Titillating Tuesday: 'Tis the reason for holiday alcoholism

We wrote our Santa letters tonight - something we've never done before.

It's been an eye opener.

Emma would like "a frog and a rainbow umbrelu."

Alison wrote: Deer Sana, I have been a good girl this year. I would like a scootr anb a PIlloW PEt. Love. Alison.

(She capped it off with a picture of herself RIDING the scooter. Just in case "Sana" doesn't know what a scooter is or that she means business.)

Kristin wants "a skatbord." She didn't know how to spell Megamind, or I'm sure she would have stipulated that little detail. She's been making that part very clear to me for a few days now. Try Googling Megamind skateboard. No hits. I'm gonna be painting a freakin' blue alien over a Disney princess skateboard in the coming weeks, aren't I?

The girls insisted I write a letter to Santa, too. Funnily enough, I got to the asking portion of the letter and couldn't think of anything that the kids would understand. I went with "book" and "shirt." What I really wanted to ask for was a "NAP."

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I'm back, by the way. I stole my parents' laptop while waiting for a recovery disc to arrive for my Gateway LX6200.

It's out of warrantee with Best Buy so I took a little initiative and ordered a blank hard drive in my quest to be the master of EVERYTHING. Like everything else, I'm finding out it doesn't take a genius to install a new hard drive and remove the old one. Seriously. Have you seen some of the guys on the Geek Squad? They look like they're 15. If they can do this stuff, so can I.

Things were a little bumpy, but once I figured out how not to be a moron, I went to install the recovery discs.

And apparently recovery discs for this particular model are contraband. I only found 2 out of 3. (Oh, but I found every other disc to every other computer we've ever owned.)

I called Best Buy. They told me they don't carry them and I should call Gateway, unless I wanted to pay $248 for the Geek Squad to do something I could do for free if I had the 3rd fucking disc.

I called Gateway. They (as in: the automated beotch customer service lady) told me to GO TO THEIR WEBSITE and "thank you for calling." *Click* She hung up on me. Twice.

Have I mentioned that my computer is NOT WORKING. So good luck getting ON THE INTERNET. Thanks to my PS3, the ethernet cord dragged across my kitchen floor and the triangle-triangle, right-right-right-right-right-triangle-triangle combinations it took to painstakingly type out a single letter, I found I had to pay $40 for them to ship one effing disc.

Fa lalala laaa... Merry Christmas! There goes my Pillow Pet money.

When I got to the customer service survey, I was disappointed that the lowest rating was Poor.

I was looking more for something along the lines of: Customer service so great it makes me want to stab myself in the head with an ice pick to let the anger out.

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Have you ever had something majorly change in your children and you were too busy to notice?

While I was rescuing my computer from the (second) crashed (shitty) Seagate hard drive (in as many years), my child's tooth STRAIGHTENED ITSELF OUT. Her top one had been bent behind her bottom one ever since it came in, and now it's in FRONT.

It's not loose. Although I wonder if the grown-up tooth behind ol' wonkytooth got my Christmas wish list and is granting them early. Item #528 is Please save me from the impending doom of orthodontist hell.

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I've been collecting bottles of vodka and wine and leaving them - unopened - in a neat little collection.

Intuition, perhaps.

After all this excitement, I'm thinking a Christmas cocktail is in order.

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So glad to be back! Happy Tuesday, everyone.

Oh, Thankful thankful thankful

I'm getting a taste, just a tiny taste of internet while at my parents' house. And it's delicious.

I never realized how much I use my computer until it took a big steaming pile of fecal matter on me this past Wednesday.

And I've had so many exciting new things to tell you all! And recipes to look up! And orders to check on! Oh boy, oh boy... I'm practicing patience for my new hard drive to arrive in the mail, but tell that to the bulging vein in my neck.

Okay, so where were we?

Remember back when I couldn't sleep because of a horriffic nightmare that our house was on fire? And it sparked a renewed effort to teach the girls what to do in case of a fire, something that we hadn't worked on in over a year?

