! That's a good one. I am not a perfect wife, far from it, as a matter of fact. Pookie may feel free to chime in here, although he'll be mighty uncomfortable trying to sleep on one of the love seats if he does. Also, Pookie is not a doctor. I've never even hinted that he might be a doctor and am really not sure where you came up with that. Although he does like to play doctor and is, in fact, quite good at it.

"tears strangers down...low self-esteem or jealousy are my two guesses."

My guess would be both. I hate myself and I hate you. Maybe I need to see a doctor? Oh, Pooookie....

"Go back to baking cookies"

Oh, that's a good one. Not that baking cookies is not a noble pursuit, but I don't do it. Don't get me wrong, I loves me some cookies, but to be frank (and possibly give you actual ammunition against me, instead of the shit you've made up out of whole cloth), I am not a good cook. There, I said it. I feel better now, don't you?

Now, as to the rest of it, where you essentially call me a shitty writer, well, ya got me there. I've never referred to myself as a writer because I'm not. I'm a blogger, nothing less, nothing more.

By the way, in the interest of full disclosure, Anonymous is angry with me for having an opinion of *her* site by way of a site called Trainwrecks.

(Edit: Anonymous found me thanks to a link attached to my name on a comment I made at Trainwrecks. The nice (or not-so-nice, depending on who you are) people at Trainwrecks are not affiliated with Anonymous. Tarte Au Citron is a contributor to Trainwrecks and is most decidedly NOT Anonymous.)

(Also, I love my cousin Jo.)

If you feel up to following the trail, please do, but I'm not linking to her here, because I don't have to. I, at no time, commented at her personal blog. Also, whoever DD is that defended me in her comments? Thanks! Please say Hi, so I can thank you properly.

Ok, I have to run to Wal-mart, eat some fish and fried green tomatoes and then watch Project Runway. Try not to envy me.

Attention Internets

2006-10-19T21:01:00.000-07:00

I have not yet watched the season finale of Project Runway. I won't go into the reasons why, except to point to a rather unhealthy addiction to Dharma and Greg on TiVo and also, the boy and I were busy this evening reading. (and re-reading and then more reading. He got a new Thomas book.)

Also, Pookie watched it last night (that bastard) and has been telling me how pissed off and upset I'm going to be, so I'm waiting until tomorrow night so that at least it won't matter if I don't sleep because I'm off this weekend.

So, if I didn't visit your blog or journal today, it was because I was scared someone was going to tell me what happened, and I prefer to get my pissed offedness first hand. Though, Isabel almost spoiled it, I was smart enough to not click the link in her entry. Close call though.

Also, also. the Cards are going to the series! This makes me happy because if the Cubs are never going tto get their heads out of their asses and do something already, I do like the Cards and hope they win. However, Detroit is the underdog and I can't friggin resist an underdog, so this is going to a vey conflicted series for me. First game is Saturday night and we will be propped up in front of the TV. I may even have a beer. But I doubt it. But I might!

If you've made it through all that drivel, you deserve a little gift. My cousin Jo sent me something in email today that I think everyone will enjoy. Here is it, and don't say I never gave you anything. Buncha ingrates.

Where I pick your brains (figuratively...because..eww)

2006-10-16T19:04:00.000-07:00

Mrs. Chili has taken a break from giving me shit over at Pookie's blog to tell me about a wicked idea that Mrs. Kennedy had. (Mrs. Chili has also informed me that I need to learn how to use the word 'wicked' whenever possible if I'm going to fit in when we finally move to New Hampshire. How'm I doin' so far? Wicked, right?)

Basically, the idea is to post something every day for the month of November. It doesn't have to be literature (which is a good thing, right?) (Oh, shut up), just post something, anything every day for a month. It'll also help strengthen my commitment to this blog.

I don't kid myself that I'm a writer, but I enjoy this blog and am looking forward to the chance to prove to myself that I can do this.

I'm going to participate, because it sounds like fun and it'll be a helluva challenge, especially for a girl who has a hard time thinking of something interesting to say just twice a week or so.

Also, Mrs. Kennedy made some awesome buttons for this thing for people to put on their blogs, and I want one! Of course, figuring out how to put that on my template, with the html and all, will be at worth at least one post. It'll go something like this: Fuck. Fuckity. Fuckmerunning. What the fuck?

So, yes...my usual wit and brilliance. Do try not to be jealous of my genius for words.

So, anyway, the point of all this, is that I'd love to hear some ideas from you all. Maybe I could do one post comprised of people asking me questions in comments or e-mail and me answering them. They could be questions about me, or life in Texas, or why I think the Cubs suck on purpose just to piss me off or if you just need a good chocolate cake recipe (hey, I can use Google as well as anybody, right?). Anything.

Also, I think it would be great to do a few guest posts from my non-blogging friends who are hilarious and whom make me laugh often. Jo? Pat? I'm talking to y'all, here. If anybody else is a non-blogger (or if you have a blog (or a journal, which is snooty talk for blog) but would like to write something here), and you'd like a guest spot here, just let me know and I'll give ya the hook-up.

Ok, I just had a parenthetical phrase inside of a parenthetical phrase. Someone should really take my keyboard away from me make and me read a book, already.

I'm not usually a comment beggar, because, hell, I'm just grateful that y'all are reading; asking for anything else just seems greedy. But I would really love to hear some serious feedback on this one. Y'all are all way smarter than I am, and I bet you can come up with lots of ideas.

Pretty please, with sugar on top, and by the way, have you lost weight? Because you look good. And I'm not just saying that. Really.

So if you have an idea for a post, or a question you'd like answered, please leave a comment or email me at verycontrary@gmail.com with the subject line 'post ideas'. I look forward to hearing from you.

I'm just a little too proud of myself

2006-10-13T04:43:00.000-07:00

Look over there. To your left. No, your other left. Criminey.

I made a blogroll! This may not seem like a good reason for huge excitement, but it is.

See, it involved HTML, which scares me like algebra scares me, which is to say, a helluva lot.

But thanks to Buffi, who was very sweet and patient, and pretty much held my hand through the process, I have a blogroll!

Now, a few days ago, my bookmarks went missing. I mean, they were gone, never to return. So this blogroll is from memory. I am like an elephant with the memory. However, I may have forgotten a few. Because even elephants get old and forget shit sometimes. Also, I could use some lotion for these ashy elbows.

So if you think you should be on that blogroll, leave a comment, and I will risk screwing it all up to add you. Because I am just that fucking sweet.

Oh, and if you'd like to add me to your blogroll, feel free! (Maybe my hook could be shameless self promotion!)

Oh, and to those of you who told me that my hook was me, my own self? Well, you bastards almost made me cry with the niceness and whatnot. I am not used to that kind of thing. At least warn a bitch before you do that kind of thing. I love you guys. Now, we will speak of the sappiness no more. (but I really do love you guys)

I need a hook

2006-10-11T18:43:00.000-07:00

Y'all, I need a hook. A gimmick. Something that will not only draw readers in, but keep them.

Don't get me wrong, I get a respectable amount of visits, but I'd like to have more...because, frankly, I'm an attention whore.

I used to have a hook. Back when I managed to injure myself in some bizarre, horrifying, yet oddly benign manner every other day, people came here just to view the carnage. You bunch of rubbernecking bastards.

But I've gone a couple months now and really, the worst injuries I've had is that one pimple that went rogue on me and tonight I cut a toenail just a little too short.

I'm not the type to self-injure just for the attention, because at the end of the day, I'm a pussy and am allergic to pain.

I suppose I could just start making shit up, but that would snowball horribly, I think. Pretty soon, I'd be telling y'all how I fell into a well in my yard and how it took the national guard and earth moving vehicles to get me out. No body wants that.

Other bloggers have a hook. Some are pregnant, some are crazy, some have talent.

I'm committed to this blog, but I don't think I can talk Pookie into getting his vesectomy reversed and knocking me up just for blog fodder.

I'm committed to this blog , but I'm not willing to be committed for this blog.

I'm committed to this blog, but I can't pull talent out of my butt.

Help me out innernets. I need a hook.

There's gotta be something good about 7am

2006-10-09T18:15:00.000-07:00

See that right there? That picture? That is the only good thing about getting to work at 7am. The view. This picture does not do it justice. It looks like the sky is on fire. Even the less poetic among my co-workers can be found outside promptly at 7am to take in the view. I take credit for having dragged most of them out there at one time or another.

I'm not sure it's a good enough reason to get to work that early. But it is gorgeous and totally worth the neck ache I get every morning from looking at it.

I read recently where they've done a through inspection of the Mona Lisa and could detect no brushstrokes. Now, no one could doubt that the Mona Lisa is a masterpiece, but one of the reasons I love my early morning view is that it is riddled with brushstrokes. They make it more interesting and textured and just plain cool. If you believe in a higher power (as I do) it's hard not to imagine him relaxing while painting the morning sky and sipping a cuppa (Starbuck's maybe?).

Speaking of Starbucks, Shiz has changed my mind about them. Would anyone else offer such a spirited and complimentary defense of an employer, past or present(as she did in the comments section of the last post)? I know I wouldn't. So, Starbie's is now my official provider of frosty beverages. Also, I tasted one of their pumpkin drinks today, and I swear, they could trade in white slavery and I'd still pony up the bucks for a tall one.

So, everyone go out and support an employer who takes care of their people. And don't forget to tip.

******************************************************************************

A new friend of mine sent me something in e-mail today that I thought I would share with y'all. Inform your local schools or worthy non-profits and help them possible get quite a gift.

"The folks over at Hamburger Helper are conducting a grant contest for schools and non-profit groups raising funds to positively impact their community in some way. Every month through May 2007, Hamburger Helper will donate up to $15,000 to eligible 501(c)(4) "hometown" organizations. All a group has to do to win is to register online with www.myhometownhelper.com and complete an essay of two hundred and fifty words or less describing how they the need help.

