My blog is sluttier than your blog

Recent searches that led to my blog:

bacon shoes
puke up for a living
why gay porn is better
i just need to eat some pussy
gay porn blogspot contact me
bacon tattoos
pooptown
voice overs fuck you
holy infant so tender and mild

And my personal favorite:

how to fuck a Barbie

I think they get it from their Dad

While I was cleaning up from making cookies yesterday afternoon, my children managed to tie their butts together.

Mina took a string belt off of one of her dresses and tied one end to the crotch of her underwear and the other to the crotch of her sister's underwear.

After freeing them, Mina shared some of her inner thoughts with me.

"Mama if I was a zombie, I would feast on your brain."

They really are good girls, bright girls and not prone to these types of things often. When they do get on a roll however, it's pretty much a wealth of hilarity.

The other night at dinner, Mina told me that she decided she loved Alex in addition to Matthew R.

"Well," I told her, "You can't marry both Matthew and Alex. You'll have to choose between them."

"No Mama," (eyeroll), "I"ll marry Matthew R. and Alex will be my boyfriend!"

Just like the Girl Scouts, but drunker

For the record, Jim and I had a fantastic time at the little get together.

The bar was a hoot-just the type of place Jim has wet dreams about turning our extra room off the garage into.

When we first got there, I told the hostess that we were meeting a group of people. When she asked me who, I felt a metaphorical puddle forming at my feet. Aside from Grant (who, as I previously mentioned, I haven't seen in person in about 16 years), I didn't know anyone. And Grant hadn't arrived yet.

Sure, I've commented on their blogs and maybe seen a quick spapshot in a post or two, but I felt a growing sense of panic at the thought of tapping the wrong person on the shoulder.

"Hi, I write a blog. Am I here to meet you?"

I decided the gregarious group at the bar looked friendly enough not to laugh in my face.

"Um, hello. This is going to sound really weird, but who are you here to meet?"

She turned out to be the fabulously warm and easy-to-talk to MizBubs (who, if you don't know by now, is one sexy mama).

The drinks were holyshitstrong and by about 11, I was taking my shoes off to ensure my upright status.

It was such a cool experience to meet a bunch of people who, up until that night, were kind of like imaginary friends to me--the proverbial "girlfriend in the Niagra Falls area".

There's been so many times I've read what someone wrote and thought, "We could totally hang out and get drunk together!". And lookee loo, I got to do just that with a handful of 'em!

I'm really glad we went. I know Jim was more apprehensive about what the night would bring as he was even less familiar with those in attendance, but I know he had a good time too. I can tell he's having fun when his voice gets louder accompanied by wild arm gestures (of course, that also means he's drunk, but who's counting?).

You can read all about the evening (and see some photos) here and here.


P.S. I am taking part in some guest blogging, along with a host of others, at Grant Miller Media. Stay tuned.

Party Crasher

What am I doing tonight, you ask?

I'm getting gussied up and driving to lovely(?) River Grove to attend a gathering of a bunch of people I don't know (yet)...except for Grant but I haven't seen him for oh, about 16 years.

I'll be the overdressed redhead downing drinks, taking pictures and trying not to embarrass my husband.

Huzzah!

More goddamned xmas cheer

We had a big fancy photo shoot here a few weeks ago to try and get a shot for the our cards. The girls loved it because I did their hair and even let them wear the teensiest amount of makeup. Mina got pissed that I wouldn't let her wear my red lipstick and we almost had to scrap the whole thing. Luckily she let it go when I showed her the obnoxious dress my Mom bought her.

Here is the undedited version of the picture that went out with the cards. I picked it because the look on Audrey's face pretty much encapsulates her entire being. The shit-eating grin and twinkle of evil in her eye was what clinched it.

Merry CHRISTmas!

No taking the Christ out of Christmas here. No siree.

I can't wait to celebrate the birth of our Lord and Saviour by opening presents, chowing down and getting deee-runk. Wahoo!

An invitation was extended to The Sweet Baby Jesus to partake with us, but He's a bit busy around this time. His Mother's always harping that he never visits, so He takes time out (on His damn birthday of all days) to go over to her house.
He gets to endure hours of "You look so skinny! Aren't you eating?" and "You never call!" and "When are you going to go back and get your degree? You coulda' been a doctor, but NOOOOOO. You had to give it all away to help all those people who don't even like you."

He promised he'd show up for a spell on New Year's Eve. I'm sure He'll need a stiff one after dealing with The Blessed Virgin from Hell.

I just hope he doesn't pull another party foul like last year. Seems Jesus turned a little bit too much water into wine, and started yelling at everyone. He's a mean drunk, if you didn't know.

"Crucify me, motherfuckers! I can totally come back from the dead! DUUUUUDE, I invented Christmas! DO IT, or I will smite you!"

It was really embarrassing. More embarrassing that realizing that he wasn't wearing anything under the robe.

Merry Happy!

Love in Christ and Bacon,
Chaylene

Kind of makes me want to eat some pussy and have an abortion just to spite them

A friend forwarded this to me. You've probably seen it by now but just in case, here you go:


http://view.break.com/278059 - Watch more free videos



It goes without saying that the last bit breaks my heart into a million pieces. Hate breeding hate. My skin is crawling. Lovely.

I have to wonder what the upside down Canadian flag has anything to do with the song. Does God only hate Canada? I thought he hated the whole world.

And really, if we are doomed to the everlasting pits of hell anyway, why are they bothering to tell us. Isn't it too late to save our heathen souls?

I need a hug

The world's abuzz with the news of another Spears baby. Big whoop. I've got a bigger scoop.

Mina's getting married.

She informed me of the impending nuptials as we walked to the car after school today.

I should have known something was up when I saw her hanging out next to him after school the other day. She wouldn't leave until he gave her a piece of gum, and she seemed a little too giddy over it.

It all starts with gum, doesn't it?

His name is Matthew R., and they are planning way ahead. It seems they want to marry each other when "they are bigger". It was discussed and agreed upon at recess.

Someone get me a fucking valium because I am so not ready for this.

Mina told me that her friend Caeli (gawd, I hate the "unique" spellings some parents come up with) is going to marry Hunter as well--and they've kissed.

KISSED! In Kindergarten! What.the.fuck?

Mina denies any lip smacking, and she'd better not be lying.

I'm not exaggerating when I say that just a week ago Mina was telling me that she doesn't ever want to get married and plans on adopting a bunch of babies that I apparently will help her raise.

How did this happen? They are SIX years old.

Tomorrow is the big "Holiday" party in their classroom. I plan on giving this Matthew R. the once over.

I suppose I need to check out my future son-in-law. I hope he has nice teeth.

Adventures in Womanhood

I was going to write about my trip to the ER on Sunday night.

I was going to tell you all about how my uterus decided to hate me and bring forth a tsunami of wrongness.

I was going to tell you about my amazingly kick ass friend, Rachel, who drove me to the ER and sat with me watching Snapped, waiting several hours for the nurses and doctor to come in and check me out.

I was even going to tell you about the twelve year old-looking "man" who walked in and scared me half to death by making me think he was my doctor (he was the insurance guy--WHEW!).

But I won't. No one wants to read about that.

Instead, I'll share the video below (stolen from Project Rungay). If you watch Project Runway, you'll appreciate it. If not...well, it's fantastic anyway.

Thank you Heather

Who doesn't love Dooce?

Sing it, sistah.

The Elves are Watching

Mina wants two things for Christmas:

THIS and THIS.

We spent a few minutes this morning looking them up online.

I told her that she could ask Santa, but I wasn't sure if he would bring both of them (why does she have to have such expensive taste?).

I'm pretty sure I'll get her the talking parrot even though the squawking will drive me to drink. The Fuzz Luv thing may or may not happen. I've seen them priced anywhere from 39.99 to 99.99. Do I really want to spend that much on something else that makes noise?

It could be worse. Last year, both girls begged for THIS.

Lucky for me, they've since set their sites lower.

Part of me knows that I could bring home a bunch of refrigerator boxes and they'd be happy as pie.

After explaining to Mina that Santa doesn't always bring everything we ask for, she pulled me aside to share some inside information:

"Mama, I need to tell you something."