Well, I stepped out on my front lawn on Wednesday to see the neighbor's house on fire.

No one was home, but don't worry, THEY SAVED HER THREE CATS. (Am I the only one who finds the title a little ridiculous? And yes, Anon, I read the comment earlier but couldn't respond... no more cats for OUR house.)

What a way to spend your Thanksgiving... I had a hard time feeling sorry for myself and my crapped-out computer when my neighbor's house burned up. Happy Thanksgiving!

So here I am, not feeling sorry for myself, but enjoying the few minutes I have alone with my dirty little mistress, the interwebs.

Hopefully I'll be back online for good soon... I miss talking to all my mental online fake friends! And the real life friends that share my mutual dislike for talking on the phone.

Hope you had a great weekend!

It’s amazing how much stuff gets done (and how lonely it gets) when there’s no internet

My hard drive took a big ol’ dump forcing me to blog titles via PS3, but my neighbor’s house went up in flames yesterday so I’m still thankful.

Titillating Tuesday: Now walk it by yo'self

We have a major announcement: The girls have new hats.

Alison has the hunting cap (again), Emma has the fluffy-ball cap (again), and Kristin has the funky knit hat (again). So much for doing something different this year!

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In other, lesser news...

Autumn Vine is up and running!

One site down, a hundred million more to finish.

(All items are finished and ready-to-ship. Hint hint.)

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Part of the reason I waited until yesterday to get the site up is that I was hefting my jewelry up to Wisconsin on Saturday for the Hunter Widow's Night Out that my cousin hosted at her restaurant, Wegner's Cedar Lake Inn.

One woman stood at my table, holding a business card: This stuff is so neat! But I've never heard of this company before....

Erm... that's because it's MY company.

I had a little help from my cousin and sister who pretended not to know me and told people how nice they looked when they tried on the jewelry. Dorks. I told Chelsy the customers probably figured it out once she sat down by me and wrapped herself up in my blanket.

Before I started to really sell anything, and while everyone else was busy pimping Miche bags and stationery supplies, I snacked on Basa Swai and a salad with raspberry vinaigrette. It was DELICIOUS.

I ended up selling a good chunk of jewelry plus went through an entire box of business cards. Oh, and my cousin cleared me out of my tooth faerie pillows.

To celebrate after the show, the cousins and aunts got up to dance to some new song called the Cupid Shuffle (I have no clue and I'm getting so OLD).

To da lef', to da lef', to da right, to da right, now walk it by yo'self, now walk it by yo'self...

I should note that my cousin is 12-days post baby in that picture (the one in the green, not the one with her butt sticking out). I still looked like Jabba the Hut at that point.

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Speaking of getting older, on the way up north, Stephie and I began counting gray hairs. I have at least a dozen just in one little patch.

It doesn't bother me, though... I've always felt older than I looked. I feel like my 30s are the perfect age. (Insert *eyeroll* from all my 40+ friends and family...)

Regardless, I'll be hittin' the big 3-0 in exactly two weeks.

Euthanize me now before I get any more achey in my bones.

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As part of my fitness regimen, I have begun using the Wii Fit. It is freakin' FUN.

I think I might throw out a hip, though, playing Super Hula Hoop.

The girls keep trying to budge in on my "exercise routine," but I'm not ready to share yet. NOT YET, Damnit! It's MY toy. MINE!!!

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Happy Tuesday, everyone!

The wax job

Do you ever feel like you were born to do something?

Malea has found her calling...

She was making more noise than I was... the neighbors probably thought she was watching some kind of weird fetish porn.

We decided she's genetically programmed to enjoy causing people pain via ripping out arm hair because I have never seen anyone so excited as when I walked through her door with a jar of Nad's today.

And to tell you the truth, I was pretty excited, too. This wax job had been a long time coming - and I had promised Malea she could have first crack at it. (Mike told me to film it and to ask her if she could trim out some other shrubbery while I was there. She did offer to help Mike with his manscaping next time he's around...)