All of the application information can be found here:

http://myhometownhelper.com/LearnMore.aspx

Thanks, Charlie (not my brother) for the heads up!

Also, Pookie is blogging! Exciting, yes? Go see! Leave a comment! Tell him how cute he is!

Three Things

2006-10-06T19:29:00.000-07:00

Thing one: Well, people, I've done it. I jumped on the bandwagon and it's heading straight to Hell. I went to Starbucks for the very first time today. We've had one across the sreet from work for about a year now, but I'd managed to avoid it. But today, people kept walking in with their iced venti lattes and grande mocha frappes and even though I didn't know what those words meant, those drinks looked so good, I had to have one. It didn't seem evil in there; the people were nice and the strawberries and creme thingie I had was awesome, but still, I feel dirty somehow.

Also, 4.75 for what amounted to a strawberry shake? I think I twisted an ankle jumping right back off the bandwagon. I'm cured! Cured by cheapness! Amen!

Thing two: There is a godawful smell in my garage. You know it's bad if I can smell it, because I still have the stuffed up nose from hell. Either a small animal has died in there or Tony Soprano has moved to Texas and couldn't find anywhere else to dump his latest victim. Pookie took out the trash and and it seems better, but it's entirely possible that the odor just killed my ability to smell. I'll keep you updated. Because I know you care.

Thing three: My weekly 2 days late Project Runway review! I know it's exciting, but y'all need to calm down. So, was that Keith Guy a chickenshit or what? At the time he got booted for having design contraband and leaving the production for several hours, he was philosophical and almost gracious about it. Now, in this reunion special, he says the books were planted and that he received tacit permission to leave the production. Little bastard weasel.

But...Michael won the fan favorite thingie and his prize was 10,000 smackeroos. Well, actually, it was 10,000 dollars. I'm not really sure what smackeroos are.

Let's see...Vincent was fully exposed for the prima donna, backstabbing, whiney bitch he is, which was lovely. I must say though, he makes me look like a slacker in the tantrum throwing department.

We briefly revisited the trauma over Jeffrey and Angela's mother. Jeffrey is still a dick, acting like he didn't have a chance to apologize, when in fact, Angela asked him to apologize to her mother and he refused. Dickless wonder. (as an aside, did y'all see the preview for the next show, where Tim Gunn visits Jeffrey and Jeffrey's kid tries to hand Tim what he says is turtle poop? Please God, let's hope that 'turtle poop' is their funny name for Tootsie Rolls.)

I can't wait till next week. And I know that you can't wait until my next half-assed, ill-informed take on the whole thing.

I'm comin' out

2006-10-03T19:34:00.000-07:00

I watched Liza Minelli on Inside the Actor's Studio last night. I've never thought much about her, beyond having loved her in Arthur; but I loved everyone in Arthur. It's the perfect movie.

I have to say, though, I am now in love. I have decided to become a gay man, that's how much I love her.

Now, this won't be much of an adjustment for me, as I'm already with the man I love. Married to him, no less. The government can't keep this gay man down, sister!

I'll have to learn how to throw like a girl, but I'm already deathly afraid of bugs, so I think it will work out nicely.

Pookie may have some adjusting to do, though. Especially when I change my name to Marcel and learn how to love shopping.

*************************************************************************

Oh, it's my brother's birthday today. So even though we made him a cake, after he called to say he was coming up today and then called this morning to cancel YET AGAIN, I want y'all to wish him a happy birthday. Even though I'm really cheesed off at him.

Happy Birthday, Joel! Your cake is delicious! And almost gone!

Also, I'm on my deathbed (ok, death couch, whatever) with the worst cold/sinus attack in the history of the world. Send cough drops. Or whiskey. Whichever.

Well, I didn't see that coming

2006-09-27T21:47:00.000-07:00

During a visit to the park and duck pond today, our little guy ran around for awhile with his shoes off. Because his dumbassed mother put sandals on him, when he was going to be running around in fine pea gravel. Number of times one of us had to remove a pebble from his shoe before we wised up and removed the sandals: 172 Or 3. But damn, that's a long way down every five seconds, y'all.

So, somewhere along the way, he picked up an allergic reaction to something. We truly have no idea what. He goes outside barefoot at home. Hell, I spent my entire childhood (and if I'm honest, most of my adulthood) barefoot.

We brought him home (by which time he was COVERED in red welts and bumps. Yes, welts and bumps.), dosed him with some Benedryl and put him in a baking soda bath. Within 15 minutes, there was a marked improvement and by the time he got up from his nap, he was all better.

Now, you other parents out there (or nurses, who happen to be related to me), what the hell will cover a kid in nasty looking ...things....in the space of 10 minutes (the length of the drive home), but is benign enough to be cured by Benedryl, baking soda and an hour long nap?

I'm glad it wasn't any more serious than it turned out to be, because if I'd had to watch Project Runway in the ER waiting room...well, let's just say that they wouldn't booted the small one out without treating him, but we might have got put on one of those watch out for this crazy bitch lists.

For those who don't know what happened, and you don't want to know yet...what the hell are you doing here? Seriously.

They didn't eliminate anyone this week. All four finalists are going to Olympus Fashion Week!

I must say, I'm relieved, as Michael did not do his best work and it was down to him and Jeffrey. Jeffrey's dress sucked more, but I've seen him do worse (couture, my ass) and have the judges have simultaneous hissy fits over what a genius he is.

Oh, and also, my son lost his phone in the Mojave Desert....somewhere. So if one of you guys find it, will you let me know? Thanks in advance!

She's actually her own bad example

2006-09-26T18:05:00.000-07:00

There has been some conjecture about where my daughter got her little joke from the last post. Pookie and my brothers have been named as suspects. Just for the record, she got it from a movie. The menfolk are innocent this time.

Especially Pookie, who is more refined than every person who has ever been related to me, ever. My grandmother could make her ass dance independant from the rest of her body, and would do so, with the slightest provocation.

I married up, is what I'm saying here.

Also, as icky boys go, Pookie's not too bad. He's never farted in bed and held the covers over my head, for instance. Which is a good thing, because who would raise the children with him dead and me in jail?

Princess, my shiny white butt

2006-09-25T04:35:00.000-07:00

A few days ago, my daughter walked up to me and announced, "I have a gut feeling something bad's about to happen."

Then? She farted.

Happy Monday, everyone!

A Call to Arms

2006-09-19T17:33:00.000-07:00

First, to answer a few questions:

Pat: Lightning McQueen is a character from the movie Cars. He's a race car. Currently little man's hero. A drivable Lightning McQueen is a toy that he can sit in and drive. Now, what is this East Village you speak of? Are there lots of animated movie fans there?

Mrs. Chili: Yes, gator. I will note that I only finally felt better today. Rule of thumb, only one gator on a stick for any one visit to the fair. Because, OMG.

Andy: I don't honestly know what fair it was. It was the fair that comes to town once a year. Is that the state fair? Or do we not get the state fair here because it's Podunkville and we have to compensate with the local fair of food poisoning?

And a special note to Roo: AVOID THE GATOR!!

Now, on to the reason I've called you all here today:

There's this guy at work. He's what you might call a prankster. I call him worse things daily. He likes to mess with me and I like to retaliate.

There have been twists and turns in the ongoing battle: Waterfights (seriously, they used less water to film The Titanic than we've wasted in water fights).
Walking around a corner and having the everloving crap scared out of you (I've been told I do a very satisfting leap and scream combo) (and when I punch the crap out of his arm? That's when I get my satisfaction).
The open cans of catfood left in inconspicuous places (if you think cat food stinks fresh out of the can, wait until it's sat in a light fixture for two days.)
The label he stuck around my around my arm that stretched from my wrist to my elbow (and the ensuing hilarity as I ripped all the hair off my arm. Apparently, strangled screams are a HOOT).

Are you getting the picture, Internet?

So this morning I get to work and he has wrapped my entire grooming table and the grooming arm up in shrink wrap.

I took some really crappy pictures with my crappy camera phone so y'all can get a crappy idea of what it looked like:

Pic 1:

Ok, it's a really crappy picture but the word 'Ha!' is written on the shrink wrap.

Pic 2:

Looks like a Hershey's kiss, huh? Here is it says 'Casting Stones'. Before you ask, I have no idea what the hell that means.

So he got me pretty good and I'd like to get him back even better. My first instinct is to shrink wrap his truck's doors, into the shut position. Then maybe I can write something really esoteric on it.

But there's got to be something better than simply taking his prank to the next level, right?

Y'all gotta help a bitch out, yo. I need relatively harmless (though a little hair loss on his part wouldn't hurt my feelings), legal revenge, appropriate for the workplace.

Now some of y'all would probably argue that revenge of any flavor is inappropriate in the workplace. To you I say, "Hah!'.

I hate it when he's right.

2006-09-17T18:42:00.000-07:00

Last evening, I announced to Pookie that the girl child and I wanted him to take us to the Fair.

His response was a resounding...well, whatever sound an annoyed grunt makes. Suffice to say, he wasn't really excited about it.

So we head out early this afternoon, in the scorching heat, because Mother Nature was just fucking with us last week when it almost felt like Fall outside. I hate that bitch.

As soon as we got there, I signed up for a raffle to win a drivable Lightning McQueen for the little man. Which I would LOVE to give him for his birthday, but Pookie won't let me buy him one from the store because they are eleventy million dollars. Yet another example of how unreasonable the man is. Y'all keep your fingers crossed that I win the raffle. Or your toes. Or your eyes, if you wish to be supportive and amusing.