"What's that?"

"Mama, the elves watch us to find out if we are good or bad, and they tell Santa. I've been good, so they looked on your computer to see what I want and they went back to the workshop to make me those toys."

Creepy, right?

I'm picturing a hoard of little elves carrying out some sort of covert focus group. They sneak into the house while we're sleeping, carrying clipboards and 'thinking outside the box'.

Restoring my faith in humankind

This morning I dropped Mina off in front of her school like usual. We can't use the circle drive that goes right up to the school as it is only for buses and daycare vans. We parents all have to haphazardly pull up along a drop off lane, leaving the kids to walk across the lawn or sidewalk to get into the front door.

Usually it's not a problem. Sometimes one of Mina's classmates is getting dropped off at the same time and she walks in with them, but she's fine doing it by herself.

Today though, with the ice and sleet we've been getting, the walk was a bit treacherous. They hadn't salted the sidewalks yet (which pissed me off), so I told Mina to walk through the frozen grass so she wouldn't slip.

She was having quite a time of it, not trusting her balance on the crunchy, icy grass. I saw the panic on her face as she crept forward at a snail's pace, arms outstretched and wobbly. I was just about to find a parking spot on a side street to go help her when an older girl ahead of her (who I found out later, Mina did not know before), looked to be a 5th grader, stopped and turned around.

I saw her bend down and say something to Mina before taking her hand and helping her the rest of the way.



I know there are a lot of snotty preteens floating around. I've heard the horror stories of girls starting puberty at 10, complete with PMS and attitude. I've seen them out in public, sassing their mothers, rolling their eyes.

But this was the exact opposite of that.

I only wish I could find out that girl's name so I could call her parents to tell them what a great job they're doing, and how that one small act of kindness completely made my day.

My kid is weird

Why, with a whole couch, two chairs and two ottomans to choose from, does my six year old insist on sitting/laying on the coffee table?

The Shakes

My husband's laptop died so he took mine to work with him on Friday and I just got it back last night.

The only way she can rebel is to become a vegetarian

Mina is learning Christmas songs at school. Real, honest-to-goodness CHRISTmas songs.

I don't get it. We have to call the Halloween party a "Fall Party", but they can send my kid home singing about round yon virgins?

Mina's been singing Silent Night a lot. Like A LOT a lot. They've got her doing sign language with it too. It's cute and all, but it's also kind of creepy to hear her singing about the babyjesus.

All this sign language has piqued her interest in deaf people. "Are they different?" she asked me. I told her that they were just people, like us, but they can't hear. And just as I was about to pat myself on the back for such a great and succint answer, she throws this at me: "Can you hear a deaf person cry?"

Maybe it was the PMS last week, but that got me a little misty.

So, it's Silent Night, Holy Night EVERY night and it's getting a little old. But, as most things that are getting old around here do, it's getting funny.

"Holy Shit!" has now been replaced with "Holy Infant!". The same can be said of the less uttered "Holy Cow!".

Mina doesn't like this at all.

She also didn't like the following conversation that took place a few days ago.

Mina (singing): ...holy infant, so tender and mild...

Jim: You know what I like tender and mild? A steak.

Mina: NO DADDY! HOLY INFANT!

Me: Mmmmmm...tender infant....

Mina: STOP IT!



I hope that when Mina grows up, she gets a really well paying job with fantastic benefits to help pay for the inevitable therapy in her future.

One Track Mind

I love the exercise class I take on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The Monday and Wednesday ones not so much (stupid cardio), but Tue/Thur gets a hearty thumbs up.

It's a strength training class which I dig, and the teacher is really hard on us which I need.

Today was more difficult than usual because it took everything in me not to completely embarrass myself by laughing my ass off.

She had us do this move where we got down on all fours (which is funny all on its own) and alternate a raised right hand/left leg then vice versa. A set of those led to not only raising said leg/arm combo, but also touching opposite hand to opposite leg and following the path of our arm with our head (to improve our balancing skillz, yo) which the teacher insisted on calling a "reach around".

And if that wasn't enough to me into fits of juvenile giggles, she then started shouting "NOW, JUST THE REACH AROUND. NO HEAD! JUST THE REACH AROUND. NO HEAD!".

I don't know whether to feel sorry for her husband or give him a medal.

At least he's not a Scientologist

My father works in the warehouse of a Christian book publishing company (I'll give you a hint: They are the people who publish the Left Behind series). He's been with them for almost 20 years, and isn't planning on retiring until he is 70. Yeah. Seventy.

He loves his job believe it or not. I don't get it. He packs book orders in warehouse. I mean, it's an honest living and all, but not one that I would want to do until I was 70 years old. He's 66 now, so it's not that far off. Thankfully.

Ever since he got that job he's found any and every opportunity to give me one of the books he so diligently packs every day, and they suck ass like nobody's business.

I've been able to politely decline his offers of Christian Parenting Tips 101 and Cooking with Jesus and the like for quite a few years now, but that doesn't stop him from offering.

When I was pregnant with my first kid, my father and his friends from church single-handedly filled out the book table at my garage sale.

Today, after dropping the girls off after a weekend visit, my father topped even himself in pure ridiculousness.

I saw him handing my husband a book and involuntarily rolled my eyes. "What now?" I thought to myself.

"Here you go, Jim. It's a new book we put out--comic book style!"

I could feel the muscles in my neck tightening up. If it had been one of those super kick ass tracts from back in the day, I might have gotten excited, but it wasn't. Not even close.

If I was telling you this story in person, this would be the part where I'm laughing so hard I can't even finish sharing it. The part where you would also begin to giggle because this kind of laughter is contagious.

The title?

MANGA MESSIAH

If I ever embarrass my children this badly, they have full permission to commit me.

As soon as they stop laughing.

Why I love living in Normal, IL

Things like this make the paper.

Awesome.

My head hurts

Overheard in the kitchen while Mina was drawing pictures before dinner:

"I'm so glad Jesus invented erasers so I could get rid of the nasty stuff."

Reason #4852 I Shouldn't Own a Gun

On the way home from Mina's first birthday party of the today I had to stop at a gas station to fill up one of my tires. One of my neighbors was nice enough to knock on my door and let me know that he noticed I had one going flat. I thought that was pretty damn swell. Wasn't it?

I pulled into one gas station and their air machine was broken. I will refrain from going into my thoughts on a fucking AIR machine being broken. (Seriously. It's air. Did they run out?).

Next stop was the gas station by my house. Their air machine is free. Honestly, I never understood paying for air in the first place.

There are two non-handicap parking spots one can park in the get access to the machine. One was taken and one was blocked by some asshole pulling out of it as slooooowly as he possibly could.

If it would have been some old person just being elderly and shit, I would have given them a pass, but it wasn't. It was some dude in a POS van, yakking on his cell phone, not paying attention.

Well, not paying attention until he saw my eyelasers fixed on his location. But did that shake him into the real world--the real world where people are courteous and aware of their surroundings? Nope.

Not until I mouthed (mouthed, not said. My kids were in the car) "you need to get out of the way" did he finish his 37 point turn--still having a cell phone conversation--out of the spot I needed.

I thought he had left the parking lot, but was mostly intent on filling up my flaccid rear tire. When I looked up after returning the air hose, I saw that he had stopped his car directly behind mine.

I knew I just needed to get in and put my car in reverse and he probably would have gotten the hint. I knew that the best thing would be to just keep my mouth shut and give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he thought I was going into the gas station. I hadn't gotten my very visible children out of the car. I didn't have my purse on me. It was plainly obvious all I needed was some air for my tires, BUT maybe he was so engrossed in his obviously important phone call he didn't notice that I HAVE SHIT TO DO.

But I didn't keep my mouth shut.

Hands on hips, cocked head and all, I spat a "REALLY?!" at him.

He moved. Quickly.

At times like these, I don't really need a gun.

"Pissed Off Chaylene" is scary enough.

Is it just me?

Lasr night I checked my gmail account and all was well and good until I tried to reply to an email. Suddenly, I was "timed out" and had to "sign in again" even though it still said I was signed in.

Now I can't even access my gmail inbox at all. When I type the address in, all I get is some ask.com search results page. When I click on the gmail link, I get an error page.