The trick to waxing your arms is to not lose your resolve halfway through.

I wonder if anyone would be interested in an arm hair toupee'?

My arms are smooth, and all it cost me was a chicken sandwich and half a jar of Nad's. Not a bad deal, I'd say!

Now I need to get back to working on my website.

I wonder if I can type faster now that my arms are aerodynamic...

Freddie Mercury, watch over my babies

Move over Ozzy... the girls have a new favorite.

Queen.

Mike has been looking up all kinds of crazy stuff online for the kids, like the Crazy Frog videos, and he stumbled upon the Tap Tap Clap Song (as the girls call it).

So now they call it The Spongebob Song.

There are so many things wrong with that, starting with I Hate Spongebob and ending somewhere around the defilement of a national treasure.

Then Alison serenaded us at dinner last night with We Are the Champions and an unusually accurate whistle-slash-hum rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody - their favorite song that I play on the piano.

Time to remake the girls' CD collection: Ozzy, G'N'R, and Queen...

BUT, my children are not as "bad ass" as they pretend to be.

Two nights ago, I couldn't sleep. I laid down in bed and began having flashes of my parents' house going down in flames with the children trapped inside on the second level. Obviously it's because they're going to spend an evening there soon, but for some reason it was incredibly vivid and my mind just would not stop.

And with my history, I started to worry.

Then Alison woke up the next morning and told me, I had a dream that the house was on fire and we needed to get out, but we couldn't.

Sweet Mother of Mercy.

So last night, we had ourselves a fun little fire drill. I taught them to feel the door. Stuff a blanket along the bottom if it's hot. Go to the window and yell and pound on it. If no one comes, break the sonofabitch open and get out. Because Mommy will be outside waiting for you, and the only thing keeping us apart is breaking that glass.

The tears started ROLLING.

Emma was sobbing and holding me, and Kristin sat on the bed, I'm sooo SAAAADDDD.... *sob*

Alison was the only one excited and babbling about what to do.

Before bed, Emma told me at least twenty times, I don't want to play the fire game again, okay?

Me, either, Emmy. I hope we never have to play that game for real.

The honeymoon's over

Mike and I have been spending waaaaay too much time together lately. He's been strictly on Days for SIX WHOLE WEEKS.

Nights are when I have a chance to watch my movies, fold laundry, clean and get caught up on my projects. So this has been challenging to say the least.

But MAN have we had fun.

Before I go any further, you need to be familiar with Will Ferrell's Goulet impersonation... Goulet!!!

We went out to dinner at Zins in downtown CR, and just as we quietly walked away from the restaurant, Mike crooned: Creme Brulee!

Of course we both busted up laughing.

Over 7 years ago, my sister said Mike and I were destined to be married since no one else understood my weird sense of humor.

And pretty much everything is funny.

(Except the movie Grown Ups... all you people who told me it was hilarious need to be tortured. It had too many comedians and too many one-liners.)

Other than that, life IS a punch line.

Mike makes fun of me relentlessly, but that's a burden I must bear. Like when I play piano and start learning new music. I make a lot of mistakes and mutter a lot of expletives.

So yesterday, after fudging my way through Where Are You, Christmas? Mike yelled, I don't remember there being that many swear words in that song.

Then he hums the music as I'm playing and yells *PLINK* Oh, PISS!!!

Tonight, he goes back on his regular rotation. It'll be interesting to have my nights back, but I'll miss his constant tormenting.

Because no one can torment quite like Mike.

I can see everything from up on my pedestal

I caved in yesterday and took the girls to Target for "easy meals."

I could only bring myself to buy three boxes of Deluxe Mac 'N' Cheese and a couple of frozen Jack's pizzas, things that used to be staples in our house, pre-children. Who IS this person? and how did I turn into her???

Anyway, as we strolled past the pop, Alison said, We can't buy little pops.*

*Little pops are the half-cans of soda that are supposed to make a parent feel less guilty about giving one to their children.