We gorged ourselves on such delicacies as gator on a stick, sausage on a stick and catfish on a stick. Because we are a family of gourmands, that's why. I also made Pookie buy me a funnel cake, which I took two bites of and then gave to a friend of the girl child. Because he looked skinny and hungry. And also because I was going to explode if I took another bite. (side note to girl who made the funnel cake: Believe it or not, there is a limit to how much powdered sugar should be on a funnel cake. Find that limit and work within it, please. Funnel cake killing bitch.)

We also drank our combined weight in lemonade. Many, many lemons died in our quest for hydration. We salute you, you brave little yellow bastards.

We've now been home for quite some time, and I still want to punch anyone who mentions food, we're all exhausted, and we're quite a bit broker.

I really do hate it when he's right.

School Daze

2006-09-15T18:32:00.000-07:00

Some of you already know that we are homeschooling the girl child. I won't go into the reasons we are home-schooling her, because the point of this post is not to start some great debate. Basically, if you feel like home schooling is the province of gun-toting redneck Christians, you're right. I'm not here to convince you otherwise.

Besides, we have been known to tote guns, Pookie is most decidedly a redneck and we don't have quite enough to kids to be Catholic.

Suffice to say that the girl child was a well-liked honor student with no record of misbehavior whatsoever when she came to us and asked to be home-schooled.

So, anyway, this evening I was reading the report she'd written for the book Catcher in the Rye. It was a very thorough report and gave the reader (me) a good sense of the plotline, timing and motivations of the central character.

I just wanted to quote a line out of that report for you, because I almost peed myself while reading it.

She says, when referring to a particular character , "Luce was a real butthole, by the way."

Y'all, I snickered for 5 minutes.

I guess she has her writer's voice pretty well in hand, although I probably shouldn't encourage such editorializing. I'm pretty sure her college professors won't be nearly as tickled as I was.

I give her an A+!

Buh.

2006-09-14T18:48:00.000-07:00

I tend to watch Project Runway on Thursday night instead of Wednesday (the night it airs) for two reasons.

1. I have Tivo . I can fast forward through the commercials. I can rewind to the best bits. I can pause it while I yell obsenities at the TV. Seriously, if you don't have TiVo? Get it.

2. By the time it's all Tivo'd, it's 10 o'clock and time for this old bird to get to bed. Early to bed, early to rise makes a girl surly, rude and unwise.

So I didn't start watching last night's episode until just now. The title of this post was what I said, verbatim, when I saw the twist at the beginning of the episode.

Jo, why you didn't call me?? I know you were planted in front of the TV last night, you no Tivo having bitch.

( I have to break in here to tell you that Kayne just caused Tim Gunn to say 'Oh, Jesus!'. Awesome.)

Oh, Geez, Laura's crying. Usually, I have no respect for that kind of thing, because Girlfriend, grow up. This is business and you got no business crying. But she's pregnant and exhausted and is crying against her will. I feel for her.

Ok, Vincent's model (yes, Vincent!) was in an accident. She's fine but they replaced her with another model. One a lot bigger than the first model. So big she broke the zipper in his top. Now y'all know how I feel about Vincent, but that is just crazy. Was there an effort to find a like sized model? Criminey.

Ok, my impressions of each outfit:

Angela's: HATE.

Kayne's: Meh. Think he's gonna get points taken off for not quite following the guidelines given.

Laura's: LOVE. (I thought I should be equally as emphatic about love as hate.) That model looks adorable, respectable and sexy.

Michael's: Oh, damn. That man can make a dress look good and make a good-looking woman look even better when she wears it.

Jeffrey's: I don't need to see a drug test. That boy is smoking dope. The good shit, too. This dress would be appropriate at a cocktail party given by the Osbournes.

Uli's: Eh, not so much.

Vincent's: Don't look now, there's a high class hooker on the runway.

And the winner is.....Laura!! Whoohoo!

Now, let's see who's leaving.

Aww, man. It's Kayne. The one time his outfit doesn't look like it belongs in a closet at Graceland and he fucks it up with this little white ribbon.

For a brief shining moment there, I thought Jeffrey was gonna go.

Oh, the humanity.

Memes gone wild

2006-09-12T16:04:00.000-07:00

Whoohoo! Posting two days in a row! I'm wild and crazy! I flat out stole this meme from Jen at Jennsylvania. That's right, I'm a meme stealing rebel. You gotta watch out for me. You cain't ever tell what I might do.

1. Do you have a college degree?
Nope. I have a GED. I scored higher than anyone else in the state of Louisiana for that year. That's right, I'm smarter than any other high school drop out in Louisiana for the year 1990. Suck it, fellow drop out bitches!

2. What was the amount of your last electric bill?
I don't know exactly how much because we seem to have misplaced the bill, which will be even funnier when they turn the power off for nonpayment. Pookie says to say it's outrageously high.

3. Do you have life insurance?
Yep, but Pookie has way more. So while we would prefer to drift off this mortal coil together, in our sleep, in the nursing home when we're 100, really, it makes more financial sense for him to go first. I'm just sayin'.

4. How many hours per week do you work?
As few as possible. HAHAHA. Ahem. Anyway, about 40 a week. But only until I win the lottery.

5. Have you ever attended a Toastmasters event?
Um. Nope. And I'm pretty sure I'm grateful to be able to say this.

6. Favorite place to attend Happy Hour?
I've never actually attended Happy Hour. I am a lightweight puss.

7. How many miles is your commute to work each day (one way)?
About 7 miles, I think.

8. What time do you get up every morning for work?
6 a.m. Also known as 'what the fuck is that noise? o clock.'

9. What is your definition of sleeping in late?
Usually 8 a.m. but I've been known to dwell abed until 10 or so. I hate sleeping late on a day off. The whole damn day is just gone.

10. Do you check your cholesterol on a yearly basis?
Ha. That's funny. No.

11. How large was your first cellular phone?
I've only had one for about 6 years, so it wasn't one of those mega-phones. (get it? megaphone?)

12. Does your employer provide good health insurance?
I suppose so, but I don't take advantage of it because Pookie's is AWESOME, thank you very much. I had a baby for FREE, people.

13. Did you use the internet to write a research paper?
Um. No. When I was still writing papers, about 5 people had internet and I wasn't one of them.

14. Have you attended a HS reunion?
Nope. I don't think they have GED reunions. And if they did, I'd have to take a pass. Because, really.

15. How many jobs have you held in your professional career?
Hmm...not counting fast food jobs as a teenager and young adult, because everyone does that, I've had 5 jobs, all of them grooming and for a brief glorious time as my own boss with Patsy as my partner. (I miss that. I miss Patsy and I miss being able to tell a customer what was on my mind. 'You don't like our price and don't want to pay even though you knew the price before you dropped off your dog? Here's what I'll do: You pay me every red cent you owe me and then carry your ass somewhere else next year when your neglected, matted, mangy dog needs another haircut. How's that?')

16 Have you ever been fired or laid off from a job?
Once. Kind of funny actually, because I didn't deserve to get fired and the boss actually called me repeatedly over the next few months to try to get me to come back. The funny part is all the times I didn't get fired when I deserved to. Burger King will put up with a lot of shit, is what I'm saying here.

17. What is your favorite drink?
Sweet iced tea. If we're talking alcoholic beverage, well, I guess I'd say White Russian, mostly because because it doesn't taste alcoholic. Did I mention that I'm a lightweight?

18. What is the most expensive bottle of wine that you have in your residence?
I don't actually think we have any wine. I don't like wine and will generally only drink it if it's white and I can put some Sprite in it. I realize I just made people all over the internet cringe, but that's how I roll, y'all.

20. How old were you when you stopped getting ID'd for Alcohol?
Ha! Wanna hear how old I was when I started getting ID'd? I've never been carded, except for cigarettes when I was in my early 30's and I think the girl must have needed glasses. I still stuck my tongue down her throat in gratitude though. I wonder if she thinks about me still. Sigh.

21. Favorite casino?
I've only been to one, so that one's my favorite! I can't remember the name, but it was on this side of the Red Rver in Louisiana right down from the Sci-port, if that helps anyone.

22. Are you happier now than you were in high school?
Oh, Hellz yeah. Fatter but happier.

23. Did you ever have Hypercolor shirts?
I don't know what they are, so I think we can safely assume I've never had one. I did rock parachute pants though. I had em in every color, and I was HOTT.

24. Do you remember when Michael Jackson was black and attracted to older people?
Why, yes I do. Man, he was the most adorable kid on earth when he was little. And still pretty cute when he did the Thriller album. Now, I hear he faints every time he hears that they have little boys' pants half off at Wal-Mart. Schmuck.

25. Do you remember when MTV actually played music videos?
I want my, I want my, I want my MTV. Yeah. I kinda feel like we got the best years of MTV. I have to admit though, I've watched more than my fair share of Real Worlds. I could still kick that little bastard Puck's ass.

26. Have you had a will made?
Nope. I guess we should, huh? Not right now though, I'm too busy being invincible.

27. What music was in your cd / cassette player when you were 16?
John Cougar Mellencamp, baby. There was a boy who went to my school who looked just like him and I adored him from afar while humming Jack and Diane and wishing that my mother had had the foresight to name me Diane. Sigh.

28. Favorite fancy / upscale restaurant?
Alfredo's. We loved it before it became fancy and upscale, when it was still housed in an old building made of rocks that used to be a liquor store.

29. How long has it been since you attended a kegger?
I was 16 when I attended my first and last kegger. I've had more fun and better conversation during visits with the Ob-gyn.

30. How many major wars have you lived through?
I think they're all major. I cannot find it in myself to think 'minor' when guns are being fired at human beings, sorry. So basically every conflict involving weaponry since 1969.

31. Where were you when you found out about 9-11?
On my way to work when the first plane hit, thinking it was just (just??) a horrible tragedy. At work when the second plane hit and the news about the other planes hit and I realized what was really going on.

Better days

2006-09-11T18:04:00.000-07:00

I found myself looking at the sky today. Frequently.