Forgive my computer illiteracy. Seriously, I embarass myself sometimes. But what the holyballsfuck is going on here?

It's starting to piss me off a little.

Which do you want first?

I always pick the "bad news". I like to end on a high note.

The Bad News:
Last night Audrey puked her entire dinner back onto her plate. She's not sick this time. I think I just shouldn't let her have a juice box with dinner. She sucked it down like a camel and it just didn't agree with her I guess. I am really sick of cleaning up barf.

The kitchen sink is cloggity clogged and I can't use my dishwasher either as it is backing up into it as well.

I have to pay someone to come fix it.

Winter has arrived. Sitting outside with my laptop and cigarettes isn't as enjoyable when I'm shivering.

Starbucks still has not called me back about an interview. Now I have to call and do the whole "just checking in" bullshit.



The Good News:
I can pull my size 6 pants off without unbuttoning them (straight out of the dryer!).

I have an excuse to go shopping.



Not sure which category this goes in:
I am woefully addicted to Scrabulous on Facebook.

It Has Begun

I was at the grocery store the other day when I heard it. It didn't register right away. I don't normally actually listen to what they're playing over the speakers (unless it's the GoGo's in which case I sing along and dance with my shopping cart).

Maybe it was turned up just a touch louder than usual because halfway down the second aisle, it hit me. Fucking Christmas music.

I have a love/hate relationship with holiday music. Part of me gets the appropriate warm and fuzzy feelings when I hear it. The other part of me, the cynical and angry part, usually beats all that sentimentality into an unrecognizable bloody stump.

I stopped and listened for a moment. How could I even start to think about Christmas when it wasn't even cold enough for socks? I know they have to start bombarding consumers with Christmas shit early in order to convince us to buy shit. After all, nothing says "I love you" like a six page long January credit card bill, right?

It's not just the stores with their music and decorations either. I've noticed the toy commercials are on double time. Every four seconds (as opposed to the usual eight seconds) I hear, "Mama! Can I have that?" "Mama, can Santa bring that?".

At first, I pulled out the speech from last year, "Santa can't bring everything. Let's just put it on the list and see what happens."

But I'm sick of saying it, mostly because they don't even hear me when I do. I've given up. Now, when they ask me for yet another bullshit piece of lead-laden garbage almost guaranteed to make noise/be difficult to assemble/fall apart after 5 minutes/etc, I just tell them that they can have it.

Why not?

How could it possibly backfire?

It's Tattoos, Ya'll!

Last night Audrey got out of the tub and proceeded to return her entire dinner into a towel I heroically swooped under her mouth just in the nick of time. I kept trying to scoot her closer to the toilet as wave after wave of chicken/broccoli/french fry goop came pouring out of her gullet, but she kept backing up.

It was kind of funny.

"BLORT!"

"Come this way honey..."

"BLORT!"

"No, not towards the door...this way. OK, in the towel then."

A couple hours after I got them in bed, Mina was up and ready for her barf-o-rama.

This morning, Mina was fine. Audrey seemed fine, but after eating and then un-eating breakfast was in for a day of couch surfing and little else.

She even puked up the juice she drank, and won't go near the Pedialyte (I can't blame her. It looks like urine on the morning after a loooong night of drinking).

The only good thing about your kid being sick is the primo snuggle time.

The poor thing can't keep any food down so she is not in her usual tornado mode. Normally she isn't very snuggly, but today we got to spend some sweet moments stretched out on the couch, catching up on Blue and Franklin, just cuddled up warm and cozy.

I'm letting her sleep on the couch not so much as a "special treat" but to make sure I catch any further throwing up incidents. We just got the floors done and my mother in law got us this rockin new rug that I would like to try and keep puke(and dog poop) free for as long as possible. I don't ask for much.

If you've read this far without feeling queasy you probably have kids of your own who's puke you've caught, shit you've wiped and snot you've sopped up. If you don't have kids, then my apologies and I hope you weren't eating.

I really thought it was something they ate, but Audrey feels like she has a fever now so I think she's legitimately sick. My supergreatkickass friend Rachel was planning on have my girls over for a slumber party on Saturday, but I think Audrey is going to have to sit this one out. We'll see.

My husbitch and I had big plans to go down to St. Louis for the Old School Tattoo Expo. I told him that if Audrey got sick again, he could stay home and I was still going. I was kind of half-joking, but he gave me the "Fine. Whatever" look.

I think I might still go. Is that too Britney of me?

Reality check

A friend of mine that I used to do hair with called me this weekend to tell me that one of my favorite old client's mother had died.

At least that's what I thought he was telling me on the phone. I was smack in the middle of a fierce game of Candyland with the girls and apparently didn't listen as closely as I should have.

Had I been paying full attention, I would have known it wasn't the old client's mother who died but her young daughter.

I saw the friend who called me today and I casually mentioned that I hadn't seen the obituary in the paper yet, and found that odd. He then clarified what I had stupidly missed in the weekend phone call.

Apparently Ava had developed a brain tumor about a year and a half ago which they operated on, but it was a one shot deal. When it came back, it was just a matter of time before she succumbed to it.

Traci, Ava's mother, was a fragile woman with a kind heart. She and her husband brought their family here after he was transferred through work. She kept a trace of a southern accent that got stronger when she joked around. She had a gentle but firm way of keeping Ava out of trouble while she was getting her hair done, but Ava never strayed far. Usually she would curl up on her mom's lap while I shampooed Traci's hair.

I don't and hopefully will never ever know that pain the family must be going through right now, but my heart breaks just thinking about that kind of loss. Nothing strikes more fear in the heart of a parent than thinking about one's child in pain or worse.

It feels so cheesy to say, but life comes at us so fast. Events like this are a stark reminder to slow down, appreciate the small things, and take stock of what we often take for granted.

Rest in peace, baby girl.

"Write what you know"

I signed up for NaNoWriMo.

So far, it's not going so well. I'm supposed to crank out 50,000 words in 30 days and I think I've got just under 400 on the second full day. Gah.

I know no one's going to come steal my babies if I don't get it done, but I'll still feel like a failure if I can't get at least half the required words in. It's supposed to be fun, right?

Anyone else trying masochism on for size this month?

I Wish I Still Did Drugs

The actors on Hi-5 scare the everloving shit out of me.

I survived

Mina's birthday party was this past Sunday and the best part is that it's over with.

Seriously though, it did go well (although next year it will end after two hours not three...).

I now know what that little smirk I got from some of the parents (the ones with older children) meant: "Two hours is the max, sweetie. Good luck! HAHAHAHAHA!"

Oh well. Live and learn.

We escaped with only two minor injuries. One was a scraped ankle and one was my poor withered balloon-tying fingers. I'll have a lovely scar to remember it by too.

In other parenting related news, I am the Room Party Parent for Mina's kindergarten class. I guess I was the only parent (stupid enough)to check the "I can be present for every party" box.

The "Fall Party" is today and I got everything covered. The parents in my daughter's class are really nice and no one balked at my requests. I'm thinking we could get pony rides for the "Holiday Party" if I ask nicely enough.

Between Audrey's "parent cooperative" preschool and Mina's kindergarten activities, I feel like I am up to my freshly cut side-swept bangs in school stuff--which is why I am nervous about my impending venture into Parttimejobdom.

Yes, Mama's gettin' a jobby job. Have I already mentioned this? I'm too lazy to go back and reread past posts...

I'm going to apply at Starbucks. Good benefits, flexible hours and most importantly, free coffee. It's a win-win for everybody.

I'm waffling about my trip to Italy in June, and I'm starting to feel guilty for spending money we don't have. If I can get a little cash of my own, maybe I won't feel so irresponsible. We'll see.

It's still 8 months away though. Plenty of time to work myself into a guilt-ridden frenzy.

Random

Dear girl holding up traffic,

I get it. You have great posture and HUGE tits. Congratufuckinglations.



Dear Garlic Press Deli,

Your pumpkin bread is so good it almost makes me believe in God. Whoever made this deserves knighthood or princessdom or at the very least, a street named after them.


