I'll Tumble 4 Ya

I don't know why, but I'm absolutely shocked about David Carradine. He killed Bill! Sorry. But why does it seem hanging is so popular among male suicides? That can't be pleasant at all. And seriously, why would anyone choose this way to go? I've never been suicidal (yet), but I would think pills or pulling a Cobain would be much less torturous. Why the hell am I talking about this still?

If you're bored like me and ever doubted text messenging didn't play a valuable role in our society today, you just have to take a look at this. Some of them are so raunchy and wrong, I easily could've said them myself.
Example:

(510): I woke up to him trying to put his dick in my mouth. When I asked him what he was doing he said he was trying to make me stop snoring...

or

(508): dude, the building's fire alarm was going off for over an hour last night and you didn't move
(617): that's ok, when I'm passed out drunk I'm impervious to flame

one more:

(518): I am at the point in my high where i now know/understand chinese

I'm in love with a website. Warning though; it's a potential time-suck. I spent most of the work day the other day reading until my eyes bled. Totally worth it.

Yeah, work has slowed down for me quite a bit, can you tell? I have a few trainings this month, but after that it's pretty much a two-month lull in between contract years, a lovely time in which we get to tie up loose ends, prepare for the upcoming year as much as is possible and most importantly, use some vacation time. I'm starting to try to narrow down when I might make the Florida run; the week leading up to, or else the one after July 4th are looking like the winners so far. I'm having what almost feels like a physical craving to see and spend some quality time with my loved ones.

I'm pretty sure while maybe not technically depressed right now, (Or hell, maybe I am; I'm not a fucking doctor) I'm suffering from a minor to maybe severe endorphin deficiency. I'm not sitting in a dark corner crying and sucking my thumb, but I don't feel my usual enthusiasm for things. Like breathing. Just kidding. Not really. So beyond mood-altering drugs which aren't readily available and too much of a hassle to try and get, I'm trying to do things to trigger some happies. Watching comedy. Reading David Sedaris. Planning a trip. Freaking exercising. Reading a stupidly funny new website - hey, whatever works, right? Right.

One thing I'm pretty thankful for - my roots are like two and a half inches grown out and they're still dark brown instead of the gray I was picturing. Pretty rad.

Other than that, Zzzzzz...

My new reality show

Because I am very up-to-the-minute on whatever is hip and happenin' in the current pop culture, I have a great idea for a new reality show! Here's the title I'm pitching to TLC...Drum roll please...
Brian & Kim Plus Him
What? You're thinking, how stupid is that - who's "Him?"
Duh:


It's the story of a lower-middle-class married couple who have no kids and therefore project human characteristics and emotions onto their dog. Instead of the tiresome constant bitching people have to deal with with Jon & Kate, you'll get funloving and constant dialogue "Kim" and "Brian" have with "Him." Jon & Kate: separated, awkward and maybe headed for divorce. Brian & Kim: Sheeit, that story is played out to us, man! We covered that ground YEARS ago, long before TLC thought to use it for a ratings ploy! And how interesting is it to watch people take eight kids on expensive but free to them vacations; I mean, that gets old. It would be much more fun to watch and see how we live paycheck to paycheck, dipping into the change jar to pay for gas and figure out how many different ways to make exciting recipes with rice.

Yesterday's episode for instance, was a light-hearted look at how Brian's truck continues with its undying devotion to destroy our will to live! Let's take a look:

Scene: Exterior, front yard (which has way more dirt and leaves than actual grass). Kim & "Him" are there talking about how great the plants are looking after all the rain we've had, when Brian pulls up and it is soon apparent something's wrong. We then pan in for a close-up of the truck and see the front right tire has a large tear in it and it's amazing Brian has made it home without experiencing a blow-out on the interstate. This is the same truck that just had to have two different tires replaced, a new water pump, some kind of hose, and currently has a problematic axle? Yes it is! Tell the cameras, honey - tell them how much money we've dumped into that piece of *BLEEP* in the last month alone! We're up to what, seven or eight hundred now? Yes! That darn truck, haha!

Scene: Close-up of Brian changing the tire; switching the flapping, dangerous-looking torn tire with the questionable spare. As soon as the spare is in place and Brian starts lowering the jack, the spare immediately deflates so that it is almost entirely flat. So much so, Brian can't even get the jack out from under the truck, and with visible steam coming from both ears, tells Kim & Him to stand back while he forcefully drives the truck off of the jack and yells out the window, "I'll see if it makes it up to the fucking store; keep your phone handy!" and away he goes! Kim looks at Him and he looks meaningfully back at her. "Don't worry, baby. Daddy's not mad at us. No, he's not leaving like what that guy Jon is doing; I promise he'll be right back."

And for the happy wrap-up scene, Brian triumphantly pulls back into the driveway with a spare full of air!
Kim: "Do you think it'll make it to work tomorrow?"
Brian: "I don't know; I guess I'll find out tomorrow morning, won't I."
Him: Why are they just standing here and still talking when it's thirty minutes past dinner time? That kibble isn't going to pour itself, assholes.
Aaaand, scene.

Stay tuned for scenes from the next episode where Kim has to make the important decision to pay either the phone or cable bills and then discovers an extra booklet of coupons in the Sunday paper!

I think I've got a major hit on my hands.

Mommy Realist

Heather and I were having an email discussion earlier, as we do, and she was talking about what an annoying time she had at the zoo the other day. On what should've been a little mid-week fun treat, she nearly had the entire experience ruined for her because of a buttload of asshole parents and their unruly spawn. Luckily Heather isn't the type to sugarcoat and she knows that even though I'm praying daily to become a mother, she can always be honest about things like annoying kids.

I can't stand annoying kids. Especially in large groups. They're the reason we don't go to the state fair anymore. They're part of the reason we don't go to many movies anymore (stupid ticket prices notwithstanding). Heather made me promise not to lose I.Q. points if I become a parent. And I did promise that, but I forgot to add that it's because I can't afford to lose anymore, having already lost a significant amount just by living in the South.

I (and forgive me this term; I hate it) read plenty of "Mommyblogs." Not because these women are mothers; most of them I started reading before they had kids. Now they're stuck with that label (I guess that would make this a Wannabemommy Blog?) and I will say there are a few who seem to have this sort of condescending tone now that they've given birth. Like they're part of a special club (well, they kind of are) where if you read between the lines you can see them shaking their heads at your trivial silly little life, saying "Oh, I remember the days before I had kids; what do you DO with all your free time?" Well, sometimes I fantasize about slapping you and the rest of the time I sleep. Of course not all of them are like that; as the mother of five, count 'em, FIVE little people, Swistle is the mother of all mothers, yet I don't consider her just a Mommyblogger. Yes, she talks about her kids (who wouldn't?), but never in that sugary, fakey way that makes me throw up in my mouth. She's REAL, yo. Unless she has me totally fooled and is secretly laughing at me. But I don't think so.

I've seen firsthand what motherhood can do to fairly normal women. A few of my friends had kids shortly after high school or soon into our 20's and I was shocked at how weird they became. I was so scared then thankful when Grace had Elizabeth that she didn't turn into some Stepford pod person. Not only did her having a kid not change or ruin our friendship, it added to it by a tonfold (new word) by giving me a new little version of Grace to love. Then my sister went ahead and furthered the proof when she had my niece two years ago. Sister is still Sister, only now she comes with Mini-Sister:

I guess what it boils down to is I can't stand fake people, and what I've been talking about is just one more way people can be fake. And I'm pretty much the opposite of this - I wouldn't know how to do it if you paid me. Should motherhood happen to me, I know I'll be the same neurotic (with all new things to worry about!), moody, loving, socially retarded, sometimes amusing person I am now.