Five years ago today, I found myself looking at the sky. Frequently.

Then, it was because I was convinced that at any minute a plane was going to fall out of the sky. Never mind that at the time I lived in a medium sized city in Louisiana and all the attacks had been focused on landmarks in large cities.

September 11, 2001 was one of the worst days of my life. I didn't know anyone killed in the attacks. I didn't know anyone who knew anyone killed in the attacks. I was as removed as one could be, and yet I still felt it in my soul.

I have a bit of a reputation for being tough, and someone commented that they were shocked at how upset I was. I was taken aback at that, as what kind of person wouldn't be shocked and horrified and devastated at the violence and the loss of life ?

I was also terrified.

To put it simply, I took it very personally.

So I spent the day scanning the skies, worrying and waiting.

Today, I was watching the skies because it was cloudy. I wasn't scared of another attack. I was hoping for rain. But every time I raised my eyes skyward, I thought about all those people. Every time.

Then, it rained and cleared the mugginess from the air. It smells so sweet and green outside.

It's a better day, today.

*************************************************************************

A new pic of my oldest son. Who I swear to God is getting better looking every day. Also, he's really buff (I put that in for him).

Week in Review (so far)

2006-09-06T21:04:00.000-07:00

Thing that made me really very sad this week:
The passing of Steve Irwin. I know he was an easy target for mockery, but at the end of the day he was a good person who worked his ass off to educate and entertain. I bet more than one kid will think differently about nature and the environment as a result of his work. Would that more of us had the ability/opportunity to mold young (and old!) minds. My heart just breaks for his family.

Thing that horrified me this week:
Reading that Survivor contestants will be divided up into tribes according to race. If I had ever watched this trainwreck in the first place, I would be refusing to watch it this season. Like we need more fodder in the whole race wars debate. I bet the black contestants have to ride in the back of the canoe.

Thing that made me deliriously happy this week. So happy I almost cried:
Project Runway. Vincent is GONE. Gone. Only the knowledge that Jeffrey has gained a stronghold by winning the last two challenges mars my joy. I would like to volunteer to scrub those tattoos off his neck. With an SOS pad. And lemon juice.

Thing that pissed me off this week:
Plagiarism.

Thing that depressed me this week:
I still have not won the lottery, enabling me to live in the style to which I could become very accustomed. Damnit.

Thing that made me whiney this week:
Little Man and I are both a little sick and a lot grumpy. Luckily, we both like to be cuddled when we don't feel good, so we have each other's back.

How's your week going?

Project This!

2006-08-31T19:57:00.000-07:00

Today's new definition is for the word chickenshit. I found this new definition while watching Project Runway earlier this evening.

The new definition is: Flying a contestant all the way to Paris at a moment's notice only to inform her only moments after arrival that she lost the last challenge and that she now has to turn around and get right back on a plane.

Supposedly, the final decision wasn't made until they got to Paris because the judge needed to see how the clothes traveled. Bullshit.

The least they could have done was give her a couple days in Paris on their dime. Bastards.

Also, Angela was the one who lost the competition. I would be okay with the loss except for two little things:

1. Vincent is still there. He's a crazy man whose taste is simultaneously all in his mouth and still living in the past. He needs to go.

2. Angela's loss provided Jeffrey with way too much joy. He's such a mealy mouthed little prick. If I wanted anyone to go before Vincent, it would be Jeffrey. I actually like most of his clothes alright, though. If Tim Gunn would just pop him in the mouth, maybe he wouldn't be able to talk and I wouldn't have to spew profanities at the television (did you HEAR the way he talked to and about Angela's mother??).

All that having been said, I am pulling strongly for Michael to win. He's not only extremely talented, he's just a good guy. He doesn't have to put others down to feel better about himself and he has taste to die for. You name me another person who could have made pink hot pants look like high fashion and I will give you a cookie (or something that rhymes with cookie) (wink, nudge).

From the 'It's funnier because it's true!' files

2006-08-30T16:29:00.000-07:00

Hello, nice people visiting from Roo's place!

I appreciate you coming by, even if it was only to see what kind of freakshow shoots herself in the head..accidently.

As you can see, I'm mostly normal, except for a slight penchant for profanity and a talent for injuring myself in sometimes shocking, and almost always embarrassing ways.

I would point you to the all the posts detailing my boo-boos (that's a medical term for an injury that won't kill you, but is a bitch to keep dry in the shower), but, honestly, there are too many and you people have lives.

I will however point you to the post about how I shot myself. Because you deserve the whole story. And because I love you all and really want you to come back and visit again. It's actually on my old blog, because I still haven't figured out how to import all my old entries to this blog. Because I am not the sharpest crayon in the box.

So, here it is, in all it's glory. See how it was an accident and I'm not suicidal? See??

*************************************************************************

In my last post, I revealed something to the internet. Something private and kind of scary.

Pookie (my husband, for you lovely newcomers) offered a solution to my .... problem. I forbade him from posting his solution in the comments, going so far as to threaten to delete it if he did. He has found a way around that by going on about how he had a solution, but I wouldn't let him post it.

Then, when Roo posted a very similar suggestion, he jumped to agree with her and point out once again that he wasn't allowed to say it.

I would be mad, but I think it's kind of cute. I would appreciate it if y'all didn't tell him though, because that will just encourage him.

At least he hasn't gotten anything pierced

2006-08-28T17:23:00.000-07:00

Okay, I know kids grow up fast these days, but my three year old is acting like a teenager.

No, he hasn't taken to calling me 'Mother' in a tone of voice that says he means 'bitch'. No, he doesn't eat enough food in a day to feed a small country. No, he doesn't listen to bad music at high volume. No, he doesn't steal the neighbors' cars and go for joy rides.

Which? Let me stop right here and pray for myself in 10 years time.

No, what he does is; he goes into his room, closes the door, and gets absolutely quiet. Almost as quiet as a 16 year old girl who is redoing her makeup and talking to a boy at the same time.

Seriously, y'all? It's weird. I feel compelled to go look and make sure he isn't cooking meth in there. But, I have to trust him. He promised me that his meth cooking days are over, after the explosion and all.

Here's where I admit that it's kind of quiet and lovely when he's in his room with the door closed, playing quietly. He's a good boy, but it's too hot most days for him to go outside and play, so mostly he works his energy out by running back and forth through the house with the dog chasing him, while he shouts, 'Stop the Music!', over and over. Really. The kid needs a new catchphrase.

Oh, and my kid is now officially mutlti-lingual! Ever since he started watching Dora the Explorer , he asks us what different words are in Spanish. Between us (mostly Pookie) we've been able to provide the answers. So he goes up to his Dad the other night and asks him how to say 'dog' in Spanish. Pookie tells him that it's 'perro'. Little man says 'Nooo, it's not! It's dogo.'

He's decided that as long as you put an 'a' or an 'o' at the end of a word, it's Spanish! Which, since it's no longer English, makes it a whole 'nother language, which technically makes him multi-lingual. Hah! My kid is a genius!

*******************************************************************

Alert: I have something I need to share with the girls. No boys allowed past this point. Especially anyone I'm related to, or Pat K., or Chris from Rudecactus (whom you should totally go visit, if only for his excellent Monday morning Haikus, which always give me the first (and usually only) smiles of the workday.)

Seriously, all boys stop here. I'm telling you this for your own good. Remember Pandora and her box*? Well, it's like that.

Girls, I have found my first grey hair that's not on my head, if you get my meaning. Let me just say: Nooooooooooooo. I can take all the other not so subtle signs of aging, but this? This is Not Right. This is, in fact, Wrong. I object. Strongly.

Pray for me Sisters.

* Pandora's Box. Heh heh, I said box!

Dream a Little Dream of....some really stupid shit

2006-08-23T15:41:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been asleep and having a dream so mind numbingly stupid that you realize how stupid it is and wake up in protest?

I have, and let me tell you, it's really rather irritating.

Now, I hate hearing other peoples' dreams and have often thought about hari-kari when being subjected to it. However, I feel I must share at least a snippet of my dream with you, so that you are better able to grasp just how stupid this dream was.

I was involve in some of reality contest. A non-televised reality contest. A reality contest in which I had to ...make a book of stamps. By that I mean I had to remove pages of stamps from a regular book of stamps and paste them to another book of stamps. The worst part was it felt like I spent HOURS on it and I couldn't get it done, mostly due to the fact that I kept dithering over whether to use cloth or paper.

THEN, as I was making my way back to my 'station' (under a rusty old metal carport) from the ice water stand (refreshing! and also bland and tasteless) I had to avoid the giant bunny. And when I say 'giant bunny', I don't mean biggesh or extra large; this sucker was the size of a cow. You shouldn't worry though, I made it by the giant bunny easily despite the fact that I was running one legged.

Now, I ask you. Is that not the absolute stupidest dream you ever heard?

Beat that, bitches!

P.S. A quick letter to my brother, whom I love dearly:

Dear Charlie, post something already, you flaky, non-posting bastard.

Your loving sister (who loves you)

Reality Bites

2006-08-16T08:25:00.000-07:00

I have recently become a reality show convert. As recently as 3 months ago, I was loudly proclaiming how I didn't watch reality TV and I never would and by the way, those who did were big losers. Not that I'm a judgemental prig or anything. Ahem.

Ok, so I would watch Cops, but, really, who wouldn't? Everytime they were called to a trailer park because people were drunk and attempting to kill each other, it was like a family reunion for me. I miss the good old days. Sigh.

I would watch shows like Trading Spaces on TLC, because, OMG they're putting fur on the walls!!!

But really, that was it for my reality TV.

Now, my TiVo is working ovetime trying to catch all the new shows I'm watching these days.