Dear woman who teaches 90 percent of the exercise classes I take,

I'm sure you're a nice person in "real life" so I'm sorry for the eye lasers during class(es). I can't help but give dirty looks to someone when they are making me want to cry in public (though my waist and ass thank you for your efforts).


Dear Weather Gnomes,
Please make it nice out tomorrow so I don't feel bad for making my dogs stay outside during the birthday party.


Dear Dogs,
Don't pee on the pumpkins, OK?

Dear Spellcheck function,
"Congratufuckinglations" is a word.


Sincerely,
Chaylene

All the credit, none of the blame

I went to my first parent-teacher conference today.

Well, I guess there were a couple in preschool, but this to me counted as the first really real one, now that Mina is in kindergarten.

I'm not sure what I expected. OK, I do know. I expected to hear how awesome my kid is and how smart and friendly she is.

Mostly what I got were things she needs to work on or know by the end of the year. I was fishing too, saying things like, "Mina seems to have adjusted to all day school really well" and, "She's really enjoying school". All I got in return was a, "Oh, good" and the ol' nod/smile combo.

Don't get me wrong. I like her teacher. She's a seasoned pro. So seasoned in fact that one of the newer kindergarten teachers had to transfer a "problem" student into my kid's class knowing our gal could handle him.

I think I got spoiled at those preschool teacher meetings where they did tell me how great my kid was. I guess I just like hearing nice things about my offspring (duh), from someone not related to me, because I can pretend their good behavior and social skills are all of my doing.

I suppose I do have something to do with how well my girls are turning out, but mostly I'm trying like hell to make sure they don't end up with my neuroses.

I Stand Corrected

It has become glaringly apparent that I am a terrible judge of character.

A few tidbits of information have come to my attention that I can't ignore. I am heartbroken that I was indeed wrong about the person I trusted my stupid, sometimes annoying, but enormously loved dogs with.

Damn it.

In other news...

I saw an office in the medical park next to my bank titled "Successful Aging Center".

Um, isn't not being dead considered successful aging? What the hell do they do over there--give you a plaque on your birthday?

"Hooray, you've managed not to die! Here is a prize for your effort. Carry on."

Don't rich old people (the only people I can imagine with a use for such a place) have anything better to do? If they're that intent on handing over their cash, I'd be happy to help them out.

I Worship at the Church of Dateline

I got a letter yesterday informing me that I had won some European lottery! Oh yes, a lottery I never entered. A lottery I've never even heard of (to be fair, I don't keep up on European lotteries).

And there was a check enclosed!

Of course, I have to pay taxes on it, and these people were kind and generous enough to make the check out over the amount of my winnings in order for me to do so.

It's just that easy.

Gosh Golly, what a lucky girl I am!

I'm sure it's all on the up and up. I mean, just the other day I was praying for a miracle. Money is tight right now, and I am on a half-assed job hunt, and out of nowhere a check for $5,000 shows up. Thank you Jesus!
I think I'll call the lottery office up right this second and give them my social security number and maybe my husband's and daughters' too. Maybe they have checks waiting for them as well!

I'm too lazy to drive to the bank, so maybe I'll throw in my checking account number so they can just deposit it for me.

This must be real. I mean, everyone knows that when times get rough, free money just appears at your doorstep.

Oh My

I read in the paper today that the woman who owns the place that I board my dogs was arrested for animal cruelty.

Before I go any further, I want to state for the record that I do not think she did it. I just can't.

Is she a little rough around the edges? Yeah. Could I see her attempting to poison a person? Maybe. If she got pissed off enough. But an animal? No fucking way.

The article states that there are several witnesses putting her car at the scene. She does drive a huge, white SUV with gold trim and a vanity plate. It's wouldn't be hard to miss her behemoth vehicle even in the dark. But what the article doesn't say is who these witnesses saw behind the wheel. I'm holding onto the hope that it wasn't her driving--that someone else took some grudge or fight too far and borrowed her car to settle the score, unbeknownst to a woman I've trusted my dogs to more times than I can count.

The saddest part, as a friend of mine pointed out, is that no matter the outcome, her dog grooming/boarding business is going to suffer a major hit and may not recover at all.

Part of me wants to take my dogs over there right now to prove that I don't believe that she could ever be capable of hurting an animal.

I just hope I'm right.

"Fuck you, you sloppy nobody!"

We got to see David Sedaris read last night. Good stuff.

That title is a direct quote from one of the stories he read.

It's funny. I expected him to be a lot more nervous than he was. He misread a few things at first, half slapping his forehead as he corrected himself, and it endeared me to him even more.

Between readings he would just talk. It was weird to see him just chat off the cuff--like a real person--as opposed to some disembodied voice over the radio.

Afterwards he took a few questions from the audience. The first guy stood up and asked him about Amy, and I felt embarrassed for him (the question asker, not Mr. Sedaris). You've got one of the greatest nonfiction writers of our time right in front of you, and you ask about his fucking sister? Pisshaw! Pisshaw indeed.

I feel really lucky that the smallish city I live in actually got someone like David Sedaris to speak at a local venue. Bloomington-Normal isn't exactly known as a "hotbed of culture" much as the local hoity toities would like everyone to think.

I loved that the reading was liberally sprinkled with curse words too. That'll show 'em.

Limited Time Offer--Act Now!!

What, no one liked the last post? One response? Are you disgusted by me now?

Would it help if I told you that same boyfriend asked to pee on me in the shower? (I graciously declined).

OK, maybe that was too much sharing.

I can't help it if I've been reading oodles of the Dan Savage archives, and have been reminiscing about my sordid past. What a great job he has.

So great in fact, I think I'd like to try my hand at it.

If you'd like any of your relationship or sex-related questions...actually any questions answered (don't worry, you can stay anonymous), send them to:

betterlivingthroughbacon@gmail.com

I won't promise any great moments of insight, but I don't have much to write about so help a sister out, huh?

Don't be shy.

I found it charming.

One summer back in college I had a boyfriend who was sweet and funny and a little bit crazy. It was fun.

I had met him years before we actually dated when I was sleeping with one of his roommates. Who would have thought, years later, we would end up together for a while?

One night while Summer Boyfriend and I were hanging out, he told me that his bedroom was directly above his old roommate's, and he used to be able to hear us having sex through the floor.

And he would masturbate while he listened in.

Italy by way of Pooptown and Shitsburg

I spent the better (or rather worse) part of an hour on the phone to Delta airlines this afternoon.

My online itinerary stated I was still "waitlisted" a few days after I spoke with a skymiles representative, so I needed to find out what was up with that.

Also, when I told my brother how pleased I was to get a nonstop flight in business class, he got pissy. It seems he wasn't planning on giving up that many of his frequent flier miles and ordered me to downgrade to coach. Apparently he needs some left in his account for when he has to fly 22 hours straight for work, and needs that upgrade in order to be somewhat presentable to the client he is meeting with. Bastard!

So I had to change my whole plan. I'm leaving a week later than originally planned and now I have two stops. One is in Detroit and the other in Newark. It's like some sort of cosmic joke. No offense to anyone reading who might live there, but these are not two locations I have ever dreamed of visiting, even if only in the airport.

But hey, at least I still get to go.

I'm not looking forward to sitting in a cramped seat for hours upon hours, but what I'm really not looking forward to is not getting to smoke for pretty much a whole day. Unless one of the airports I have to stop in has one of those crazy smokeboxes (ever see them in the St. Louis airport? It's like a zoo exhibit.), I'm SOL in the nicotine fix department.

And don't tell me to quit before I go. Don't remind me how gross it is and bad for me. It's the last vice I have, and I'm not ready to let it go quite yet.

When I finally land in Milan, I should resemble a crazed and very tired junkie on a binge.

I should really get a picture of that hotness.

Fuck you Barbie

It wasn't enough that you gave the little me an unrealistic expectation of what I thought my breasts would eventually look like as an adult (large, perfectly perky and nipple-less)?

Now this? You stupid cunt.



Today is my daughter's sixth birthday. Happy Birthday Mina! I got her a birdhouse kit and a Barbie doll. Not just any Barbie either--a mermaid(?)/fairy Barbie with wings that flutter and a DVD game that is supposed to be easy to use. Whatever.