Have a nice long weekend if you have Monday off; if you don't, write me - I'll be at work too.

Fraggle = Distant Cousin of Muppet

A semi-uncomfortable situation has arisen, which is surprising considering how much energy I've devoted lately to having as little human contact as possible. After they returned from Hawaii, George immediately went back to work, as is his way. With the foreclosure business still booming, he's working on a few of those homes and asked if we'd verify a certain very familiar sounding property was vacant. The address was that of the Redneck Friends' previous residence. When we told him that yes it was vacant and whose house it was, George became extremely upset. It seems when he went to inspect the property, he found a trash heap that would've done Fraggle Rock proud:


And that was just the front yard.

We hadn't been back to the old place since they moved and were under the impression Mr. Redneck (Nick) (Maybe I'll call him RedNICK from now on) had either sold or hauled off any crap they didn't move to the new place. Apparently not. George, having known Mrs. Redneck (Sheri) since she was a wee lass, was seriously concerned as to their living conditions and the fact that two young kids also live with them "in those conditions." There were 2 x 4's with rusty nails poking up out of them, many many empty beer cans and bottles and a miscellany of other rednecky items. I'm guessing spare car parts and cement blocks probably turned up as well.

Luckily George was in a hurry to leave Sunday afternoon saving us from geting into too big of a discussion, but I know this is not over. Brian's mom also let her morbid curiosity get the best of her and just had to ride over there with George to see what the place looked like. She asked me if the inside of Sheri's house was just as bad, thereby implying one of the worst insults a southern woman can impart to another one: someone who's a bad housekeeper. ("Well bless her heart; she's probably just so busy chasin' after those wild, dirty young'uns without any help from that beer-drinkin' husband...")

Of course after we left their house, I told Brian, "You know we have to ride by there on the way home; I have to see what this place looks like." And yeah, it looked pretty bad. But I can honestly say Sheri did her best to keep a clean house with what she had to work with. And the new place looks fine - an immediate improvement, just by having so much more living space. She does have a husband who spends most of his time drinking in the backyard, dreaming up and starting projects that mostly don't get finished. Hell, he's already started rebuilding the back porch on the new place and I will tongue kiss a fluey swine if the thing ever gets completely done. But as far as cleanliness? Whenever I've been around, her kids are clean, everyone is wearing clean clothes and most importantly (to me) her kitchen is always clean.

Yes, the old place has a long ways to go before it can be put back on the market. George hasn't even decided whether or not he's going to take it on or pass it up and give it to another realtor, as he feels it's the worst place he's ever seen, that "It looks like drug dealers lived there." I can't believe that when he's given Brian and I a few places to clean up that looked (and smelled) like they were on the verge of being condemned. In 1973. I may be a little sensitive to the fact that these are our friends, but I think George may be acting a little gossipy and this is one of those small-town issues. I don't know.

Brian's parents have known Sheri and her parents over twenty years and they are walking-distance neighbors. I don't know that George would go so far as to say something to them, but based on things he's said to them in the past, it wouldn't be beyond his scope of awkward. They know we see them socially quite a bit and I'm hoping very much he doesn't, thereby putting US in any kind of awkward position - I would die if Sheri knew any of this. I mean, the only reason my house stays presentable is because I went from living 420 miles away to 20 miles away from my inlaws. That's the kind of math even *I* can figure out.

Anyway.
The Trash Heap has spoken! (I realize no one except people around my age who had HBO in the early 80's and were Fraggle Rock fans will get that, but that's okay)

Don't look at me like that

Holy hot dogs, am I glad the weekend is here. I could complain about what a shittastic week I had at work, but that wouldn't do anybody any good, so you are formally spared. (You're welcome) Sometimes it's good to take a little break from reality, so with that in mind...

Like a lot of people, I think, a big part of my life is lived in my head. I have friends (no, really!) and family and a husband I live with, but sometimes a good part of my day is spent imagining I'm existing in a different sort of way. Not as a different person, per se, just me and my life, only better. Does anyone else do this or did I just admit something really sad and embarrassing? Oh well; I've admitted worse.

For example: I live in a quirky little house in a decent neighborhood. Nothing fancy by any means, but perfectly acceptable. I live in South Carolina and work at the University of. But in my head, I live in a bigger (but not huge - who needs all that extra house cleaning?) nicer house on the lake (I usually picture Brian's dad's house, where the picture at the top of my blog was taken) and still work for the University, only in a more exciting, better paying position (okay, I'll be honest here - as a tenured professor in the English department, where my office not only has a door, but also is full of book shelves that line every wall and maybe includes an original Van Gogh and a ficus tree. Why not. In real life I drive an 8-year-old Saturn SC1, so in my head I drive a cute newish Saturn Vue. Or if I'm feeling frisky, it's a Honda CRV or a Ford Escape - any small SUV will do. But I'm not fantasizing about a Mercedes is my point. Keeping it real is key.

That's the gist of it and it's pretty much as far as it goes, because if it was too different from my real life it would just be silly (Ha!). Such as, I don't fantasize about being a mother, because at this point that still seems too far out of reach and different. Of course I still wish to be a mother; I just don't daydream about it. That might be a little confusing, but stay with me here. Another example: I don't fantasize about having a good relationship with my mom, because sadly that too is really far-fetched and I wouldn't even begin to know how to dream that. But maybe I'm happy enough in my fantasy life, some of it rubs off on her, and we do have a better relationship...I don't know; I've never bothered to put any thought into that.

But here's the weird part. I've done this for a very long time - it probably dates back to when I was a kid. Actually I know it does, because Sister and I used to have this thing where we'd ride around on a golf cart, or hit a tennis ball back and forth or go to sleep in the same room at night and we told each other our "stories," (So actually, I know at least one other person in the world does this - sorry to rat you out, Sister!) and that lasted far into our late teenage years. By the time we were in high school, we'd entertain each other with stories of our escapades as Jon Bon Jovi's and Richie Sambora's girlfriends - I'm the oldest so of course I got to have Jon - and it was just as much fun sharing as it is having these thoughts by myself. But I guess my "stories," have gotten more realistic as time has passed. The weird thing is though, many of the things I've conjured in my weirdo head have come true. In order to maybe preserve a small shred of dignity I won't go into detail, but trust me, it's true.

I don't know if this falls under the category of the Power of Positive Thinking, or just Being a Psycho, but I do know thinking good thoughts doesn't hurt. So take note - if I ever write about how we're moving into his dad's house out at the lake, remember: you heard it here first.

It's the end of the world as we know it, and I have gas

Yesterday I joked on Twitter that I was scared of getting swine flu but then remembered I'm Jewish. (Thanks Annette for joke inspiration) Then I wake up this morning to the disturbing news there are now seventeen confirmed cases of it not only here in S.C., but in Newberry County which is the next county over from WHERE I SIT RIGHT HERE. Not that I'm panicking; don't be ridiculous. I'm Jewish, remember? But seriously, Sundry mentioned Stephen King's The Stand, which is one of those I re-visit every few years or so; you know - the story where the flu wipes out all of civilization? Not recommended for early summer reading right now. I first read that as an impressionable teenager and I can't understand why I didn't become a paranoid germaphobe recluse. Oh, wait.