First, we have Project Runway. I have a really good excuse for why I started watching this show. About a month ago, we were tearing up the carpet in the living room and the TV was on Bravo and we got sucked into the show as we were working. It was a marathon showing of the first season. By 6pm, my floors were naked and I was rejoicing, mostly over the fact that that bitch Wendy Pepper didn't win (and I am still frankly amazed that she got as close as she did).

Now, every Wednesday evening, I give the TiVo enough time to record it (no commercials!) before I watch it. My feelings on this season so far, in a nutshell: Vincent must go. I don't give two craps that he sold out his 401K to go into designing. He's nuts and he sucks. Angela, whom I hated with a burning passion at first, is growing on me.

My next new show is America's Got Talent. The fault for this lies with my cousin Jo. Now, I can't turn that awful pile of crap off. Thanks Jo! There is an asswhipping in your future.

Next we have Gene Simmon's Family Jewels. This show is AWESOME. For one thing, he's about as old fashioned as you can get while being a playboy who refuses to marry the mother of his children. His kids and 'wife' give him grief at every turn and it's hilarious. A dad who's a good sport is a wonderful thing to see. Also, I used to be skeered of the guy, but now he just reminds me of my dad, if my dad ever wore make-up and dragon boots. Which, if he did, I would like a picture of that. It'll come in handy explaining my weirdness when the kids eventually try to have me committed.

And finally, we have Work Out. Mostly for the 'Oh no, they din't!', factor, which is considerable here. The crap her employess pull while she's out of town is just wrong. Also, Jackie is totally hot and if I was a different kind of girl, well, Pookie would be a very happy man. Heh.

What are y'all watching?

Oh, while I have you here, I wanted to show you something. Our internet service was turned off for a few days because of a little misunderstanding. We understood that if we paid our bill on time, we'd have internet. The DSL company understood that it has absolute power and that even when they make a mistake and turn off someone's internet, they can turn it back on whenever they want, DAYS later. We also understand that they suck.

So anyway, Pookie sent me an e-mail to let me know we had, well, e-mail (he also left a little hand written note for me, because he knew I wouldn't actually check to see if we had internet). I wanted to share his e-mail with you because, Good Lord this man is cute.

Subject: Check your mail?

Because you can.

I made this happen.

Because I love.

And also, because I have the power to throw lightning bolts at those
who displease me. Such as, telephone companies.

Hah! They dance for me!

The things you learn, loving me.

I love you.

K.

No, I do not believe he could be any cuter.

It's Swifferific!

2006-08-03T17:11:00.000-07:00

A while back Melanie Lynne Hauser asked me to blog about her book. Now, when I say she asked me , I mean she put a general call out on her blog to see if anyone wanted to read her book and blog about it, and I threw my arm in the air and invoked the spirit of Horseshack to get her to pick me. And it worked!

So, she sent me a book. It was the last copy she had and the reason she still had it was because she'd messed up when autographing the book for someone else. Well, to my way of thinking, that makes it way more interesting that way. Let's face it, we all mess up, and the mistake makes her a little more human and familiar to me. So she scratched out the mistake and wrote my name in. I'm not too proud, baby.

Plus, free book. She could have written her grocery list on it and I still woulda been on that bandwagon, especially as I hadn't been able to find the book locally and I really wanted to read it.

So I read the book, titled Confessions of Super Mom, about a nice lady who suddenly finds herself endowed with super powers after a tragic Swiffer accident. Yes, you read that correctly. Swiffer. Who'da thunk it?

This is a very fast paced book. I read it in a day, on breaks at work. Which, if I were a better person, I would admit that I took more breaks so I could read the book. But I'm not a better person, so I admit nothing!

Our protagonist decides to use her powers for good. Of course, her powers are cleaning at the speed of sound and hearing a child in need at great distances. Really, I don't think she had any choice but to use her powers for good.

I enjoyed this book immensely and cannot wait for the sequel; Super Mom Saves the World due out in March, 2007.

You should also check out her blog, Refrigerator Door. Her real life tales of life with a devoted husband and two typical teenaged boys is hilarious and mushy at turns.

I'm not dead!

2006-07-30T18:53:00.000-07:00

Admit it, internets, you were worried about me, weren't you? I mean, no one has e-mailed me or left an inquiring comment, trying to find out why Mega-Mouth has been so quiet lately, but I KNOW you've been weeping into your collective pillows every night worrying about me. Right?

Okay, then.

When I got up this morning and checked my e-mail, Pookie had sent me a little gift. A gift that made me so happy that I didn't even walk into work and announce, in loud tones, "I swear to God. Just give me a reason to quit.". Which was a refreshing change for my co-workers, who sometimes think about giving me a reason, just so I'll shut the fuck up already. And really, who can blame them? Sometimes I wish I would shut the fuck up already. Never happens though.

Anyway. Go here to view the funniest bit of music video I have seen, maybe ever. And that's counting the David Hasselhoff videos. Oh, and you want to wait till the kids are out of the room to watch it. It's got (gasp) dirty words in it.

I am now a little in love with Bob Saget. Which, if someone had told me yesterday that I would ever type that sentence, I would have punched them in the neck. Because, eeeeew. Bob Saget? Bob ' I was the overshadowed star of perhaps the most insipid bit of fluff to ever launch the careers of twin bulimics' Saget?

But now? Now I kind of love him a little. To quote the great Brett Butler, 'Don't you judge me!".

Oh, and my (much) older brother, Charlie, has a Live Journal. I like to think I was his inspiration. His sisterly muse, if you will.

I wasn't, of course, but I like to think it.

Y'all should go check him out. He's funny, and good lookin', just like me!

I'll take asshats for $200, Alex

2006-07-26T06:35:00.001-07:00

Remember Ken Jennings? He won Jeopardy! 11 million times in a row (I'm estimating here.)

Turns out Ken has a blog, and he's pretty damned funny for a devout Mormon millionaire.

He wrote a fairly hilarious entry, containing a letter to Jeopardy complete with 'suggestions' as to how to bring the show in the present.

You can read it here, but I'll share some here too, because it's easy and I'm lazy:

First up, the categories. Maybe when Art Fleming was alive, America just couldn’t get enough clues about “Botany” and “Ballet” and “The Renaissance,” but come on. Does every freaking category have to be some effete left-coast crap nobody’s heard of, like “Opera,” or, um, “U.S. History” or whatever? I mean, wake me up when you come up with something that middle America actually cares about. I think it would rule if, just one time, Alex had to read off a board like:

* PlayStation
* The Arby’s 5-for-$5.95 Value Menu
* Reality TV
* Men’s Magazines
* Skanks from Reality TV Who Got Naked in Men’s Magazines
* Potpourri

And this is perhaps my very favorite part:

Whenever Alex says “Correct!” to a contestant, he should do the two-index-finger point, like Isaac in the Love Boat credits.

That shit is funny, right?

That entry was posted on the 19th of July. On the 25th of July, this article by Michael Starr was published in the New York Post. A few exerpts from that article:

ALL-time "Jeopardy!" champ Ken Jennings has emerged from the "Where Are They Now?" shadows to bite the hand that fed him $2.5 million just a short time ago.

In a snarky "Dear Jeopardy!" letter {...}, the winningest contestant ever needles the game show for being out of step and out of date.

The article goes on to quote Jennings' post out of context again and again, never even hinting that it was supposed to be funny and silly. He goes out of his way to make Jennings look like an ungrateful git. Unless he really believes that Jennings would like to see physical challenges involving angry bees as a part of the show's format.

Here's Jennings response, via another blog entry on July 25th.

Now, I am not the president of the Ken Jennings fan club, mostly because he's both smarter and richer than me, by a good shot on both counts. But I think he got done wrong here.

What do y'all think?

Yep. It's Monday. Again, UPDATED!**

2006-07-24T04:45:00.000-07:00

Ways I can tell it's Monday:

1) The feeling of impending doom.

2) I don't just kind of hate the idea of going to work. I really, really hate it.

3) For some reason, the electricity went off about 30 seconds after I woke up and I had to get dressed in the dark.

4) The girls over at Snarkywood are hating on the Hoff. Also, it's funny, so go see it.

Monday, Monday, go away
Come again another day.

Or never. That would be good too.

Have a good day everyone! (that was sarcasm, in it's purest form, right there)

**Update.....And, I'm home! The conference call I dread every other Monday was relatively painless and also short.

Y'all will be happy to know that I managed to avoid injury this weekend, so I'm canceling that restraining order I have against myself for the time being.

However, Pookie may have caught my bad luck as he seems to have a kindey stone doing it's level best to kick his ass.

TGIFF! (3 guesses what the extra 'F' stands for)

2006-07-21T05:17:00.000-07:00

Good morning, sunshines! I have to dash off to work so I can get done and start my weekend off, which is a rare occurence. I know y'all are all probably doing the same thing. Unless you're independantly wealthy. In which case, could you adopt me? I don't actually require parenting, but an allowance would come in handy!

Anyway, here's a few tidbits from the last week. Mostly involving wildlife, for some reason.

I saw the world's biggst squirrel in my backyard. Pookie disagrees that it was, in fact the world's biggest, though he did agree that it was bigger than the squirrels we usually see. Who died and made him the squirrel expert? (that sucker was huge, y'all)

Internet experts? Your opinion? Did I, or did I not, see the world's biggest squirrel?
(Hint: I did.)

A cow trotted alongside my van for about 20 seconds as I drove to work. Which was so surreal that I pressed the wrong button on my camera phone and then the two guys who were trying to catch it chased it off the road and now I do not have a picture to share with you. I thought about getting jiggy with Microsoft Paint, but I do not draw well with pencil and paper, if I attempted it with a mouse, people would injure themselves trying to figure out what the hell it was.

In the ever alarming trend of me causing painful, but ultimately minor, injury to myself, I cut off a bit of the knckle on my left index finger. Yet another in a long string of boo-boos that will irritate the crap out of me but are not bad enough to get me out of work. Damnit.