People have been buying Mina Barbie dolls for a few years now, and I'm just now beginning to get over the guilt of "selling out" to Feminism's Antichrist. I allow her not only play with them, but play with the wretched little hussies with her. I expect the ghost of Betty Friedan at my doorstep at any moment.

I thought I was getting Mina the perfect gift. She wants to have a Fairy-themed birthday party this year, so getting her this particular Barbie fit the bill. She opened her gifts up this morning, and I promised her that she could play with it the second she got home from school. It may be her birthday, but I wasn't going to break the 'no television before school rule' even today.

First off, Fairy Barbie needs batteries. Thank the babyjesus I keep extra on hand at all times...for their toys...yeah...

The battery compartments are located in the doll's inner thighs. I felt like some kind of masochistic perv digging around near Barbie's no no spot. From the looks of her eyeshadow choice, I get the feeling this was not a new experience for her.

Then I was to program Barbie with the DVD remote so that she becomes the remote (so Zen, don't you think?) and can work with the game. It looks so simple, but apparently I am not, as previously thought, smarter than Barbie. I couldn't get the stupid fucker to work.

So, we forged ahead using the actual DVD remote which meant that I had to play too. What good is this toy if I can't sneak out for a smoke break while the girls are entranced by sparkly shit and an 18" waist?

The game itself involves finding jewels, eating seaweed and picking up lonely sailors on the dock.

OK, there weren't any sailors involved. I suppose no one at Mattel shares my love of the inappropriate.

Hopefully when my husband gets home, he can figure out what the hell I did wrong in trying to get that bitch to work.

I'm not touching the birdhouse kit project with a ten foot pole.

Happy Columbus Day!

Today I discovered that step aerobics doesn't have to suck. One might say it's opened up a whole new world, quite by accident really.

Ciao, suckahs!

I got my passport today!

I am now free to travel the world.

Part of my afternoon was spent on the phone with the airline. My trip to Italy is in the works! Whoo hoo! June seems so far away...

My brother's job takes him all over the world so he's racked up quite the pile of frequent flier miles which, as it turns out, are transferrable. My plane ticket will be free.

My cousin lives in Italy with her military husband (off base), so I have a free place to stay.

I guess all I'll need is spending money for is food, taxis and lots and lots of wine.

Happy dance!

So, who's been there? Tell me what you did. Tell me what to look out for. Tell me what I absolutely shouldn't miss.

Most importantly, tell me how to not stick out like a sore thumb.

Weighing In

I've resisted until now, but it looks like my rabid obsession with stupid people has won out.

Oh Britney....

Did fame at an early age warp her grasp of reality, give her an overinflated sense of entitlement and rob her of a normal childhood? Yes. (paging Michael Jackson)

Is she a drug addict/alcoholic/fame whore? Yes.

Should she have ever been allowed to breed. Fuck no. There should have been someone on her payroll with the sole job of sneaking birth control pills into her Red Bulls every morning.

But she did breed, and I could weep for what those poor little boys have probably seen and been subjected to. Being dropped out of a highchair is likely the least of their worries.

I think she thought she wanted the domestic life, but (in obvious news) not only did the husbitch turn out to be a skeezy loser,(in more obvious news)it turns out that having children is hard work.

"Oh mah gawd, like, why aren't they just sitting there being cute and stuff?"

So, here's the thing. Now that she's had her children taken out of her custody, why does everyone assume that she wants them back?

A quick scan of the supermarket checkout stand and a few minutes of E! is sure to clue even the most die hard Britney fan that she couldn't care less about being a mother.

I think she's relieved not to have to take care of (or rather pay someone else to take care of) her kids while she blows some douchebag in the hot tub at the Palms.

She's not going to go to rehab...rather, she'll go for show, but not take it seriously. She's not going to stop flashing her bald vag at the paparazzi, and she's not going to get those kids back. If she doesn't want them back, why would anyone want her to have them?

I don't understand how anyone who's given birth doesn't want what best for their offspring. In this case, the best thing for those boys is not being around their trainwreck of a Mom.

I would actually think more of her if she just fessed up.

Lowering the Bar

Someone please explain to me why it's apparently become socially acceptable for a 20-something year old guy to wear a shirt that reads, "I JUST SHARTED" in any capacity, let alone in public.

I'm no prude, but christalmighty, that's just wrong on so many different levels.

Recently the business department at ISU implemented a corporate attire requirement for class much to the collective groan of its students.

I don't really give a shit either way except that now it's a lot harder to tell the future MBA's from the Jehovah's Witnesses on campus.

Word to the wise: Check for a Bible before making inappropriate comments at young male co-eds.

Whiny kids and poop

Am I a total asshole for not liking someone else's kids?

OK, maybe that's a little harsh.

Audrey's in a swim class on Thursday mornings with two brothers. One is 3 and one is 6 and both of them are screeching messes once their bodies hit the water.

To back up a little here...

Audrey was so excited to get signed up for "big girl" swim class (the one where I don't get in the water with her). Jim and I made the mistake of bringing her to one of Mina's classes last session and Audrey wailed and tore at her face wanting to get in the water too. At the time, she wasn't potty trained, so I told her that when she graduated to big girl underpants, she too could join in on the aquatic fun.

So, here we are, four sessions into a 13 week session and Fric and Frac have turned my once enthusiastic swimmer-to-be into a puddle of tears.

What happens is that as soon as the teacher tries to hold one of the brothers in the water, they claw at her shoulders SCREAMING for their mother. "MAMA! I'M SCARED! I'M GOING TO FALL! HELP ME!"

It's kind of terrifying to watch for me, so I can only imagine what's going through my 3 year old's head with her front row seat.

Today the intstructor grabbed an assistant to help her out, and Audrey did a little better being distracted from the other two.

I hate to say it, but I wish the Mom would just stop coming to class. Half of the 30 minute class is taken up by the teacher trying to calm one or the other of the brothers down.

It's totally selfish of me to think that, but I feel like I paid $100 to watch some horrible child psychology experiment.

On a sidenote: It smells like a giant shit on my back deck. I don't see any shit in the general vicinity, but it smells like there is big steaming pile of it right next to me.

And now I'm back...from outer space....

I've been a busy little bitch for quite some time now. Mina's doing well in kindergarten and has adjusted to the long days. Audrey's loving preschool, and I'm enjoying a few hours of quiet here and there.

I'm planning a trip to Italy for summer and I've been getting lots more tattoo work done. I'll have half sleeves sometime in the near future. If I ever getting around to unloading the camera, I'll post some pictures.

Other than that, I'm still as boring as ever.


A couple of days ago, I was at the grocery store with Jim and Audrey, trying to do a quick run for essentials. As far as I'm concerned, wine is an "essential", and anyone who says differently is probably a sour old coot...

Kind of like the sour old coot couple who shot me the most unpleasant of looks as they passed me by.

Maybe they didn't like the cut of my jib. I happen to think my jib is fucking fantastic, but I might be alone on that one.

I didn't think we were in their way. Audrey was being adorable and well-behaved, and I think we were giggling about something when I looked up and Ma and Pa Grumpypants stopped, horrified at the sight of me. Jim was a little ways ahead of us, so he didn't catch it.

I even said "excuse me" as we passed even though there was more than two feet of room between us. I'm nothing if not fucking polite.

My theory, and I could be wrong, was that they were confused by a tattooed Mom. Sounds stupid, right?

The woman half of the couple was dressed in a high-collared button down blouse and long black skirt. She also had a tightly wound doily covered bun. If we were a time zone over, I'd say Amish but my guess is Apostolic Christian.

Add old and AC together with not old and "different" and you've got yourself a storm of cuntastic magnitude.

So, I smiled politely and kissed my daughter on the head knowing that that horrible old pinchyface had to go home and get ready for her daily self-flagellation...or whatever it is AC's do on a Monday afternoon.

Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Grumpypants, a woman covered in tattoos and 4 bottles of wine in her grocery basket can still be a good person and a good mother.

Suck it.

Note to newly arrived college students in town

If I am driving down the road and my light is green, that means you stop and wait at the corner until I have passed through said green light. My green light is not a signal for you to begin crossing the street in front of me. If you are halfway across the street as my light turns green, I will cordially tap my breaks to allow you approximately 4 seconds to get the fuck out of my way. Otherwise, stand clear because I am usually not in the mood to scrape a skanky freshman coed off my hood.