I've oft joked about Brian's propensity toward run-for-the-hills survival procedures. The ever-growing gun collection (now with more ammo!), the various survival guides. The honing of the hunting skills. I could argue when we moved back here to be close to his family again that was the first step in our preparations for the apocalypse, except we moved from a large city to a semi-large city, which is also the Capital of a state, and our neighborhood now is spitting distance from the entrance gates to a major military base. Oops. But! If you think he hasn't scoped out some property in the country very close to here that has definite bunker-type potential, you are so wrong. And don't worry - the compound is big enough for us and about thirty of our closest friends and I'm looking forward to the start of my very own compound. It's always been a dream of mine. Except no Mormons allowed - this isn't some Big Love shit up in this piece. Unless Bill Paxton is involved; then I'd be more than happy to share.

So, let's see - conspiracy theorists, whatcha think. 2012 - was that Mayan calendar on the money? Biblically, things are starting to freak me out and I don't even know the Bible that well. But that Revelations part I read in seventh grade kind of stuck with me over the years. Politically, haha! Oy, don't get me started. Well, I think I have it. Here's how you know when you need to make suitable preparations for the end of the world: the day I announce I'm pregnant. Should you get that announcement here, do not panic. Just let me know if you want to be part of my new compound and you'll get in on the ground floor. And by ground floor, I mean literally it'll be made out of dirt. There are a couple of my good friends who, especially on nights when we were Not-sober, well, we've discussed the compound idea at great length, let's just put it that way. At least I know AC/DC was right then; my friends ARE gonna be there too!

Up for sale soon, my new t-shirt: "Where are we going and what am I doing in this handbasket?"

Tuuuuesday Aaaafternoooon

DEADLIEST CATCH TONIGHT, HOT DAMN!!! Oh, vast Bering Sea, I've longed for your dark and dangerous waters for six months now and I'm so glad you and the men who have to deal with your cranky ass are back again. So, so glad!

Yesterday when I got home I mentioned to Brian about having the dream about being pregnant and he looked at me all shocked and said Holy shit, I did too!. I said Last night? Yes. So there's that. It doesn't mean I think I am; I just think this is the first time ever we've dreamt about the same thing on the same night or at least told each other. I picture our heads pressed together with one of those cartoon dream clouds above them. Yeah.

I found fifteen dollars in my wallet this morning. This never happens (to me) and I was so excited I pulled into the gas station and put a bunch of gas in the car. What, you thought I was going to say I bought Lotto tickets? Come on.

Brian discovered this show we've started watching on AMC called Breaking Bad. It's about a guy who's a high school chemistry teacher who's dying of cancer so he and a former student start cooking and selling crystal meth so he can make enough money to help support his family (a pregnant wife and teenage son) when he dies, because God only knows they could not survive on anything a high school teacher might otherwise leave behind. It's a really cool and original show, but last night there was a very disturbing scene with two meth heads and their dirty sad little kid in a disgustingly filthy crack(meth) house. I paused the TV and said, I need you to come into the kitchen with me. He said, You want to finish cleaning up, don't you?. He knows me so well. I can let laundry accumulate in piles around the house for weeks and have dustballs the size of tumbleweeds, but I CANNOT abide a dirty kitchen. Seeing that nasty house made me want to scour things just for fun.

Currently though I do have a home project in mind. He made the comment the other night as we were settling into bed that we really needed to do something about decorating the bedroom. It's always the last room I think about when it comes to that and really, that's not cool. And for HIM to notice and comment? Unheard of. But I agree - important things happen in there and it should be comfortable and attractive, not neglected and bare. Because a barren room = a barren womb? Hey, you never know. I already have some cool ideas that are fairly thrifty. I keep a little notebook for decorating ideas (NERD!) and I've been referring to that, but I also want more ideas. What do you like about your bedroom? What color is it? Do you believe green and blue are tranquil or nautical? My unofficial colors have been plum, green and gold for quite some time and I'm definitely ready to change that.
This is exactly what our bed looks like (not including the bedclothes, obvs):



So, I'm not even sure what style that is. I think it's considered "Mission?" I call it "Gives Me Something to Hold Onto for Added Traction During Relations."

It's been thunderstorming again for two days now. I don't mind it and we badly need the rain, but I find it very difficult to stay awake in this type of weather. The dark clouds, low rumbling sounds, pitter patter of rain lightly tapping the...

*Zzzzz*

Bok bok

In honor of Easter MONDAY (When the hell did this start? I must know) and the Cadbury vs. Reese's debate I spoke of a few days ago, I bring you a blast from the past, especially for those of you who are close to my age:



I gots some other stuff to say later.

Birds and bees and syringes and pee sticks

How naive I used to be. There was a time, right around the time I got my first period (The summer I turned twelve - I like to compare that with other girls; so, when and where did you first get yours? I was in New York with my sister visiting family for the summer, my grandmother had taken us grocery shopping and then to McDonald's for lunch, Sister and I went to use the bathroom and we discovered that Girl You'll be a Woman Now) that I thought having a baby was easy. You meet a nice guy, get married (I was taught old school), you and your husband share a special hug, and you have babies. SILLY ME. As if a big penis doesn't sound scary enough when you're learning about the birds and bees (What do birds and bees have to do with sex? Anyone?) - I'm glad I didn't know back then it was also going to involve a bunch of peeing (both in cups and on sticks), leg spreading (for strangers), calendar checking, day counting and blood donating (without the complimentary juice, cookies and t-shirt afterwards).

This is the part where I'm supposed to say, but look at how amazingly far technology has come; the fact that so many people are able to have babies now who wouldn't have even twenty years ago. Okay, yeah. Yay for technology. And what about the part where his parents so generously offered to help us out with this, a true blessing. Yes. Still thankful, yes. Correct me if I'm wrong but I am allowed to have more than happy unicorn kitten fart feelings over this whole thing, because to be honest, I'm a little worn out from all the positivity.

It's hard to believe, but it's already been four months of this baby business. One third of a year. I now know why they tell you in the beginning to be prepared for a time consuming situation and I should have heeded that warning a little more seriously. This seems like it's been going on a really long time, is all I'm saying.

But whatever. What else did I have to do the past few months anyway, right? Haha.

I peed on yet another stick this morning, and though it brought bad flashbacks to a couple of weeks ago, this time it was just to see if I was ovulating. Which it said I am. When I called Monique (she's on my damn nerves, especially after causing me to have a freaking car accident yesterday) (yes I've decided to blame her) to report the results, she said and I quote "Ruh-Roh." Huh? I thought you said only yesterday that if the test was positive, we go forth with the IUI on Saturday instead of Sunday - what's the biggie? But no; a positive test result was not good enough for Monique, that pain in the ass - she wanted me to go in and get MORE blood drawn just to make sure. Sweet Christ.

But okay, I hung up with her and hurried on downtown, made it there in twelve minutes, got pricked yet again (left arm now has serious track marks) and paid another seventy bucks just to confirm that yes, the test was correct. Now I no longer need to get an Hcg shot (What? Gee willicers, my night just won't be complete without Brian giving me an injection!) and everything's a go for tomorrow morning's trip to Charleston.

We have to be there by 10:00 and she warned me that the Cooper River Bridge Run is also tomorrow morning, so we'll probably run into some horrendous traffic which I'm very excited about.