Her comment surprised me since that's one thing they usually beg for. I blame Mike. He is the queen of not feeling guilty about snacks... it's all in his plan to be the favorite parent.

So I asked her why that was. Alison responded, My teacher said 'No' because Jack brought a little pop to school in his lunch bag. She said he could have that one, but then she told his Mom 'No little pops for lunch.'

JACK. The little boy who - when I ask the girls how their day went - is the first person they talk about.

Jack stomped on my hand at recess and the teacher said 'No.'

Jack crumpled up my painting in Art and threw it in the garbage and the teacher said 'No.'

Jack made Kyle cry and the teacher said 'No.'

I've actually said the words I didn't ask how JACK'S day went... can you please tell me what YOU did today?

This is the same Jack who Kyle told me last week was a "mean bully," leading me to have my first Bullies and How to Deal With Them conversation... with someone else's kid.

The pop-at-lunch issue wouldn't really BE an issue if the kid could handle his business at school. I cannot imagine what is going through his parents' minds when they send him to school with pop. Or the teacher's mind, for that matter.

Time to climb off the pedestal...

...and onto a new pedastal.

My fellow blogger-slash-triplet-mommy-online-fake-friend Michele discovered a new set of Barbies at a store in Las Vegas. She lovingly calls it Hooker Barbie. And she's pretty close to the money on that one... I've never seen such obvious implants in my life.

I'd seen the new collection, but alas, we didn't have Boob-Flashing Barbie. (I double-checked yesterday).

I'm not going to march in front of buildings with signs over this one, mostly because I'm kinda apathetic about this sort of stuff, but it makes me wonder what demographic Mattel is going after.

The kids? If so, WTF.

The teens? Still kinda WTF.

The moms? That would make more sense, but why cram them next to the princess dress-up clothes and Glitter Girl Skippy-Doo or whatever the other Barbies are named?

It's a tough call. Although in Target's defense, they don't exactly have an alternative place to put them, like a Slutty Adult Toy Aisle. And the few Model Barbies left in our town Bible Belt, Iowa, were more along the lines of PG than R.

Regardless, our girls aren't going to be getting one anytime soon. I don't think five-and-a-half is an appropriate age to discuss why women would dress like that - for money or low self esteem - and that most women don't have that body type without a little help from a couple friends I like to call Anorexia and Bulimia.

Phew! Time for a break. I'm tired and have a headache from all this pedestal climbing...

Titillating Tuesday: Scissors!

To punctuate yesterday's thoughts on glamourizing stupidity with an over-sized exclamation point, the scholars at New Oxford American Dictionary have labeled Palin's 'refudiate' as: Word of the Year. As Ms. Palin herself Tweeted, Shakespeare liked to coin new words too.

Yes, but I doubt many of his rose out of the ashes of a slashed-up, burned down unintentionally incorrect vocabulary.

Even Bush couldn't get "misunderestimated" put in the dictionary. And he was the President. I guess we "misunderestimated" the influence of the Tea Party...

God help us all, and God save the English language.

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Instead of candy for Halloween this year, my parents bought the girls GloDoodles (as you might recall). As you also might recall, she was worried they wouldn't use them or that they were too old to use them.

If I had my way, we'd have a hundred GloDoodles. Several for every room and a couple in the car. It's the only time they're remotely quiet and STILL.

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A few days ago while wasting away at my parents' house, the girls and Elliott became entranced in an episode of Dora. (They have no idea who that little vixen is, but she sucked them in.)

I couldn't hear much except Dora yelling at them something about "scissors." And then I peeked in to see the girls making scissors at each other.

Am I the only one thinking of South Park?

(Oh, sweet Jesus... it's been a LONG time since I've seen that clip! Hahaha... I didn't realize it gets a bit graphic at the end. My apologies. I'd suggest if you don't want to see an animation of a grown male transvestite scissoring a woman, you probably shouldn't watch it.)