Tissues, please.

Mina started kindergarten today.

I walked her to school this morning and we talked about what the day might bring. She was so happy and excited. I was fighting back tears.

She was fine as we waited in her designated class lineup spot. I could tell she was listening in on the 5th grade girls' conversation next to us. She's always been enamoured of older girls. She just can't wait to grow up.

All was well until the first bell rang and her teacher came out to take them inside. She looked up at me and told me that she was scared.

"I won't know what to do. What if I make a mistake, Mama?"

As much as I wanted to scoop her up and run, I fought the urge with everything in me and told her that it was the first day and everyone was bound to be confused and a little scared. I told that it she was going to be just fine.

I sounded pretty convincing too.

Oh, it's not that I don't think everything will be fine. I just know that kindergarten is such a huge 180 from what she is used to. The two years of preschool under her belt may have prepared her for some things, but they were only a few hours a day. This is a full 8:15 to 3 o'clock deal.

She seemed satisfied with my answer, but I could still see the hesitation in her eyes. All I could do was give her a hug and a kiss and step away as a woman I met just yesterday led my first born off into the big world of public education.

I have no doubt Mina will come home full of chatter yet utterly exhausted. I know she'll love school.

Me? I could probably use a Valium right about now.

Be warned

I'm on this kick lately.

I'm hunting down old boyfriends, friends and "special friends". Not for anything clandestine, mind you. I just have this burning curiosity to know where they are and what they are up to. Oh, and we have a discussion going on a parenting message board I belong to. We're dishin' proper yo.

I thought I found the boy I lost my virginity to, on Myspace. It looked a lot like him and his profile came up when I searched him name, but it wasn't him. This led to seeking out others who spent some time on my "dance card".

It's been interesting.

Anyone share my obsessive "need to know"?

I love gay porn

Last night, I finally got to watch 300.

I've decided I need to run my house as King Leonidas did. From now on, I will not politely ask my children to clean up their messes.

"THIS IS OUR HOUSE! YOU WERE BORN TO SERVE OUR HOUSE! LET NOT YOUR TOYS LAY UPON THE GROUND WHICH YOU SERVE!"

I'm going to start warrior training immediately. My girls are 3 and 5 1/2. Enough time has been lost already.

We'll start simply. There are a plethora of smarmy squirrels running rampant in the backyard, perfect for target practice. We'll move on to throwing open safety pins at the mail carrier after that.

I've got a handful of flat sheets that aren't being used right now that will be perfect for capes and/or togas.

Now, does anyone know where I can find a few dozen ripped, virile half-dressed men?

Not for my project. I'm just wondering where I could find some.

Regarding Dave Brown

After some of the comments on the last entry, I feel I should elaborate on the story a bit.

The garage sale was coming to a close. The people I was having the sale with and I were closing everything down and packing up the unsold stuff to donate. We were tired and hot and a little cranky.

A guy on a motorcycle pulled up as we were just about done. He sat there, helmet on, in front of my house for a few moments.

At first, I thought he was trying to figure out if we were done with the sale or not. But he just sat there, staring. I started to get creeped out, and wondered if I was going to have to pull out the bitch stick when he took off his helmet and started up the driveway.

"Hi there. I used to live here," he said as he extended a hand.

Giddy, I asked him what his name was. When he said "Dave", I immediately let out a laugh, "I found your little note, Mr. Dave Brown."

He looked shocked for a split second, but then said he didn't remember what it said.

I told him, and he laughed but it was a weird, nervous laugh (for the record, he is still married to the same woman he was married to when he put up those cabinets).

I think it was then that he realized that we had taken down some of his handy work.

"So, how ya' likin' the intercom system?"

"Uh...we took it out. It didn't work."

"Oh. What about the security system?"

"Ditto."

At this point, I thought he might cry. I offered that the gazebo thing he built in the backyard was still intact and was one of the main reasons we fell in love with the house. This seemed to satisfy him, and he asked to see it.

With some trepidation, I took him into the backyard. My friends were still there at this point and I can scream pretty loud, so I wasn't too worried.

I took him through the garage because I really didn't want him blubbering all over the guts of his former kitchen.

He stood on the back deck for a moment, not speaking. I didn't like it, so I started blathering on about how much we love hanging out back here, how nice it is, blah blah blah.

He just got all wistful about the tree swing. I started to feel bad for the guy, but then he started in on the intercom system again.

I changed the subject by telling him he needed to go into our shop and talk to my husband about the sprinkler system we apparently have. I told him the people that we bought the house from didn't know how to use it either. This frustrated Dave.

He said something else about something, and I again redirected the conversation to his talking to my husband at his work.

"Oh, when you walk in," I told Dave as I was pushing him back into the garage, "Walk in and say 'Yep, I remember when gas was a a buck O nine a gallon! Those were the days!' It would be HILARIOUS!"

Sadly, I think I was alone on that one.

I am such a fucking slacker

I can't believe what a complete and worthless loser I am. I haven't updated this thing in like two weeks! Jaysus H., I really need to get it together.

It's not like I have anything else to do but tippity type away all day on a blog.

OK, now that that's off my chest...


I had a gargage sale a few weekends ago, and guess who stopped by? If you guessed none other than the infamous Dave Brown, you'd be correct!

I could tell he wanted to come in and take a look around, but I got a bit of a weird vibe off of him and stopped the tour at the back yard.

I was a little afraid he would go apeshit if he saw how many of his precious cabinets we tore out, and the alarm system, and the intercom system...

I'm pretty sure keeping him outside was a good decision.

Can't I just take a pill?

I dragged my ass to the gym today. I've been slacking off because of the move, vacation and just general summer mayhem, so it was time.

I decided to take it easy and not take the class I would have normally taken on a Wednesday. It involves a lot of cardio, and I wasn't really in the mood to have a heart attack today.

I was making my way around the weight machine curcuit when one of the gym's personal trainer guys walks right up to me and starts saying something. I couldn't hear him at first because I had Ira Glass blaring in my ears, and frankly I was a little confused.

I don't talk to anyone around me at the gym unless we are in a class together. I feel weird even making eye contact with anyone while I am on the weight machines, and here's this guy I don't even know striking up a conversation with me.

"Would you like me to show you a better way to work out your chest?"

"Excuse me?" A thousand snarky and/or pervy retorts immediately flooded my brain.

I think the gym is trying to drum up business for their personal trainers so they are sending them out on what essentially boils down to "cold calls".

I can just hear their morning meetings:

"Well guys and gals, no one wants to pay the ridiculous personal trainer fees we have so why don't you get out there and try to get some of our memebers hooked by giving out a few freebies. Try the "mom types" first. They're desperate for attention."

I figured it wouldn't kill me to see what this personal training thing was all about even if I'll never have the extra funds to actually hire one.

He was nice and seemed to know what he was talking about. He was sort of cute in a clean cut way, but...he was wearing cologne. Why cover up the very thing you are trying to be while at the gym?

Sweaty can be sexy, though for the record, there are different kinds of sweaty. Sweaty from exercise, mowing the lawn, sex or fixing shit is hot. Sweaty from the anticipation of getting to the next level of a video is not.

So this cologne-wearing pretty boy is showing me some free weight stuff and some stability ball exercises I can do and offers me a free session. Free is good.

Then he asks for my name and phone number, "I'll call you tonight if I have any kind of scheduling conflict."

Part of me hopes that he does have some sort of conflict. It feels really strange to have someone standing there, watching me do exercises and now I have to do it for a whole hour.

What have I gotten myself into?

Salad! Po-ta-to Salad!

If the Andrews Sisters did yoga:

A gorgeous day to play outside

Good ideas for games to play at the park with your kids:

1. Tag
2. Ball
3. Hide and Seek
4. Slide and swings

Bad ideas for games to play at the park with your kids:

1. Parking lot tag
2. Stick fight
3. Hansel and Gretel
4. Poke the whino

One time I dated someone really dumb

In between sluttin' it up in college, I had an actual honest-to-goodness boyfriend for a good stretch.