Despite everything I just said (bitched about would be the more accurate term), I am still excited about everything. It sometimes takes awhile, for us anyway, for good things to come to us, but they always do eventually. Patience has never been my strong suit, so even though it sounds like I'm angry and bitter it's mostly just me blowing off some steam. I do recognize the positive in all this. If I do end up getting a kid, that kid will eventually fuck up and look at all this extra guilt making material I already have:

"Do you know what I went through just to have you and now you think it's okay to make a "D" in Algebra?"
"But Mom, you never even PASSED Algebra!"
"Don't talk back to me, Young Lady/Man!"

I am happy, it's just not totally obvious right now.

In other news, Delorme just stopped by to say hi and I was happy to finally be able to give him his long overdue birthday present. Except when I handed him the six pack of the German beer, only five beers were present. He laughed and said had Brian been here, he would've shared it with him anyway. I think I'm going to smack him in the mouth when he gets home, just for fun.

I gave it to him in the rear but he was cool about it

I tweeted, twatted or whatever the hell the other day "Just when you think it can't get any worse someone sneaks it in your butt." Oh, the prophetic nature of that statement. That's why you'll never hear me say something stupid like, "It just can't get any worse!" because OF COURSE IT CAN AND IT USUALLY WILL!!!

Money has been a major issue for over week. Add to that the general stresses of a busy work week, a broke-down truck (it's fixed, praise Jesus) and many more doctor's visits with all the poking, prodding and important time-sensitive activities that go along with all that. Just today I was back there again, with strict instructions to be waiting on a call from Nurse Monique to give me further instructions. Of course she called while I was racing back to work in a monsoon from running errands on my "lunch hour."

I was stopped at a red light behind some other cars. My phone rang. I could HEAR it; I could not FIND it. While searching frantically through the black hole I call a black purse (swapping that bitch out tonight, I can tell you that much), my foot slipped off the clutch and I bonked into the car in front of me. Hard. Fuckitty Fuck. While I sat there in shock for a second, I noticed his license plate was of the South Carolina state government employee variety. Aces!

We both got out and proceeded to inspect the damages. I was already trying to calculate how much our insurance would go up, but was having a hard time seeing any damage to his car. He couldn't see anything either and then it hit me. I knocked on my front fender area and said, "Oh, I forgot - this car is plastic!" He kind of laughed, inspected his shit for another few seconds and said, "Well, alright. Thanks for stopping anyway." I said, "No, thank you Sir!" FOR BEING THE COOLEST GOVERNMENT EMPLOYEE EVER!!! The whole ordeal only lasted as long as it took the light to turn green again (which tells you how messed up the friggin' lights are around here) and we were soon both on our way again.

What. The. HELL.

Well. Thank God it ended up like that and after I stopped shaking I felt so much relief, I kind of started laughing and haven't really stopped. This isn't sane laughter by any means, but what the hey, it's laughter.

Luckily the only things I have to worry about the next few days are having sex tonight (nurse's orders, no joke), peeing on an ovulation test tomorrow and scheduling the next baby making time for either Saturday or Sunday, based on what my pee says tomorrow. After the week I've had, all that will be a total breeze.

I'm spent.

Insert witty title here

Coming soon! (Or a week from Thursday) The Baptists attempt to do a Passover sedar! Oh, if only you knew how much I am looking forward to this, but I guess now you do. So far all I know is this: they gave certain Jewish recipes to certain Baptist peoples from the church (including Iris, who's gonna rustle up some potato kugel action, which is sort of the Jew version of hash brown casserole) and they think just because it's Jew food, they're supposed to call it "kosher." I let Iris know this was dead wrong the other day, because what kosher really means is food that was prepared in a kosher kitchen, which means the dairy stuff is separate from the meat stuff - two different refrigerators, for real - and also that the ingredients have been blessed by a rabbi before they are packaged up.

I don't think she appreciated my input, but whatever. Shit's not kosher! Haha, that was funny. To me. But the potential for comedy is going to be endless at this shindig and I love comedy. Especially the unintentional kind. Brian was like, Is baked chicken Jewish, because I didn't think so. No, not exclusively, but it is a very safe choice when you're talking in terms of a bunch of weird food most people will be leery of. At least they'll have baked chicken (which I will skip) (unless they totally screw up the Jew food).

Whenever I go to the doctor now, as I'm getting ready to get half naked the nurse tells me as she's leaving the room: "I'll be right back; you know the drill." Yes I do, especially as it pertains to the fact I'm about to get drilled in the privates yet again. I can't think of an appropriate and/or funny enough way to tie this weak pun together and I'm afraid the opportunity will pass before I think of one. Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated. Well, but anyway this morning. Doctor's office. I was pretty excited about the fact I've been tanning and while I'm not yet close to being tan, my legs are no longer translucent/glow in the dark. Also, I'd given myself a professional-level pedicure the other night, so I'm thinking those things, along with my usual groom 'n shave routine - this nurse is in for a visual treat today! Finally! What I didn't take into account when I left the house in sandals and capris was the fact of it being fifty degrees outside. Sucked. Goosebump city. Not to mention, as I was hoisting my bidness up to the edge of the couch thing and into the stirrups again, I remembered my still-prickly bright pink sunburnt ass. I hoped it would not be visible to her. Too late now.

The verdict: This time instead of two follicles the drugs produced four. So along with Ollie and Lolly, we now also have Molly and Polly. You know it. Does this bode better for my chances this time? Say like, if two follicles produced zero babies, four might produce one? I don't know, nor am I going to do any mad Googling this time to support or discount my hopes and wishes. That way madness lies and I'm not in the mood to be a crazy right now. All I know is, four follicles, still somewhat small, a few more days of shots and then Second Try. Either way, Brian is now a certified pro at giving me shots in my (almost tan!) fat roll, so that's a plus.

Later today I have the choice of going with him to visit his cousin, cousin's girlfriend and their baby all of whom are up from Florida. This is a dilemma. I like the cousin a lot, but the girlfriend nearly drove me over the edge the first and last time I met her. I wrote about it. She's the one who stared at my wedding ring for a minute then asked, "How big is your ring?" (Shari, remember when that crazy girlfriend of Forest pretty much said the same thing to you then asked you if she could try your ring on? Awkward.) I'm almost tempted to go buy a ridiculous big fake ring and seriously blow her mind. The one who after being here for a day decided that this place is full of nothing but rednecks and idiots, unlike Fort Myers, Florida where she lives - and if you knew Fort Myers, Florida like I do, you would realize the absurdity of that statement.

From the way she talked and acted, she's one of those people who are constantly keeping score on who has what, etc. and now that she has the one thing I want more than anything (a baby, just in case you're still paying attention), I don't know if I can bring myself to act pleasant around her like I barely did last time. Petty and foolish? You betcha. Catty even! Would I have a totally different attitude if I was pregnant right now? Well but of course I would! I'm just trying to keep it real, yo. I can be honest with you, right? I'm not always the pure and innocent lovely girl you think I am and this girl brings out the nasties in me. So I should probably skip the visit today is what I'm thinking. Brian thinks I'm being silly. Perhaps. He's probably a little pissed too, considering I just told him I wasn't sure if I would feel like going visiting later, though I didn't elaborate as to why. Oh well!

Uhhhh, I think that's all for now.

Babble

What say a short list? Yes, I think so.

Things that have/will happen on my short STAYcation. (The cutesy and highly annoying word that came about last summer when people got too poor to take real vacations, as reported in the increasingly annoying State newspaper. You STAY at home for VAcation! So witty! Opposite!)