As I was leaving work yesterday, I saw a little bitty bird chasing a great big old bird. It would catch up to the big bird, bite it in the vicinity of it's ass, the big bird would flounder for a moment, and then they'd start all over again. It was much like watching a Chihuahua chase a pit bull and bite it in the ass.

I don't know what the big bird did to piss off the little bird, but I'm betting he won't do it again anytime soon.

So, anything interesting happen to y'all this week? And before you say no, refer to the above list and understand that my criteria for 'interesting' is perhaps not so stringent as yours.

Yin and Yang *

2006-07-17T15:14:00.000-07:00

I was a tomboy. A serious one. I climbed (clamb? clumb?) trees, played ball, stayed dirty, picked up and handled snakes and lizards, fought regularly and tormented my siblings.

In other words, I acted like a boy. No offense to you boys out there. I'm still firmly convinced I had more fun than most girls growing up.

My daughter though? She was a princess. Almost literally. She had the tiara and the loyal subjects (in the form of my entire family) and the outfits. I took her to Lowe's one time and the greeter said to her, 'Hello, Princess!'. My daughter looked up at me (she was maybe 6 at the time) and said, 'See??'. The 'I told you so, Bitch, now step off and get me a juicebox', being tacitly understood.

Now as a former tomboy, I never assumed my daughter would be into the princess thing. If anything, given my love of all things boyish, I assumed my daughter would, well, be like me. Because who wouldn't want to be like me? (No need to hear from the peanut gallery here!)

But, she was a girly girl. Refused to wear pants. Learned how to fix her hair early on, because I was really only good for pigtails (which she hated) and ponytails (which were only minimally better, in her opinion). Shaved her legs for the first time at age 9. Which she totally did not have my permission to do, in case anyone was questioning my sanity.

But what makes one girl a tomboy and another a princess?

Was I a tomboy simply because I grew up with 4 brothers in a neighborhood full of boys and it was an environmental thing? Maybe. It seems reasonable. But somehow, I think I would have been a tomboy no matter what.

Is my daughter a princess because I bought her frilly clothes and Disney princess movies?

Well, I also bought her her first baseball glove at the same ridiculously young age as I did her brothers. I taught her how to throw and catch baseballs and footballs. I taught her how to dribble and shoot a basketball.

She didn't mind those things, and in fact was quite good at them. She simply wasn't all that interested and mostly indulged me until she could get back to her Barbies.

She's still quite the princess, though she's modified it a bit. She's 1/2 Valley Girl (like, OMG!) and 1/2 Goth. Which is interesting when you consider that (a) she's never been to California and (b) she's never been dead (she's been close though. She's about one eye roll away from a pine box at any given time).

Oh, and I'm still a tomboy. A tomboy who hates bugs and will beat you up if you come near me with one. Oh, and also, I like jewelry now. And I'm not talking about attaching an empty Cicada shell to my shirt, either.

So which are you? Tomboy or Princess? Obviously this question is intended for the girls in the audience, but if you boys want to share, we'd love to hear about your princess proclivities. Heh.

Also, what makes one a Tomboy or a Princess? Is it Nature or Nuture?

* which always sounded vaguely dirty to me.

Hooah!

2006-07-13T17:15:00.000-07:00

As you may or may not remember, my oldest son in is the Army. We are obviously very proud of him.

To be perfectly honest, though, we weren't sure he'd do at all well, especially through basic training.

Before he joined he was your basic spoiled suburban kid. More interested in video games and skateboarding than in deciding what he wanted to do with his life. He was 18, working a series of minimum wage jobs and not at all interested in continuing his education right then.

We had always told him that if he went to college, he could live at home until he graduated if he needed to. We would happily continue to feed, clothe and house him until graduation if need be, if that's what made it possible for him to go to college.

Conversely, we also told him that if he wasn't going to go to school, he needed to find a job that would pay rent, utilities, etc. on his own place. Of course, our hope was that our stand on the issue would be an incentive for him to decide on college.

Yeah. No. That didn't really work out like we hoped.

So one night we had one of those hard conversations. The upshot being that it was time for him to shit or get off the pot (didn't Shakespeare say that?), figuratively speaking. Either enroll in college or find a good paying job, because Bub, the gravy train, she is coming to an end.

He announced that he was thinking about joining the Army. I think maybe he was trying to bluff me out, given my prediliction for being an over-protective mother. Maybe he thought I would fling myself across the dining table and beg him not to do it. However, while I am still over-protective with my children, I'm trying to curb that impulse when it comes to the grown man who is my son.

One of our issues at the time is that he wanted to be treated as an adult and he felt I was treating him like a child. He was right. It's very hard to make that transition, as I'm sure the older parents among you could verify. Part of the problem was that he wanted the rights of adulthood without the responsibilities. The other part of the problem is that I was/am in denial about my BABY being grown.

So. We talk to the recruiter, who did a masterful job of making the U.S. Army seem like Club Med, only better. That is his job and he was really rather good at it, I must say.

My son tested well on the ASVAB test, which enabled him, if he decided to join, to pretty much pick the job he wanted.

He made the decision to join and chose 'Calvary Scout' as his MOS (Military Occupational Specialty) (also know as JOB), in good part because Pookie was a Scout when he was in the Army.

He did well in Basic Training, but he was homesick and it was diffcult, as it was for every one the men he was training with. We missed him. So badly. His little brother most of all, I think. We joked when we went to visit him in the middle of Basic that we were really only the Little Brother Delivery System. He was happy enough to see us, of course, and we, him, but really, it was mostly about getting to see his baby brother (and how lucky are we that our older kids love their little brother so much and are so good with him and feel a stake in his future?).

So, now he's stationed across the country and he's...happy. He has friends, a girlfriend, a job, a life that only includes us on a peripheral level. Which, hard as it may be to accept, is really what raising your kids right is all about. Don't get me wrong, he loves us and misses us. It's just the way an adult living his life loves and misses the folks back home, instead of the way a child away on an overnight would.

He called yesterday, to let us know he'd received an expected promotion, to PFC. He also told us that he'd been bloodranked. As I understand it, this means that when they add a rocker to the chevron on the chest of his uniform they follow it up with a good hard smack, thereby causing the little pins to go into his skin under his uniform. Followed by everyone of equal or higher rank who had also been bloodranked doing the same to him.

This was something he'd hoped for, as it signaled the respect of his peers and those who rank higher than he does, and after all, isn't that what we all want? Anybody comes close to me a stickpin, though, and POW, right in the kisser, Alice.

Now, it sounds a little barbaric to me, but this was such an honor for him, that he made a seperate phone call to Pookie to discuss it at length, because Pookie was also bloodranked back in the day and understood the honor.

He's so proud of himself and we're so proud of him.

He sent me a picture of his chest, and I promised to post it, so here it is, in all it's blurry glory:

Ouch!

Although, it's NOTHING compared to all the dog and cat (and snake and iguana and bird and so forth) bites and scratches I've had over the years.

I'm just sayin'.

Hooah!

And then y'all can help come to terms with my David Hasselhoff obsession

2006-07-10T17:37:00.000-07:00

In honor of the many responses I got on my last post, where most of y'all agreed with me (hee!) , I have decided to make the internet my marriage counselor.

Our latest contretemps:

This morning, Pookie was touching my face. We were still sleeping in case you think this is one of those 'Mom, make him stop touching me!' deals. I generally do not object to him touching my face.

However, when he does it when I'm asleep, it reminds me of the time I woke up with a spider on my mouth* (an event that haunts Pookie to this day as he woke up to me beating the shit out of the bed and yelling. I'm sure he thought that I had finally snapped and was attempting to kill him in his sleep, as I'd threatened (jokingly!) about 37,000 times.

Have I set the stage for how I don't want ANYTHING touching my mouth while I sleep? Good.

So I might have started batting his hand away, repeatedly, even though it was actually 'away' at this point. In my sleep/spider hating induced state, I may have smacked his hand many many times. Which, after a while, surprisingly, woke him up. Whereupon he told me to stop it (a reasonable enough request, I have to admit).

I told him that he had been touching my face. He denied it. Now, I'm as crazy as the next bedbug, but why would I have woken up enough to smack his hand repeatedly, if I didn't know for a fact that he was touching my face? Also, what the hell does he know? He was ASLEEP.

So, that's it, internet, what do you think? Also, this is about as interesting as my marital discord gets. We don't even argue about money or housework (not that there's a whole lot of either around here. Ha!). I promise, if y'all will be my marriage counselor, we'll try to jazz things up around here.

Hey! Maybe he could take to smacking me for adding too much spice to the spaghetti sauce, like that asshole in To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar (a true cinematic masterpiece, and I am saying that without a trace of irony). Or maybe I could start spending too much money on frivolous things (which actually hurt me to type, so, NO, I will not be doing that).

Ok, on to other things ('Thank GOD", you're thinking. I know. It's okay.)

Jo, my best beloved cousin and the cutest little ole thing you ever saw (she's teensy!) sent me a couple things y'all need to see. NEED.

Remember the David Hasselhoff video I posted way back when that had the women simutaneously laughing at the cheese and thinking how hot The Hoff is and had the men saying things like 'He beats his wife! And he's a bad actor! And you women need to quit saying how hot he is because it makes us feels insecure and less of a man!". Remember that? (Check out the link. Because if you don't, the dachsunds will be sad)

Well, he's done it again! This is awesome. Oh, and for you boys, KITT is in it too. And if you don't know who KITT is, I would like the address of the cave you were living in during the early to mid 80's.

Also, there is a website devoted to making The Hoff number one in the UK charts. From the home page of this site:

"Think what he's given to the world. Knight Rider. Baywatch. The reunification of East and West Germany. Untold laughter from forwarded e-mails of him in hotpants.