Scissor Me Timbers

The Chronicles of MeatRocket Myspace Video

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In case you're wondering how I'm spending my time when I'm not being witty or painting bumpers, I've got a show this weekend that is NOT going to be pretty if I don't get my ass in gear. I have about $200+ in fabric and only one completed apron. So I've been working on that.

The thing about designing aprons? It's SO much easier to draw them than it is to actually SEW them.

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I have an elliptical machine.

I hate elliptical machines.

It literally makes me nauseous to "ride" it. I say "ride" because I feel less in control of the machine than being controlled by it. Up. Down. Up. Down. It's like a fucked-up teeter totter for your feet.

And forget treadmills... I have to hold on for dear life just so I don't fall off the back or step on the side and faceplant on the monitor.

I was using the elliptical because I needed the exercise. Turns out some people are neither naturally anorexic nor suffering from a gland disorder that prevents obesity.

Not anymore. I'm over it. And no matter how many times people tell me how great it is to READ while riding it, I still get car sick.

So I'm looking for a good recumbent stationary bike. Preferrably inexpensive. I don't care if I burn fewer Calories because my ass is sitting instead of bopping around like a midget on a rodeo bull... I can't take it anymore.

I don't want my obit to read: "Died after a lengthy battle with her exercise equipment. Anyone interested in a reasonably priced elliptical, please come to the wake and bring cash."

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Happy Tuesday, everyone!!!

The culture of dumb

Who here watches Jersey Shore?

Fess up.

The most I've seen of that show are the paparazzi pictures of Snooki the Miniature Wookie getting loaded and flashing her underbits to the world.

WHY is that show so popular?

As most people know, I turn 30 this year. Which makes me an expert on everything. Just ask me.

And the thing that scares me the most about the future of our nation is the level of stupidity that we champion.

It very much affects our prosperity when it trickles down to politics.

We (as in "not me") cheer folksy Palin but ignore the very capable and intelligent Condoleeza.

They're both women in the GOP. They were both in the spotlight in recent years. But they are far from the same.

One - I'll let you guess who - served under two presidents as diplomat and political theorist to solve the problems with democracy in the Middle East, served as Provost during her tenure as PoliSci professor at Stanford, is an accomplished pianist, and used to be a Democrat who changed her position because she disagreed with Carter's foreign policy.

The other was a 3rd place contestant in a Miss Alaska pageant, fulfilled her lifelong goal of becoming a TV sports news anchor, dabbled in book censorship, was chairman of an energy committee until she quit a year later, blamed the "gotcha liberal media" for her low poll numbers at every turn, was Governor of the least densely populated state in the Union (600K) until she quit three years into her term, and jumped on the Tea Party bandwagon because she felt attacked by the GOP.

They are clearly not equals, and if you think they are, you need to set down the flask and/or shotgun and go back to the swamp.

How does this happen? I want an explanation.

We have a culture of immediate gratification over intellectual stimulation.

People watch news politicos on the TV - entertainers at best - rather than read a newspaper.

Droves of people cheer when a preacher condemns homosexuality as a sin and burns a Quran to prove his patriotism, but are quick to walk away when that same preacher is caught with his pants down in the company of a young Muslim teenager.

We need to watch who we idolize because our kids are watching, too.

And there's NO WAY I want my girls to think that playing dumb and angry is the way to get ahead in life.

I can't imagine that Snooki's mom is out there, beaming with pride...

The clunker

Never a day goes by that I don't think: What the hell did I get myself into now???

Today's "special" project involves our rusted out, nasty brown bumper on our pretty, fairly-new Suburban.

We had seen dozens of Z71s (always white) around town with the same problem on the back bumper.

So I called the shop that's affiliated with our dealership.

This is pretty much how the conversation went down, shortened and Valley Girl style:

Me: Um, yeah, my back bumper is like totally rusted out. It's bubbling up in huge spots...

Him: That's really common. It's most likely from rock chips.