- I went grocery shopping. This was extremely exciting for obvious reasons, the most being we were out of anything fun to eat, plus non-fun but essential items like eggs, bread and milk. Then Iris gave me butter, tuna fish and cake mix yesterday. She figures we're poor but should not have to go without cake and I completely agree. But I wish I hadn't spent two dollars on my own butter the day before.

- I stayed in the tanning bed one minute too long - ALWAYS. It doesn't matter how many years' experience I've logged with this particular activity; there will come a time when I get overly confident and forget what a delicate flower my skin is. Ten minutes? Cool. Eleven minutes? I can barely sit down, my ass hurts so much and also I have the chills but I'm also hot and itchy. Perfect.

- I did a buncha laundry and so last night was Clean Sheet Night. I don't know why I don't do that more often. Both. Clean sheets are one of God's gifts to mankind.

- Sometimes George is weird(er) than usual. Yesterday right before "dinner," he said apropos of nothing, "Wow, we're having beans AND peas today? It's going to be a good day!" Brian looked up from the paper at me and I just made big '00' eyes. Because seriously, what the hell?

- Trying to keep things as a-political as usual around here, but I am a little alarmed with the development this morning that the CEO of General Motors was fired ("asked to resign") by the current administration because they can now do that to any private company who has taken bailout money. Have you ever taken a favor from the mafia and then had to pay up but when it came time to pay up you also surprisingly got it straight in the ass with no lube and no apology afterwards? The governor of South Carolina, Mark Sanford, is one of the only ones who has thus far not taken any in-the-ass-with-no-lube money and that makes me (sort of) happy, but who knows what's going to happen, which leads me to...

- I'm starting to seriously think about looking for a second job. It wouldn't be the first time; in fact I've been very lucky with the second jobs I've held in the past. I used to help clean the office before hours, after hours and on the weekends, along with Johnann, who still does it. It was time consuming, but not difficult, especially considering it was nice being at the office, just us, before anyone else got there to interrupt and annoy us. The extra money was awesome. Before that, I helped the lady who was almost my mother-in-law, Delorme's mom with her pet-sitting business. THAT was time consuming, especially when I had a job that lasted more than a week that involved dogs who had to be fed, watered, walked and played with twice a day. But I love dogs. And cats. Even some fish and an iguana once. I really liked pet sitting. Some extra perks included the old people who couldn't figure out how to get the speakers to work on their huge screen TV they'd just bought and instead of trying to figure it out, gave us the TV. We hauled it home, hooked up some stereo speakers to it and SHAZAM - poor people with a big-ass TV! Until Brian and Chris packed it wrong when we moved eighty miles south to Tampa and when we got to the new house the TV had a huge splintering crack in it and made a musical tinkling sound when moved. Oops. Has anyone ever divorced over a broken TV? Because I almost did. Anyblah, that would be what I would look into first, because obviously in a situation of dogs vs. people, I will choose dogs every time. (Fun fact: dog owners ALWAYS had cleaner, better-smelling homes than cat owners. It was almost as if the cat people felt a responsibility to live up to the stereotype, especially the weird lady who lived alone in a condo - well, alone 'cept for the eight cats, three litter boxes and toxic waste fumes. I've had plenty of friends with cats, including myself and I don't know - I've never found it difficult to clean up after them. I can't hack the smell of cat piss and don't understand anyone who can.)

- I hate to bring up the mafia again, but I'm finding life is a lot less satisfying without it. Last night we started debating over who's fault it was that Adrianna had to be killed (he thinks it was her fault; I blame Christopher, obviously) and I had got a serious urge to throw in the Sopranos Season One dvd, even though that's the only season I own. I'm reading a book right now that has some mafia dude in it, so that will have to suffice. For now. When I finish my Sopranos collection, in the next ten or twenty years, I'm going to re-watch the entire series. I'm all about developing goals and then achieving them.

- Brian's cousin just got here from Florida and I think they're going turkey hunting. Why?

Good day!

I've always had abandonment issues

The Coolest Joe I know brought up an interesting point the other day when he wrote about updating even when you don't have anything too terribly important to say. On the one hand, I agree that I do have times where I don't have exciting things to report (read: almost every day) yet still write a post anyway - that's more due to my journaling nature than to an obligation to this blog; if anything I feel apologetic to anyone who reads this when I'm more boring than usual. But in that same vein, he brought up another valid point: worrying about your regular bloggers when they haven't posted for awhile. Though it seems weird at first - worrying about someone you've never met - it's totally real and I've experienced it firsthand.

Back in the Dark Ages of blogging, back when it was still called "online journaling" and Diaryland was where I found most of my blogging entertainment, I came across this guy in the San Francisco area, "Harold." This guy was DARK and some of his writing was a little disturbing. But he was also really funny and I looked forward to his posts, which for awhile there was every day or close to it. He lived alone, worked in some mundane job he was way too intelligent for and seemed to be pretty much a recluse. You would think that would make for a boring blog, but no - like I said, the guy was a witty genius, especially when he talked shit about people, which was often. Sometimes I'd worry a little if he posted a particularly dark or cryptic update, but then it would pass and things would be good again.

Back then I was too shy to even think about commenting or contacting him, even though I wanted to badly tell him how his writing added to my life, for whatever it was worth. Then one day he posted something like, "Screw this; good-bye Diaryland; good-bye everything." Not word for word, but that was the gist of it. I thought, oh shit. At that point, I did try to email him with some lame message like I hoped everything was okay and that I wished him the best, but of course it was too late by that point and either he didn't get it or he ignored it. It's been a good five years since all that and I still hope maybe I'll run across him again somewhere in the blogosphere. Silly.

And Harold isn't the only person I've lost along the way; there have been others.

So lookie here: it would be unfathomable should that ever happen with pretty much any one of the blogs I read currently. For the most part, after Laura offered at some point last summer and I somehow got the balls to do a guest post on Snerkology I was lucky enough to meet a slew of people I've come to consider FRIENDS, DUDE. All of whom I CARE about with real FEELINGS. I mean, I feel totally weird if Heather and I go more than a day without emailing each other! We've never met, but does that mean her friendship means any less to me? No it most certainly does not. It's true I'm a Jew who probably worries way more than is necessarily healthy, but the thought of one of you posting some quick good-bye shit without any explanation scares the living bejesus (whatever that is) out of me. So don't even think about it unless you've cleared it with me first and left plenty of accurate contact information.

In other news, I've decided to tan (used as a verb, as in "I Summer in the Hamptons" or "I Lunch with rich snobby people" - "I'm going Tanning at the salon") because of a free offer I couldn't pass up. I figure what the hell else do I have to do in the interim before receiving my next baby-injection, which won't be for another week or so. I feel better when I'm tan, or as tan as I get anyway, and hey - three cheers to feeling better, right? Plus remember, I gave up smoking - I had to replace it with something unhealthy. Remind me to tell you about the short story I once wrote about a girl who gets fried to death in a tanning bed. My writing teacher at the time told me it would've been a great story had the perspective not been from the dead girl. THEN AMERICAN BEAUTY CAME OUT, AN AWARD-WINNING MOVIE WHOSE STORY WAS TOLD BY THE DEAD KEVIN SPACEY CHARACTER, MOTHERFUCKER! Anyway, it was a fun story to write. I have it somewhere.

The end.

Pondering

Painful zit locations: Inside the nose, under an eyebrow. Currently l have them in both places and what are the odds of that? I thought for one quick minute about putting zit medicine in my nose but then I remembered I haven’t had any zit medicine since 1989.