He was sweet when I first met him. I almost didn't go out with him, he was so sweet. I just wasn't into nice guys. As it turned out, he wasn't a total anklebiter so I gave it a go.

We were together a few months when Christmas break came around. I visited him at his parent's house (a good three hours from mine) over the two week vacation, and had a nice time. His parents, little brother and sister left for church for a few hours at one point. Later, his dog brought the condom wrapper he had fished out from under the bed to the dinner table. I got a rockin' glare from Boyfriend's Mom and a wink from Dad.

A few months later, Boyfriend decided to get two pet mice for his dorm room. I questioned his judgement, but since I wasn't going to have anything to do with them, I passed it off as another of his stupid ideas. I was tiring of him by this point, but he was cute and fun and had certain talents a smart girl doesn't pass up lightly.

Then Spring Break rolled around.

When one lives in a college dorm, one is required to vacate the premises over any school break. They don't want you hanging around causing trouble (until moving off campus anyway) while no one "official" is on post.

I spoke with Boyfriend over break on the phone (as I wasn't exactly welcome to visit anymore...).

"How are your little pets doing? Did you Mom freak out when you walked in the door with a couple of rodents?"

Silence.

"You brought them home with you, didn't you?"

"Uh...no."

He left two mice in his dorm room for a week.

Having pets in the dorms was obviously strictly forbidden, but having some janitor find them wasn't really the point. We did a lot of things we weren't supposed to be doing in the dorms.

What kind of fucktard thinks leaving living things that need to eat food and drink water alone for seven days (nine if he left on the Friday before) is a good idea?

I had never held him up as a brainiac, but this took the cake.

When we got back to school I asked him what happened. Turns out these mice had a showdown that ended with them both getting out of their cage and one of them pulling an Alive worthy cannibalistic smackdown--on Boyfriend's bed. He came back to one and a fourth dead mice nestled on his pillow.

I refused to even enter his dorm room until he threw all his bedding in the dumpster and requested (and received) a new mattress. It wasn't long after that that I had to be done with him.

Some things you just can't overlook.

Is it any wonder why I'm so obsessed?

I've decided that I finally feel like an successful adult. Why? Because I now have a "beer fridge" in the garage.

I remember growing up, going to my friends' houses (which was jealousy inducing in the first place as we always lived in tiny apartments), and seeing a second refrigerator in the garage.

"My GOD!" I thought to myself, "It's not enough that these people don't have to share a bedroom with their brother, and now THIS?!" The humanity.

It all seemed so decadent, like the time I found out my friend's Mom had a phone in her car. A PHONE...in her CAR. The year was 1984 (I was 10 years old for those playing at home). We wouldn't get a cordless phone at my house for another 3 years, and here was this woman, able to yak it up while driving around. I was amazed.

Dishwashers were another obsession of mine. Every time I went over to a new friend's house to play, I would find myself wandering into the kitchen to check for one. To me, having a dishwasher was a sign of prosperity.

At my house, we had a small black and white TV that my Dad threatened to throw away at least once a week, much to my brother and I's deafening disapproval.

At my friends' houses, they had giant color televisions in several rooms of the house including, something quite foreign to me, the "den". I never understood why people needed a whole room to sit and watch TV (wasn't that what the living room was for?), but I wanted one just the same.

Then there was cable. My parents finally relented just last year and got themselves signed up for cable television. Only after they spent some time at my house and saw that there was more to it than boobs and crap. My Dad is now a Discovery channel junkie and my Mom can watch Columbo at just about any hour of the day.

I don't fault my parents for the way they raised me. It wasn't like they didn't want to enjoy the conveniences of life. We just couldn't afford it. I certainly appreciate what I have now more than I think I would had I grown up with privilege.

It's funny now the way my Mom showers my girls with more clothes and gifts than is humanly necessary. At first I thought she was just excited to have grandchildren (and that is part of it), but it finally dawned on me that she is trying to make up for what she couldn't give my brother and I.

I've tried to reason with her. My kids don't need all this stuff. No one does.

While it's great that I almost never have to buy clothes for my girls, I still get an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach when she brings over a pile of new outfits or toys. I don't want her to feel like she has anything to prove. She and my Dad made do with what they had, and did it very well in my opinion.

The fact that I can get excited about having a "beer fridge" is proof of that.

Three

Happy Birthday Little Bean.

Purty Shit

I got the coolest hairclip at Sugar Creek Arts Festival yesterday.

They didn't have anything with bacon on it (yet, but I did request it). However, I did pick up this rockin' bowling pin hairclip.

Methinks I'll be shopping from her a bit more in the days to come.

I win!

The refrigerator that came with this house su-ucks. It's much smaller than the one we left the buyers of the old house, but that's something I could have gotten used to. The worst part of this piece of shit is that it is indeed a piece of shit. It's falling apart and the fridge part cools unevenly. I've got shredded cheese covered in ice crystals in back and warm yogurt up front. Not cool. Hahahaha! Ahem.

I got a wild hair up my ass today and decided that I was going to go out and get a new refrigerator. I was online doing a little research and got an idea of what I wanted, so after Jim got home I hopped in the car to price check in person.

Home Depot's selection was sad. One (too small) bottom freezer on the showroom floor and not a salesperson in sight to help me. Fuck them. I was off to Best Buy.

I was helped 4 seconds after walking into the appliance section and they don't even work on commission! Best Buy Guy was very helpful and found me exactly what I wanted. I told him I still had two more places to check, but he might be seeing me before close.

He was quick to add that they price match. Good to know, Mr. Salesguy.

Next stop was Sears. I got my sexy washer and dryer from Sears, and have been happy with their service in the past, so I had to give them a chance at my cash.

I found the exact same refrigerator at Sears that I saw at Best Buy--but for way more. Yikes.

I let Sears Saleswoman in on the info, and she asked me if I had any proof. I thought she was being a bitch until she added that they will price match PLUS 10%. If there's one thing about me you need to know, it's that this girl likes a bargain. I somehow feel like I've actually accomplished something amazing when I save a few bucks.

Somehow the sale gets passed onto Nervous Guy, and I have him bring up the Best Buy website on their in store computer. We find the sale price, he prints it and we're in business.

I hate talking numbers because it seems so rude and weird, but I'm going to make an exception just this once.

After the price match and the extra 10% (plus 0% for 12 months!), I got a $2500(Sears' price) refrigerator for $1600. She's a beaut too. French door/bottom freezer drawer, water dispenser inside, foldy shelf things, stainless steel and it has that Energy Star rating. Yee Fucking Haw!

They're delivering it Monday.

Birds are stupid

While I was outside having my morning coffee, a couple of birds flew into the screened in porch. That was at about 8am.

It's almost 4pm and they're still flapping around in there. They can't figure out how to get out.

I tried enticing them with bits of bread crumbs at the door, but they didn't seem to notice. They'd rather fly into the screen, getting their beaks stuck, and leaving holes all over.

I tried shooing them out with a broom, but all that did was cause one of them to drop dead on the floor.

I really thought I gave it a heart attack, and I immediately burst into tears. It just laid there for a few minutes, not moving.

After that episode I decided better to ignore the whole matter until Jim got home. I like to leave the dirty jobs to him, like when one of the babies would poop in the tub during their nighttime bath.

"I've got a surprise for you in the bathtub," I would sing to him when he walked in the door after work. Worked every time.

As it turned out, the bird was not dead--only playing dead. How fucked up is that?

Maybe they're not as stupid as I thought.

I need a vacation after my vacation

We got back from vacation yesterday, and I am more than happy to be home. A few hours after we walked in the door, we had a bunch of people over for the 4th. It was fun, but now I am crazy tired.

Arizona was fun but exhausting. So much family to catch up with (I haven't seen most of them since my wedding 9 years ago, and some since I was about 8 years old).

The flight out there went fairly smoothly. I don't hate flying as much as I hate flying coach. Not that I know any differently. I've always had to sit in the cheap seats.

Stepping off the plane was predictably like stepping into an oven. 114 fucking degrees. Kiss my ass "dry heat", I thought I was going to disintegrate on the sidewalk after 5 minutes.