Me: Um, yeah, I totally don't think so, cuz like I said it's on the back bumper, and it's coming from underneath the paint. And there are, like, dozens of other cars like ours with the same problem. Do you think it could be, like, a manufacturer defect?

Him: Not unless it's rusting out under the paint. But we could take a look at it.

Me: Uh, huh???

Okay, I don't actually talk like that, but I assume that's what he heard. Because either he is completely incompetent or he was blowing me off.

Thank goodness it's only from rock chips. Doesn't this look like damage from rock chips to you?

Of course, that's after I prepped it for today's project, which was:

Avoiding Paying $500 To Replace Our Bumper

Up until today, I'd been hoping someone would ram into the back of our car just hard enough to knock the bumper off. The ideal place for that would be in the school parking lot, of course, because three-quarters of the parents there drive like egotistical douchebags.

And it would have given me a chance to get out of my car and teach my children what road rage looks like up close.

Win-win.

Instead, I spent four hours outside in the blistering 40+ degree heatwave with a chisel and $10-worth of car touch-up paint and sandpaper.

Sand, sand, sand... Washey, washey... Tape, tape, tape... Spraaaaay.....

Voila. $10 later...

Of course, I took this before reattaching the license plate and touching up the overspray with acetone, but I think it looks puh-retty damn good.

Let's hope we can avoid getting any more rock chips for a while.

I'm sure our neighbors will be sending over a thank-you basket for getting rid of that eyesore...

I need a volunteer to help me when I volunteer

Here's a picture for absolutely no reason other than I thought it was cute:

Emma and Kristin are inseparable at night. It can be a foot or an elbow (to the face) or a nose... but they're always in contact. Who needs a security blanket when you've got a security sister?

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As you all know, I've been volunteering at the girls' school every Wednesday morning. I signed up for two hours and usually end up staying three or four.

Today, one teacher told me, Every time you come, we make you do all these aweful things... we're just happy when you show up the next week.

I can handle a few hours of papier mache and journaling while trying to minimalize the chaos of 5-year-old hoards, but to be truthful, if I had to do that every day, I'd be heavily medicated.

Today, we pasted wrapping paper chunks to plastic bins. In a nutshell, there were four parents hanging around this morning for random amounts of time.

They're all very nice women, one of whom has pair-and-a-spare triplets. Her triplet son is in class with Alison.

After hanging out with her, I realized that being nice doesn't get *stuff* done. By *stuff* I obviously mean *jack shit.* And I'm totally confused because I thought every triplet mother was beaten down to become an efficient child-wrangling machine. She's so nice and not-in-a-hurry that I want to hug her.

But volunteer time is not the time to love anyone. It's all blood and guts and gore. The boys whined incessantly about having to put their fingers in the gooey glop, while the girls were flicking glue every-where.

There may be some disadvantages to being a rigid bitch, but it sure becomes a "plus" when you're left with 50 or more small children and two large tubs of glue.

Because of the limited time the other helpers could stay and Really Nice Triplet Mom wanting to help make papier mache masterpieces, I ended up in a time crunch.

By the time I was left alone to fend for myself, we had only managed to rip the paper up and get about four buckets completed. That only left... oh... nearly 50 kids to get through in an hour. I could do it, right?

Damn straight.

Sometimes you've gotta get your hands messy. It's not about pretty as much as the kids having fun, so I rolled out some waxy paper stuff on the floor, taped it down and herded out groups of eight kids at a time. (I forgot to mention that - because of the many assistants teaching an assortment of kids out in the pod's center, we were left with one table and 4 chairs.)

And when a little boy punched me in the back twice, I sweetly told him to Stop while giving him the I AM THE BOSS OF YOU crazy eyes. (This is the boy who is beating on Alison daily - she's holding her own, no worries - and one of Kristin's incredibly sweet classmates told me "that boy is a bully." Hmmm... relevant much to current events?)

I've asked Mike to come with me sometime to keep the peace, but he's hesitant... I wonder why?

All the buckets were finished when I left. Although I have to admit to adding a piece here or there...