A fun game I’ve been playing lately in my head is thinking “I pity the fool,” and applying it to whenever I have an exchange with someone. As in, “Kim, will you be available for a short meeting next Wednesday?” Me (in my head): “I pity the fool who asks me to go to a meeting.” It’s fun times. In my head. I pity the fool who’s in my head.

Not that I really want to, but sometimes I think it would be fun to live in an apartment again. Not like the kinds I’ve lived in before per se, which were mostly glorified more expensive dorm rooms, but one of those long-term deals, where it seems like you’re living in a house you can decorate and do whatever to. It would also have to have some sort of outdoor space, preferably a flower and plant-laden terrace. Apartments are so great for social observances, what with the living in awkwardly close quarters with a wide variety of total strangers. I can practice my people wondering with the neighbors I have now, especially now that everyone and their brother has taken to walking their dogs the same time I do (I’ll be switching it up and going in the morning for the next few days, because all the barking and leash pulling is pretty annoying), but it’s not quite the same thing. I don’t miss the limited parking and nocturnal loudness.

Speaking of voyeurism. I really love my private office still and no longer feel guilty about working with my door shut. What I’ve found is that I like to work in complete silence, which I already knew. Low volume talk radio is acceptable sometimes, but music distracts me. Also, these walls are thin as shitwafers. I don’t try to eavesdrop, but sometimes it’s unavoidable. There’s this semi-annoying girl here who works in an office next door to mine. She must be newly out of school, because she still has the total sorority vibe going on, like ending every sentence as if she’s asking a question? Even things that are obviously not questions but declarative statements? And using “like” a lot (well, I do that too, so that’s cool) and that high-pitched squeaky voice…ugh. Today she must’ve been on a personal call (at least I hope so) because I overheard her say, “I don’t care what excuse he comes up with this time; he’ll be lucky if his stuff’s still INSIDE the house when he gets home!” Ooh, naughty fraternity boyfriend, what did you do wrong? It was awesome. I just have to remember when it comes to personal phone calls and bodily functions to try to keep it down.

Why you shouldn’t lie, reason number infinity: I had felt guilty for asking for time off a few weeks ago, even though I haven’t taken any significant days off since October (those Christmas weeks don’t count; everybody’s off) but instead of just putting in the leave request and leaving it at that, oh ho ho NOOO, I had to go and make up some vague Mother-related reason to my boss. IDIOT! Then of course I figured out I couldn’t go to Florida and I realized I couldn’t just forget about the time off I’d asked for, especially when my boss told me yesterday she hoped I had a good time in Florida! It was like some Mission Impossible shit gone wrong, only without the exploding gum. So now I’m taking Monday and Tuesday off for absolutely no reason whatsoever, except to save face. I have plenty of leave time built up so it’s not that big of a deal except I feel like an asshole for lying. I’m planning on doing some penance for it and using the next five days to do some productive house things. I’m still totally underachieving on the laundry front, so there’s no time like the present to catch up. Imagine how psyched I am about a vacation at home. Not even a little bit. Although time off of work is still pretty cool, so I’m sure I’ll be more on board with the idea by tonight or tomorrow.

Last night I came across the movie Rock Star playing on the annoying E channel (they love to throw in a long commercial break every time anything emotional is going on to totally ruin the mood). I doubt most people have seen or have the same fierce love I have for this 2001 Mark Wahlberg extravaganza, but it is one of my favorites. It was weird to see Jennifer Anniston again, back when she was still W.B. (With Brad) and no one could foresee the bleak future that was soon to be her love life. But really - anyone who still has a soft spot for 80’s hair metal would get a kick out of the movie, if for only the soundtrack. It’s kind of a lot like Boogie Nights except with rock & roll instead of porn and a much lesser caliber cast. Except Marky Mark, who I will love until the end of time. Say hello to your mutha for me, Mark. SNL joke, sorry.

I get pretty pro-plant at this time of year. How unoriginal of me. Usually what happens around now is all the plants get moved back outside (check) since if we do get another frost it would be mild enough for the plants to withstand as long as they’re under the porch roof – this is all except the spider plant that hangs in my kitchen window all year round to my daily delight. Usually we have a casualty or two and this year is no different, so I’ll need to replace the Hosta plant I became attached to. So we’ll go to Lowe’s or Home Depot and I’ll pick out the plant I need to replace plus one or two new ones and some other random things I can’t live without, like flowers or birdseed.

This year I’ve been thinking of adding some vegetables to the whole operation. I have pleasant memories of several vegetable gardens Delorme and I had shared and then just yesterday he even told me he was planting one again this year. Copycatting my memories! The best time ever was when we were being taunted by this varmint who kept tunneling through the garden eating and destroying our corn plants, ALWAYS AT NIGHT, THE SNEAKY BITCH! Delorme had recently gotten a handgun and was dying for a reason to use it, when one day he caught the little ratty mole thing and ran inside to get the gun. I got all excited and was like, “Let me do it! I want to shoot him for eating our corn!” He was very surprised by my bloodthirstiness but handed over the gun and I popped a cap in that little rat bastard (literally!) with one shot to the back of the head. That remains the only animal I’ve ever killed (we don’t discuss the cat I accidentally ran over in 1988 or the fish I accidentally stopped feeding) but damn was that shit fun. So yeah, I might be planting vegetables soon. It’s a commitment but I think I’m up for it. Who knows, I might even get to shoot something!

I pity the fool who steals from my garden.

I'm complicated

This morning I realized I didn't pick up my next baby-making prescription last night like I was supposed to. It's pretty bad when you're trying so hard not to focus on what you can't help focusing on you end up focusing yourself right out of what you're supposed to do. That made a lot more sense in my head.

So I raced out of here and drove quickly to the Deathstar. I figured it wouldn't be too bad at 10:30 on a rainy weekday morning. Silly me. But only one person was ahead of me in line, so not too bad. Until that person left and two women walked right past me and up to the counter with nary a backwards glance. I've had a lot of near fist fights at this store, but this time I could literally feel my blood pressure rising. The person behind the counter either didn't notice or just pretended not to, so when they were getting ready to leave I said loudly enough for her to hear, "I know your time is more important than ours, but maybe next time you should stand in line like everybody else." The people behind me were like, "Yeah!" and the two women in their cheap weaves and nasty sweatsuits mumbled some shit under their breath then one smiled and said "Have a blessed day!" all sarcastic-like. I said, "Thanks; you have a cursed day," and everybody laughed, which was awesome. Normally I wouldn't have said anything then come up with all the stuff I should've said for days. So far my only regret is not saying, "Are you SURE you want to cut in line at the pharmacy??? You could be depriving a crazy person of their meds and that's not ever advisable."

"Have a blessed day" - It seems as though that is a very popular saying around here and I hear it a lot talking to DSS employees and day care staff people on the phone. I'd never heard this until we got back here - is it a southern thing? Is it a new development in phony social niceties? Because I'm not kidding when I say the way most of them say it sounds more like "Fuck the fuck off." Have a blessed day. Stupid asses.

Or maybe I'm just looking at it wrong and it really is a nice sentiment, but my nature prevents me from thinking that way. Along those same lines, sort of, is a new list I've started (shocker). It is called Things I Should Like But Don't. This is what I have so far:

Massages - Sister and some of my friends LIVE for these things. For Sister who is a court reporter, a massage is a rare treat she allows herself when her back is at its breaking point and she feels this has helped her a great deal over the past few years. Our friend Jen is the same way and tries to schedule herself one once every couple of months. She thought she'd be nice one weekend while visiting and treat me to one as well. I think I've written about the experience before, so suffice it to say it felt like we became characters starring in a Stephen King novel and I was way more stressed and knotted up afterwards than I ever was before I'd experienced it. Never again. If I wanted strangers to touch me with my shirt off, I would have become an adult entertainer.