With apologies to anyone reading that lives in Arizona, I could never live out there. It's not just the oppressive heat. I don't think I could ever get used to the lack of green. I am by no means a nature girl, but all the sand and rocks and dust everywhere depressed me. It's like everything's permanently under construction.

Luckily everyone and everywhere in Arizona is required by law to have a swimming pool. I don't know if that's actually true, but it should be. Swimming everyday definitely took the edge off.

The wedding itself was really nice. I finally had a chance to relax. The girls stayed behind with my Aunt who came with us specifically to watch the girls during the wedding and reception. Let's just say I made the most of those child-free hours.

I got really really drunk. The kind of drunk that makes it alright to take off your shoes on the dancefloor and sing "I Will Survive" at the top of your lungs. The kind of drunk that preceeds asking the party bus driver where the stripper pole is. The kind of drunk that makes you think you can play pool with a couple of the groomsmen at the after party in a short dress and not really give a shit if everyone got a show.

The kind of drunk that makes a hangover a million times worse in the desert heat.

All in all, we had a good time and last night's get together was fun too. We always had 4th of July parties at our old house because we could see some fireworks from the comfort of our own yard. Luckily the new house is only a few blocks from another set of fireworks.

Jim got some painting done on the kitchen and hung some of our pictures while we were gone. The new house is slowly starting to feel more like home, save for our next big purchase: an obnoxiously large television. I can't wait to go shopping for that.

...But I'll probably still drive by the house and stalk them

Yesterday we handed over the keys to our old house. It's done, over, GONE!

I feel a million pounds lighter now. Things got a little scary the day before yesterday when their realtor mentioned some bullshit about water in the basement (it's a 100 year old house. It's damp down there. No one's going to finish it. Get over it.). He of course pointed out that the buyers weren't worried about it, but he felt it was his duty as their representation to point it out. Whatever.

I went into the closing with a bit of trepidation. I was scared that they were going to surprise us at the last minute with some demands, but they didn't. The whole thing went rather smoothly actually.

They assured us they would bring any residual mail we might get there over to our store (as they are sometimes customers), and filled Jim in on some of the projects they had planned for the house.

It was all friendly and cordial and wonderful.

The most wonderful part though was when we got home and I sat down and wrote fat checks to the credit cards companies. Paid in full, motherfuckers! Whoo Hoo!

Tomorrow the girls and I leave for a family wedding in Arizona, and now I feel like I can actually enjoy the vacation. No worries. No problems.

Watch some asshole try and hijack the plane. He might be aiming for 10,000 virgins, but all he'll be getting a 10,000 punches to the peen, courtesy of me.

No one's going to harsh my buzz, man.

For your scrapbook

Author, Goddess and all around Kick Ass Woman, Amy Guth tagged me. She apologized for doing so, but what she doesn't know is that I have had nothing of interest to really write about, so I am thankful for the diversion that is the meem...or meme...or however the fuck you spell it.

The Rules are:
~ Each player lists 8 facts/habits about themselves.
~ The rules of the game are posted at the beginning before those facts/habits are listed.
~ At the end of the post, the player then tags 8 people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know that they have been tagged and asking them to read your blog.

1. As an angry, hormone-driven, shiftless college student I swore up and down I would never get married but if I did, I certainly didn't want to have children. It all seemed so pedestrian and booooring.
15 years later I am a married housewife with two children. And I really really love it.

2. I not only read but have a subscription to Better Homes and Gardens. I get excited about articles that discuss storage and decorating. I drool over gardens and the latest in high tech appliances. Some people are into skin flicks. I'll take house porn any day.

3. I am an obessessive list-maker. I'm not just talking 'jot it down on the back of a receipt' kind of lists. My lists are categorized and sometimes color-coded. I've been known to re-write a list if it's too messy.

4. I am a control freak (see #3). It's starting to rub off on my oldest daughter so I am taking pains to reign it in a bit. It's a hard habit to break though.

5. I talk a lot. A lot. Get a few drinks in me and you will most likely go home with a headache from all my yapping. I can't help it. I apparently think I have a lot to say.

6. I have 10 tattoos (11, if you count the one that got covered up by a different one). I am not done.

7. I've had just about every color of hair there is. I used to shave my head after I got tired of a color so I could start fresh.

8. I smoke. I drink. I'm an Atheist. I swear a lot. I eat red meat like I'm going to win a contest for doing so. And I make no apologies for any of it.



I'm not going to tag anyone, but I am going to direct yous to an event held by the tagger of this fine post: Check it.

Because the neighbors don't think we're weird enough already

Yesterday my husband finally got to use his Father's Day gift: a kick ass self-propelled lawnmower. Aren't I sweet? In case you might find the gift a bit self-serving, please know that I wanted and got a new vaccuum a few years ago as my Mother's Day gift.

It's all about practicality around here.

The grass was getting pretty long, especially with all the rain we've been getting so it was high time Jim got out there and did something about it. I was busy in the house putting away the last of the kitchen stuff. I took a break to peek out front to see how the mower was treating him, and saw this:



Something tells me we won't be getting any social calls from the neighbors for a while. At least until they figure out that, aside from my husband's obsessions with hats as of late, we are a fairly normal family.

The Haps

Well, we're almost through the first full week at the new house and all's well.

I had my surgery yesterday and am feeling way better than expected. A little twinge here and there, but nothing a little Tylenol with codeine can't handle. It was actually nice to have a little forced down time.

My realtor sent us a thank you gift, and it arrived on Thursday. I don't know how to use it but when I figure it out, I figure she's saved me about 4million dollars (plus tip) a year at Starbucks. Rockin'.

Now that we're moved in and the surgery's all done, it's time to start gearing up for the rest of the crazy summer.

This weekend I'll be in Arizona for my cousin's wedding. Most of my Dad's side of the family will be there, and they will be meeting my girls for the first time. Seeing as most of them have lived in New York or thereabouts for their whole lives, I won't be the least bit surprised if my long gone east coast accent rears its head by the end of the weekend.

After that it will be an endless parade of kiddy birthday parties, a Fourth of July party here, then maybe a weekend trip to St. Louis. Somewhere in there I'm planning a garage sale to get rid of all the useless shit I discovered hidden in the back of several cabinets at the old house.

I feel like this summer is going to fly by and it's barely started.

The only thing not going by quickly is the dogs' adjustment to a new place. Boy dog has shit in the house on a number of occasions. He is very lucky I love his dopey self, or I might have put someone else's address and phone number on the new ID tags.

Weird

Tonight is the last night we will be sleeping in this house.

The movers are coming tomorrow to take all of our furniture, including our beds, to the new house. We'll be back through the next week or so to get the rest of the little stuff (that we probably don't even need at the new house, but have to get out of here anyway), but we won't be living here after tonight.

I've moved so many times in my life, but this time it's different. This was my first house. Literally my first as my parents didn't own a property until I moved away from home.

I was so excited to be a homeowner when we purchased this place. I had never lived anywhere that I could paint the walls any color I wanted to--that I had my own fenced yard, my own washer and dryer, my own garage.

My children were conceived, brought home from the hospital and raised all their short little lives in this place. Hell, even my dogs don't know any other place as home.

Am I crazy for feeling like I am betraying "old house"? I'm not completely loony. I know houses don't have feelings. It just seems like I've been in such a rush to get the hell out of here that I'm not appreciating what this house has meant to me--warts and all.

It's going to take me a while to get used to sleeping, showering, cooking and just living in a whole new set up. I think I'll feel like I am visiting for a while, or housesitting maybe, until it all really sinks in that the new house is home.

I was putting all our ktichen stuff away today and it felt so strange to see all this familiar stuff in such a foreign environment. I almost felt panicked--like I had to have it all "just so", as if I couldn't change it once it's been placed. I think I just need everything to be back to normal right this second, or I'm going to fall apart.

My inlaws were in town today and my Father in law helped my husband put up some new curtains in the living room. My Mother in law kept asking me to come in there to "tell them how I want them". Fuck, how about left to right? I don't care. Just hang 'em straight, ferchrissakes.

I don't want to make any more decisions. I don't want to paint anymore. I don't want to spend any more money at Lowes, Bed Bath and Beyond or Target.

I just want to move in, lay down on my same broken in, dog hair-covered couch and watch a rerun of a show I love.