He's given a lot. It's time we gave something back."

Beautiful.

Oh, and here's his official website.

* Did y'all know that in the avergae lifetime, a person will swallow 8 spiders while they sleep? Does this make anyone else want to never ever sleep again?

That's so funny I forgot to laugh (and other witty rejoinders)

2006-07-04T21:25:00.000-07:00

I must tell you how it warms the cockles of this blogger's heart to have blogging friends who feel free to give me a generous ration of shit.

I left myself wide open yesterday with this comment: It was a pretty craptastic day, in no small part because I think I punched myself in the eye while I was sleeping and my eye fucking HURT all day. By the way, what kind of dumbass hits themselves in their own eye while they sleep?

Roo, who, by the way, can tell a story that will make you glad you learned how to read, had this to say in response: Um... Didn't you shoot yourself in the head not too long ago? Maybe it's just me, but I think there's some sort of pattern emerging...

Now, I have to say, that was a good one (and when I say 'good one', I mean I laughed and spluttered and possibly said Bad Words, oh and then yelled at Pookie to read it, because DAMN, that shit was harsh, yo. Not to mention hilarious), because of course, she was right. I did shoot myself in the head not too long ago. Not only did I shoot myself in the head, I then blogged about it as soon as the bleeding stopped and the blinding pain receded a bit. Because, OMG, that is SO funny! Not funny /ha-ha, really, more like funny/glad you aren't that stupid.

Then, Mothergoose (who asks all the hard questions when she does her Thursday Third Degrees on her blog. She will make you think.) chimed in with this: Glad you didn't kill anyone, except for your attempts on yourself.

Again, funny, yes? It's ok, I think it's funny too.

THEN, Mrs. Chili (whom I wish had been a teacher of mine when I was in high school but realize in retrospect that if she been, she would be way old by now and probably not as goofy. She'd prolly be all mature and shit. We can't be havin' that) had this to say: HAHAHAHAHAHA, Roo! You're ABSOLUTELY right, and you beat me to it!

To tell you the truth, I think it's the "HAHAHAHAHAHA" that bothered me most. Would it have killed her to laugh in lowercase? *

I have to admit, I love it when people poke fun at me, especially when I deserve it and oh, by the way, provide all the ammunition, cheerfully and free of charge to the general public.

Y'all are the shiznit.

And now! A poll! Or not so much a poll as Pookie and I are on opposites sides of an issue and I would like for the internets to tell me whether I'm right or Pookie's wrong. Either one. I'm ok with either of those answers. (wink, nudge)

It is Pookie's assertion that the song, She Works Hard for the Money, by Donna Summer is about prostitution.

It's is my assertion that Pookie is mistaken and that the song is about women who work, period.

(How did we come to this pass? I might or might not have been singing the song as I got ready for bed last night. To those who would posit that I seem to be living in the past, I say this; You whippersnappers should have more respect! Why, back in my day, we used to record music off the radio, to cassette. Uphill. In the snow.)

I took an informal poll earlier today (read: I asked a chick at work what she thought) and the consensus agreed with me.

Now, I know that sometimes song titles and/or lyrics can sound fairly innocuous but actually mean something really filthy (3 guesses what 'She wore a pearl necklace' really meant), but I don't think that's the case here.

What do y'all think?

*Or like this even: hahahahaha

Two posts in one day! Alert the Media! Updated!

2006-07-03T16:14:00.000-07:00

I know y'all have been obsessively checking the major news outlets to see if I lost my mind and committed boss-acide. You'll be happy to know I didn't. Unless you are a crazy mo-fo, in which case you'll be disappointed.

It was a pretty craptastic day, in no small part because I think I punched myself in the eye while I was sleeping and my eye fucking HURT all day. By the way, what kind of dumbass hits themselves in their own eye while they sleep?

But the day is over and I have a date with my two favorite men to go see Cars!

This will be J.D.'s first movie going experience, except for when he saw the IMAX movie in Little Rock with his Daddy which doesn't count because I wasn't there. Because it really is all about me.

I'll be so busy watching his face I'll likely miss most of the movie, which is ok since once it comes out on video I'll be forced to watch it eleventy million times.

Oh! Completely different subject here. What would y'all do if your 16 year old daughter told you that a sweet boy cheered her up at the fireworks show and made her smile and asked for her number and "oh, yeah, he got kicked out of his house for some reason but I didn't want to pry into his business and everyone calls him the coolest Jew in town but he's not really Jewish and his name is Caleb and his hair is curly and kind of long and ohmygod, he was so sweet and cute and he touched my face!"?

Would your head explode? Would you send off for literature from local convents?

I've chosen not to overreact until he calls her. After all, she wrote her number in Magic Marker on his arm. Maybe it washed off, right? Right?

It's a good thing this kid looks good in black.

Updated to add: Oh. My. God. That movie was AWESOME. Y'all, if you haven't seen it, go. Go now. Or in the near future. Go lots of times.

Ok, now, who wants to go tractor tipping wth me?

To Whom it May Concern,

2006-07-03T04:30:00.000-07:00

I'm about to leave for my first day of work after vacation and the chicken pox debacle of 2006 and I am really not happy about it.

I just thought y'all should know.

So, if you 're watching CNN later on today and you hear 'Crazy woman loses it in a pet store in Texas, and sets all the animals loose except the, quote, "icky ones", just smile and whisper 'you go, girl!' under your breath.

Vacation pics and an ass update (not in that order)

2006-06-29T21:47:00.000-07:00

Good news y'all. I don't think my ass is going to fall off, after all. I'm sure you all are as relieved as I am.

I am willing to go on the record as being against Chickenpox. I know, it's a radical postion, but I have to go with my principles here.

I did get some extra time off work, which has actually been kind of nice because our oldest is home on leave and Pookie is still on vacation, so there is some serious family time going on. And God knows I'll be ready to go back to work Monday (maybe).

I have lots of good pics but I'm only gonna show a few tonight because I'm hopped up on the generic Benedryl and should be tucked in next to Pookie right now.

First we have a still life entitled What I did on my summer vacation before I got chickenpox and my ass fell off.

What more could a girl need than a good book, some awesome spaghetti sauce, some cheapish alcohol and some good bug spray? Nothing, that's what.

This is a pyramid in Memphis,TN. Archaeologists are still trying to solve the mystery of how it got there.

They did recently find some ancient hieroglyphics on it. They are currently trying to translate it. Any experts on ancient languages out there? Think of the prestige of solving a puzzle of this magnitude.

There's something very familiar about it to me. Hmm. Ain't history wonderful?

What I did on my Summer vacation

2006-06-27T14:46:00.000-07:00

Alternate title: Are you fucking kidding me??

Alternate, Alternate title: Kiss my (spotted) ass, Karma, you vindictive whore.

So, I went to New Hampshire and all I got was the chicken pox. Let me repeat that. Chick. En. Pox.

Have I mentioned how I'm old? As in, too old to have chicken pox? Because I am.

Because I love, I am posting what I believe to be an accurate representation of the state of my (spotted) ass.

Pookie took this shot as I was sunbathing this afternoon*.

I know. The Pox is Hott.

More on my vacation later, when I feel more like sitting for a long stretch.

Oh, and fuck you, Karma.

* That is a picture of my ass in some alternate universe. In a skinny alternate universe where I would ever wear a g-string. You are not seeing an actual photo pf my actual ass, for those who were feeling compelled to poke themselves in the eye. There's no way I'm posting an actual photo of my actual ass on the internetweb. Because I love. And also, it's getting tough to feed and house all my stalkers, as it is. No new stalkers, is my goal.

Still lookin' for Hampsters

2006-06-19T18:05:00.000-07:00

Ok, so we're here. After many long weeks of travel in our covered wagon, with only hardtack and bisquits for sustenence, we have arrived in New Hampshire. The natives seem to be friendly, though they do seem a bit taken aback at our manner of speech. They shared with us a delicious local treat called a 'meatball grinder'.

Alright, I'll stop now.

So, anyway, we are here. It only took us 2 days, because if there was an Ironman of Driving contest, Pookie would totally wipe the floor with the competition. I drove *maybe* a total of 2 hours the whole trip. I know what you're thinking. Why didn't I help more with the driving? Am I just that fucking lazy? Well, apparently, yes.

For one, I have this cute little habit of nodding off in a moving vehicle after more than an hour. whether or not I'm driving, unless someone is talking to me. So basically, when I get fussy and won't go to sleep at night, Pookie can just buckle me into my carseat and drive me around the block a couple times because I am an infant. A lame, narcoleptic infant who drinks too much coffee.

Our first morning on the road (after I woke up) I attempted to pour myself some coffee from the thermos. I am apparently no better at pouring than I am at staying awake and managed to pour coffee all over my thighs. While wearing sweatpant. Did y'all know that sweatpants will retain the heat of spilt coffee? Well, they will.

Pookie couldn't safely pull over, so I did the only thing I could do. I pulled the pants off and rode commando until he could stop. It was a little unnerving. And uncomfortable. And never ride with a bare bottom on leather seats. Trust me on this.

I recovered from my third degree burns surprisingly quickly. I may never recover from riding down the road hoping truckers aren't glancing into the van . Therapy may be in order.

THEN. Last night, while walking back from the showers here at the campground, I turned off my flashlight so the fucking bugs would quit flying up my fucking nose. I then tripped over a picnic table and knocked the tee total shit out of my leg. I didn't cry, but it was close.

Stay tuned for pictures. This place is GORGEOUS, y'all.

New Hampster or Bust!

2006-06-15T18:19:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow, we leave on vacation. I would be quivering with excitement, but I'm too fucking tired.
Breathing and sitting is about all I have the energy for. Oh, and typing, apparently.