Pedicures - Again, strangers touching me, not a fan. I'm very ticklish and don't like people touching my feet. I also have a great disdain for people who speak in other languages (in this case mostly Korean) to each other in front of me and my friends. You KNOW they're talking shit and laughing because they're doing it RIGHT IN FRONT OF US! I do like the massage chairs you get to sit in though. I'd much rather have a chair massage me than a person - I wonder what that says about me.

The Twilight series - I've tried, I really have. Now I'm stuck in the middle of book two just like I was with the last one. It's not like I don't like the idea of hot, sparkly vampires, it's just that the writing is SO BAD. I'm sorry! I know I'm in the minority here and I doubt Stephanie Meyer will lose any sleep over my criticism. She can't hear any criticism from atop that big pile of money she now lives on. I am planning on watching the dvd though, if only to sit in amazement over the fact that Edward the vampire used to be Cedric Diggory, friend of Harry Potter. Plus, the hotness.

Peanut Butter & Jelly sandwiches - I know, I must be a communist. I can handle peanut butter with other stuff (like chocolate) but jelly can go straight to hell. Yeesh!

Baths - The other night Brian was taking a shower and the showerhead fell apart, causing a small but significant watery mess all over the bathroom and he now knows what it's like to bathe under a waterfall. The next day I took a bird bath (thank you Shari) or a whore's bath (thank you Heather) in the sink and prayed he'd be able to get something to fix the shower that night. Luckily he did, therefore allowing my bath abstinence to continue. A lot of people love them and say it's completely relaxing and for them I'm sure it is. Me, I have trouble relaxing when I'm clothed and dry, let alone naked and wet (yes, issues). I've even tried reading and still just can't get into it, thinking about sitting around soaking in my own dirt. Even bubble baths leave me feeling like I need to shower off all the sticky shit afterwards. I know. I'm strange.

Self check-outs - In theory these are great and I was very excited for them at first. It is fun scanning and bagging stuff, but now it's mostly just me getting stuck behind the asshole who has a ton of shit and who ends up needing the assistance of one of the store's employees so the whole time-saving idea is nonexistent. I'll use them if I have one item and no one is in front of me but other than that, no thanks.

Beaches - I know, right? Why don't I just move to Alaska (please?) and live in an igloo! I will admit we had a great time last Labor Day on a beach family weekend but that was mainly because it had been so long since I'd been to one, it was somewhat of a novelty again. Plus his dad had rented a badass house for us all and we ate and drank a lot. And I got to take a long bike ride. I still really only enjoyed the actually sand and water part of it in the early morning and at dusk. I think this has to do with growing up in Florida and under my parents' rule being forced to spend many beach days without having any choice in the matter. I've also gotten sunburned badly enough so I briefly considered suicide only to make the pain stop. Lakes and rivers are cool, mountains are the best, but beaches are best left for those who tan easily and/or know how to surf.

Okay, well now I've just confirmed what you've been thinking for awhile anyway, that I'm weird, so I'll stop right here. Believe it or not I am very fond of a lot of things too, one of them being quittin' time. And since it's about that time, I am o-u-t, OUT!

Perspective

I've made an effort to try not to bitch too much over the past few days...oh, a little escapes here and there because I am still myself after all, but I've mostly tried to keep the raging, obscenity-laced, whiny, tearful, irrational and almost unrelenting feelings to myself and a few lucky people. I don't get like this very often, I don't like it and I don't want to spread my misery around.

Obviously I am really disappointed with the unsuccessful first IUI. It took a few days I think for me to get over the fact that even though everything happened as it was supposed to and that there are no obvious problems, it just didn't happen this time. I also had to get used to the idea of round two, which started this morning. When you start riding the Fertility Express, all the experts advise not to live your life in thirty-day increments and to keep living your life as normally as possible. Well I tried that, but it is hard not to think about it every single day, when most days involve either peeing into a cup, getting prodded in your baby-hole, taking this pill, taking that pill, taking this shot, etc. Inspecting your underwear, for the love of God.

This morning, for instance, started with the special treat of the Day 3 ultrasound, which is a bloody mess of a good time and fairly painful as well. Again, a new nurse in training was there in attendance with my regular hole-poker and she was teaching her how to read the screen and pointing out where my eggs and whatever were. All while putting intense pressure on my girl region with the large phallic Wand of Invasion; it was a bit much today. It also caused the exam to take a full five minutes longer than most times and five minutes is a long time when you're in pain. I thought about farting on her for spite but then figured I better not. It wouldn't strike her as a revenge thing so much as it would just look like an accident and then I'd have to act embarrassed and who has that kind of energy at 8:00 in the morning? Anyway, starting tonight it's back to the pills and shots and in another week we'll see what kind of follicle action I have going on.

Which just so happens to completely screw any plans I had for going to Florida. Even postponing it for a week wouldn't really work, as Brian's truck is going to need tons more money thrown at it before it will run again. Tons. And as anxious as I was to get away for a little while and go be with people I love, I can't come close to justifying it. "Okay Honey, you stay here and deal with all this shit by yourself while I go traipsing off on vacation. See you next week!" That's not me; I guess I don't qualify to be a Real Housewife of Whatever County, because I'm quite sure any of them would have no problem with it. That's the problem with having a conscience. And a soul. And not starring on a Bravo reality show.

So yeah, I was feeling pretty poopy thinking about all this on my way back into work this morning. Then I sat down to the computer to read a few blogs while drinking some coffee (YES, I AM DRINKING COFFEE RIGHT NOW; DOES ANYONE HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THAT???) and got a shock. A blogger I've read for awhile and really enjoy, well, her husband passed away last night from heart failure. Right around the time me and the dog were taking our nice nightly walk. It was almost a screeching tire sound effect that happened in my brain as soon as I read that. My heart broke for her. And I felt like a complete and total schmuck. THESE are the problems I'm bitching about? Not getting pregnant on the first try, postponing a vacation and car trouble? What the hell is wrong with me. Yesterday when I was at a low point, I called Brian and burst into ugly, hiccuping, hysterical tears. He does what he always does and helped me to get a grip and even made me laugh before we got off the phone. That? Is everything to me. I'm so lucky for that. I'm done complaining. I'm sure it won't last forever, but that was a little wake-up call right there.

For that lady's husband, for my Dad who passed away seven years ago Sunday and for my friend Lisa who has been gone one year this coming Sunday:

"and, when he shall die...
take him and cut him out in little stars and he will make the face of heaven so fine that all the world will be in love with night" - William Shakespeare

"Turn around and say good morning to the night/For unless they see the sky/But they can't and that is why/They know not if it's dark outside or light" - Elton John

In brief

That old saying "If you don't have anything nice to say don't say anything at all?"

Yeah.

Some of the best laid plans

Woody Allen has this great quote (well, he has a lot of great quotes and also his books are so much better than his movies and a lot of people don't know that except I do want to see Vicky Cristina Barcelona if only for the Scarlett Johansson/Penelope Cruz make-out scene) and anyway the quote is this:
"If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans." He also said "Why are our days numbered and not, say, lettered?" but that's not really relevant to my point.

You know how in job interviews they sometimes ask Where do you see yourself five years from now? Just once I'd like to have the balls to answer truthfully: I have a hard time seeing where I'll be five days from now. Because I should know better than to write things down on my calendar(s), in pen anyway, until after they've occured. That is the number one way to jinx myself, such is the power of my pen to paper.

We were supposed to go bowling last night. Until Brian's truck took a dump and he spent two days working on it only to find out it's going to cost another five hundred dollars or so before it's fixed and I don't know about you, but we don't have five hundred lying around the house anywhere. Well, I shouldn't assume - you may very well have five hundred lying around somewhere, but I can assure you we do not. This might take a few days. He was gone from 7:30 yesterday morning until 9:30 last night working on it and all we did when he got home was eat bacon, watch part of a fishing documentary (still impatiently waiting for Deadliest Catch to begin) and went to bed at 10:30.

I was supposed to leave for Florida on Tuesday. Then things at work started happening so that this coming week looks a little like a guided tour through hell, the aforementioned truck took all our money and it started making a lot more sense for me to go the following week instead. And although I don't want to be cynical about it, I hesitate to get too excited until I actually wake up one morning next week, look around, and realize I'm at Sister's house. I really want to be at Sister's house.

Treat yourself as if you were already pregnant, the nurse said over two weeks ago. Okay, that's easy enough, I guess. Until I peed on a stick that turned very rude and said NO when all I asked of it was for it to say YES. I'm sorry, but NO doesn't follow along with the plans I was excitedly, if tentatively, making. In my head, not on my calendar(s) of course, because even I'm not that stupid.

"Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans." John Lennon said that one. So, I guess that's what's going on right now. Life sounds much better than in the interim, limbo, or purgatory. It's just life. Which is still better than the alternative.

Distractions

Have you ever socialized with a couple who couldn't help but to have raging, screaming arguments in front of you? Whether in a double date situation or in a larger group, it's just no good for anyone involved. Sister and I were just talking about married friends of theirs who do it fairly frequently in front of her and her husband and then last night the Rednecks had it out in front of us. Awk-ward. I'd like to know if there's a proper ettiquette in handling it. Ignore it? Try to steer the conversation toward a more neutral topic like politics or religion?

Redneck Wife and I were leaving to go to the grocery store to pick up frozen pizza for dinner. Because we like to bring the klass on a Friday night. We've done this plenty of times in the past without incident. Except most of the time she brings her kids with us, which...I sort of hate and also doesn't make much sense when you figure Brian and Redneck Husband are there at the house, perfectly able to keep the kids from burning anything down, killing small animals or other things of that nature. I know it's possible, because I've seen it. But last night the kids had another friend over and the Wife figured (correctly) we could get the errand over with a lot quicker without bringing them along.

We went outside to where the men were working on Brian's truck and told them. You would've thought she had just announced the end of life as we know it by the way he reacted. There was cursing. There was throwing of large heavy tools. There was a very loud, heated and insulting exchange between them. Brian and I made eye contact for the briefest second and I quickly got into her truck. She got in, shut the door and said I hate him sometimes and I had no idea how to respond. I pretty much just agreed with her and quickly and awkwardly changed the subject.

I thought of how I could've maybe handled it better. I couldn't really commiserate with her and talk shit about Brian because he's never come close to acting like that. And she's known Brian since they were little kids so she already knows that. We're not close enough friends for me to give her any advice, not that I usually would anyway. If I could say what I am thinking whenever this happens: You're too good for him. You're too smart for him. You have a college degree and he's a functioning illiterate. I know he was the first real boyfriend you ever had (Translation: the first real good sex you ever had), I know you accidentally got pregnant when you were on the verge of breaking up and then figured you were screwed literally as well as figuratively so you did the "right" thing, but it's never too late and you know your parents would be thrilled if you divorced him and would probably buy you a new house. I don't think he's ever going to change and I don't think you're ever going to be happy unless you leave him.

Maybe some people could say it. I can't. Maybe I should though? She told me last night she only has four close friends and that I'm one of them. So if that's how she feels about me, do I OWE it to her to say it? All of the above is true, but I just don't feel it's my place to butt in when she's never asked me what I thought about it; she mostly just complains a little and then we move onto a different topic. Eh, who knows. All I know is whenever we're around them and something like that happens, I have the insane urge to go home and blow Brian to show my appreciation for him not being a douche. Maybe someday I'll actually act on it.

One of the responses I got back yesterday via text when I sent out my Bad News Bulletin was from my excellent friend Kristen. It said, "So, we just keep continuing to have baby prayers, that's all. What do you think about going bowling this weekend?" That ranks up there in the top five messages I've ever gotten in my life. And yes, I think we are going bowling tonight. Because when life hands you lemons you should always turn them into balls.

Equinox Fever

I'm feeling a little...restless, I guess is the best word for it. I just read this:
"The Vernal Equinox is one of two days in the year in which the tilt of the Earth's axis is inclined neither away from nor toward the sun, which is vertically above a point on the equator." Translation: it's SPRING, bitches! And man, do I have the fevah. It's bad. I have a shit-ton of work to do, yet here I am doing this instead. Taking a thirty-minute break to run around the campus. Socializing with co-workers I normally try to avoid, just to put off working. And I know there are other obvious reasons for this impatience, but regardless of the whys, it's been a real challenge to restrain myself from running screaming out of here (Yes Heather, and Yabba Dabba Dooing while I'm at it) and it's been like this for the past two weeks or so, progressively getting much worse after the five-day monsoon finally ended.

Everybody seems to be talking about the perfect weather they're having (except Florida people who say it's already in the high 80's which is a joke but that's why I don't live there anymore) and here is no different. Being able to walk around the neighborhood in jeans and a t-shirt in the evening; that's gone a long way toward calming my nerves, which seem to get worse at night, as always. Mornings, though? Are great. I bounce out of bed most times without even the benefit of the alarm clock and God knows that doesn't happen very often.

I'm having these weird urges...to dust off the golf clubs and go play at that cheap par three course we used to go to all the time. To go to Lowe's and spend a bunch of money we don't have on more flowers and plants and garden stuff. To go to the zoo. To keep the doors open as much as possible and wash everything inside the house with something citrus scented. I want to take our leaf blower and get rid of all the brown rotting pieces of shit leaves that are covering the yard and pissing me off with their dirty wet shittiness. What the hell, leaves. Nobody wanted you around after the third week in November when you fell anyway, you pains in the ass.

Most of the rest of the year it doesn't bother me I work inside at a desk four days a week. That is not the case right now. Now is when I regret not fulfilling my true destiny as a groupie for Motley Crue. It's probably a really good and healthy thing I'm taking a road trip soon. My head is about to explode, but on the plus side if it really did do that right now I'm sure glitter and rainbows would come flying out. Maybe a Broadway musical or two.

Totally off topic, a tip from my home to yours: Don't ever let the dog clean your plate of corned beef and cabbage. I admit it was a rookie mistake, but one that I will never make again. Though like Heather pointed out, it wasn't the dog's fault, but the living room smelled like hot garbage nonetheless. I had to stop Brian from emptying out an entire can of Oust directly onto the dog's ass. Sorry for the foulness right around lunchtime but I'm only trying to help.

But, okay. Back to work. Right after I take another little jaunt to somewhere other than here.

If Summer has the dog days (which make me feel the opposite of how I'm feeling right now), Spring should have puppy days - bouncy, happy, frolicking puppy days.