I have to work tomorrow, and I am incredibly bitter about that, but I've made plans to skip out at about 1:00 so it will only be half as exhausting as usual, which will give me time to come home, shower, shop for last minute stuff, and let Pookie have a nice long sleep before we head out at about midnight. To the promised land, otherwise known as New Hampster, at least around our house.

In other news! I have a website! Courtesy of the awesome and amazing and other words that start with 'A' (including alliterative!) Blue.

She's done a great job and I hope you'll go check it out and I hope you like it as much as I do, which is impossible because I love it a lot and it's all about me. You people can't really compete with my narcissism. So don't even try. SNAP.

Also, I got the most awesome shout out from a fellow blogger and I have to share it with y'all for two reasons. First, it's all about me! Second, this chick deserves some recognition of her own.

She wrote:

"I’ve been searching for the blogs of 20 and 30 something year old single females making their way in the world but have come to the conclusion that all of them are actually at home with their comforters over their heads trembling in fear, so I’m left with the mommybloggers, and that is okay. The 20 and 30 something years olds of the world have a tough go of it and by the time they get it together they wind up with kids and blogs.

http://verycontrary.blogspot.com/ is a mom with a blog. A mom who lives in Texas (again, so much better than Reno) and writes about old timey crushes, (Orlando Bloom? Bah! Rock Hudson! Yay!), her crippling fear of spiders (I have some fun stories for her) and Kevin Eubanks’s Salary. If you’re new to web-ness check out her links. She has researched and stuff so the links are good.

Contrary also has a website, http://verycontrary.com/index.htm , not just a blog. This means she gets double the internet adoration. It also means she gets to post cute pictures of her family. Someday I am going to write Contrary and ask her how to get the pictures out of my laptop and onto my blog, because you want to see what I look like, right?"

I know! How awesome is she? And how awesome am I....apparently?

Oh, and those of you who are dying laughing at the notion of me helping anyone figure out how to do anything on the computer? You can bite me.

I plan to update often while vacationing, which could either mean that I update every 5 minutes or that I forget I have a blog for the duration. I'm not really good with the planning.

But y'all should totally check back often and you should also check out the new site and let me know what you think because I am insecure and need constant positive reinforcement.

Eeek

2006-06-12T19:49:00.000-07:00

I hate spiders.

Yeah, yeah, I know. All creatures great and small, the Lord God made them all.

What the fuck ever.

I hate spiders.

Once, when I was but a tot, perhaps 3 or 4, I allegedly told my mother that a spider had growled at me. I know spiders can't growl, but this was probably the first step on my road to arachniphobia.

I am generally not a fan of anything with any more than 4 legs. Most insects are on my eeek list. I do like ladybugs and doodlebugs, though. Because they're cute. And I'm shallow, even in a etymological sense.

But spiders are the worst. Eight hairy legs, skittering sideways. Weaving webs out of their butts. I mean, seriously, that shit is just wrong.

I recall a couple of stories that happened at a former workplace of mine. They both involve escaped tarantulas. Bird eating tarantulas. ( A quick quote from the Wikipedia entry on these things: 'one of the few tarantulas which can capture and eat a full-grown mouse'.) (holy shit!!)

In one story, someone (accidently) stepped on the spider. Can you imagine stepping on a spider that's as big as a hamburger patty? A juicy, undercooked hamburger patty?

The other was about how a tarantula crawled up an employee's pants leg.

I wasn't there for either of these stories, but they served to make me keep my eyes open and seriously consider banding the cuffs of my pants (you know, like cyclists do), just in case. Because I would have fainted while simultaneously peeing my pants had either of these things happened to me.

What are y'all scared of? What just skeeves you the hell out? What makes you want to cry like a bitch and ask your Mommy to hold you?

Ah, the good old days

2006-06-06T15:09:00.000-07:00

Now, like every girl, I've had actor crushes. Mine were sometimes a bit different than other girls. Don't get me wrong, I had brief flirtations with the likes of Rick Springfield (I still know all the words to Jessie's Girl) and Rob Lowe.

Mostly, though, my crushes were old enough to be my father, if not my grandfather.

James Garner- from his early days with Move Over Darling to Support Your Local Sheriff to The Rockford Files to Space Cowboys. My favorite? Victor/Victoria with Julie Andrews.

Cary Grant- even in his madcap comedy days, starring in classics like Arsenic and Old Lace or Bringing Up Baby all the way up to even more classics like Father Goose and Operation Petticoat. Oh! And let's not forget His Girl Friday, easily one of the best movies ever made. Of course, I wanted to grow up to be Rosiland Russell when I was a little kid.

Rock Hudson- yes, I know. He was gay. But I defy any heterosexual woman to watch Pillow Talk and not fall just a little in love. Oh, and I also defy any heterosexual male to watch Doris Day in those dresses and not fall a little in lust.

Paul Newman-yes I know, me and everybody else. Nobody's Fool is my hands down favorite movie. He was OLD in that and I still wanted him.

Sean Connery- Need I say more?

John Wayne- To this day I can't watch the end of The Shootist because he dies in it and it was the last movie he made before he died in real life. My favorites are The Quiet Man (not a western, so you western phobics out there should watch it and give the old man a try. I think this one will surprise you), McClintock, The Sons of Katie Elder and never mind, there are too many to list).

This is by no means the complete list. I watched a lot of old movies as a kid. I had a mother who wasn't too strict about bedtimes and all the time in the world to watch The Late Movie (for you kids out there; before cable, there were three, sometimes four, channels. That was it. And the movie they always showed after the news and Carson was called The Late Movie. A little slice of American History, right here at VeryContrary).

What about y'all? Who was/is your crush? By the way, every woman in the world currently has a crush on Jack Bauer and/or Dr. McDreamy so those don't count. Because I say so.

In Exile (and kind of loving it)

2006-06-03T23:01:00.000-07:00

Well, folks. I'm off at Mommy Camp, also known as the Best Western (witness horrid hotel art at left), where it is hoped that I will regain my usual sunny dispostion, because OMG, I am a horrid bitch. Ok, maybe not, but I was certainly feeling pissy and out of sorts.

Pookie and JD packed me off so I could come home to them tomorrow with a smile on my face and my inner bitch all chilled out.

I stopped by the bookstore to buy this book, but they were sold out, which is great for the author (Mary Janice Davidson), but sucked for me. But! I found this other book, which she also wrote and since all I really wanted was a book with her unique sense of humor and unrelenting goofiness, I was a happy girl.

While I was at the bookstore, I picked up something for the boy to assuage my guilt.

Meet Douglas the steam engine (I think he's steam. He could be diesel. I'm no expert.) JD is a fan of Thomas the Tank Engine and his friends. He's been doing a lot of talking about 'Poor Douglas who has to live at the bookstore'. Don't you see? I couldn't leave Douglas there! I had to buy him!

Also while I was at the bookstore, I managed to offend the guy at the customer service desk.
See, he has a mohawk, and I thought it would be funny to tell him that someone had run over his head with a lawnmower while he wasn't looking.

I know what you're thinking: That isn't even funny!

Well, he didn't think it was any funnier than you did. I could tell because of the way he stared me down , because hey, he's a young guy with a 'funny' haircut in a small town in Texas. OF COURSE, no one ever gives him shit about it and OF COURSE, he has a great sense of humor about being screwed with.

I apologized, he said 'it's ok, I'm used to it'. I apologized again, he said 'don't worry about it. I apologized again, he said 'Good Lord woman, you made a snarky comment about my hair. It wasn't even funny. It's not like you called my mother a whore or something. I'm over it. You get over it too'. Or words to that effect.

I then proceeded to (accidently!) step on the back of his shoe, giving him a 'flat tire' when I was following him to the fiction by author section. It was at this point that I asked him not to throw me out until I had a chance to pay for my purchases. That, he laughed at.

And then he was very helpful and sweet and I would totally introduce him to my daughter if it wasn't for the subversive haircut that makes it clear that he does drugs and trades in white slavery. The little communist.

Ok, all kidding aside, I was mor-ti-fied. Y'all may recall that I am quite adept at pissing people off because I think I'm funny. I'm gonna see if they have a class at the local college that teaches 'Shut up already, Dumbass- 101'.

I've spent the bulk of the evening wtching a Benson marathon on TVLand. I forgot how much I loved this show. I was on IM with Pookie and he accused me of having a drink because I kept exclaiming over stuff on the show. But I did spot Ted Danson and Jerry Seinfeld in the early years.

Ok, I think I'm done rattling on for now...Benson is calling. The gang needs my help getting the Governor out of yet another fix.

The Searchers

2006-06-01T07:55:00.000-07:00

Hi! Welcome to yet another inaugural post.

I thought for this, the first post at the new place, I'd take the coward's way out and do a post about some of the searches people have done that have led them to me.

Hey! Come back! Some of these are good, I swear!

1) Flirting with cousins- Heh. I'd like to claim no knowledge of why someone would find me while looking for this, but the sad fact is that my family is southern, there are a LOT of cousins, and back in the day most of us were very attractive.

2) Donut Jokes- I get this one EVERY DAY. Who the hell needs that many donut jokes?

3) Kevin Eubanks' salary- (he's Jay Leno's band director) I don't how much Kevin makes, but he's hell on a horn.

4) I was charged for a free orthodontist consultation- Dude, that sucks, but there's really nothing I can do for you. I would suggest a call to your local Better Business Bureau.

5) slung of pig in a blanket- Um. Well, alrighty then.

6) world's laziest boss award- Wait, there's an award? Oh, hellz yeah, I'm a total shoe-in!

7) coping with brown nosers at work- I'll have to ask my boss, who is the sweetest, smartest, bestest boss in the whole world. ( I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.)

8) over 70 years old grannies masturbating (I actually cut the most offensive bits out of this one)- Dude, you need help. Seriously.

9) "copping a feel"- Well, it depends on whom you're copping, but in general, I'm all for it.