Tonight, I told Mike about Olivia who was giving me the third degree about our girls.

She worked on her bucket then peeked up at me, So... Emma is your mom? I knew what she meant, so I said, Yeah, I'm her mom.

She worked some more. Then she looked at me with her face twisted up: And Kristin's your mom?

Yeah, I'm Kristin's mom, too.

She stopped what she was doing and got irritated with me: But how are you Alison's mom, too???

That's when I had a moment to pause in reflection... how much did I need to go into here without giving someone else's kid The Facts of Life. Did she believe in a stork scenario? Or does she know babies are in bellies?

Well, you know how most people have one baby at a time? I had three babies at the same time.

Okay. And on she pasted...

Phew.

After telling Mike that story and laughing, he said, You know what you should have said when she asked "How are you Alison's mom, too?" I would have said: "Well, a long time ago, I had sex with Alison's father."

I have officially retracted my offer to bring Mike to school with me.

Good times. The girls are learning so much. Like the infinite possibilities in lyrics to ANY SONG EVER CREATED.

Between Y-E-LL-OW and Avril Lavigne, I might stab my own ears out with a rusted nail. Or use ear plugs. Whichever is handier.

Titillating Tuesday: I'm a total martyr and stuff

I am a book whore.

I would live at Barnes & Noble if they would let me. Or wouldn't notice me asleep in one of those comfy leather chairs.

I can't control myself... in fact I just bought four more books that I don't need.

My "books in waiting" were getting lonely, so I did it for them.

It's not like it's going to take me all year to get through these. After all, only three of them are over 1,000 pages.

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Yesterday, through the what-I-now-know-is-not-a-stroke brain issues, I was a busy busy girl. Which is interesting because I'm wondering WHEN I would work a J.O.B into my schedule??? I don't know how you people do it.

(And I'm curious: Does anyone else's house get completely and irretrievably TRASHED on the weekends? Reason #392 to love school...)

I started with a little staining on The Fence That Shall Not Be Finished. I'm on track to getting it done sometime during the season of Colder Than Shit, which comes directly after Freeze Your Totties Off and directly before Wind Chill? Is That Why My Face Is Bleeding?

Then I ran errands, including an hour-long trip to the Post Office. A woman in line quipped, If any other person ran their business like this, they'd be in trouble. At least she'd thought ahead to bring a book. I had to read through their selection of "last ditch anniversary" and "thinking of you" cards for sale as some old broad spent 10 minutes deciding she didn't want a whole roll of 100 but 80 once she found out she could buy any specific number she wanted.

Then to Target where I bought a 70 cent pirate costume for the girls, a birthday card for Mike's mom, a couple books for Mike and I (book whore), and a tube of mascara to replace mine from 2008 that has finally begun to smell so bad I refuse to put it near my face.

On to Mike's Mom's house. For whatever reason, I was designated by two name-less people to be the birthday card/gift dropper offer.

Next was a trip to Auto Zone. My Suburban's bumper is about to rust off so I'm going to mask the problem with a good sanding down and homemade paint job. (I called the car dealership where they told me it "must be from rock chips." On the BACK bumper. With rust bubbling up from underneath the paint. Over 1/2 of the surface area. Good thing I have them to tell me - the hapless woman - that it's NOT a manufacturing defect. White Chevy Z71s must have a magical ability to attract rocks to the back bumpers, since we've seen dozens with the same exact problem. A-holes.)

Then home to clean up this weekend's mess for two solid hours.

When Mike got home from work, he gave me a hard time for not having supper done and not remembering a random conversation a week-and-a-half earlier where he mentioned in passing about getting pictures of our girls to his mom.

What ever could I have been thinking?

Obviously I hate eating, so that would explain supper, but the picture conversation... I must flagellate myself for this immediately.

Turd...

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This is why I cannot wear socks to bed.

Every. Damned. Time.

(Mike calls it a Case of the Twittle Foot.)

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The guy who drives the short bus waves to me twice every morning (we have opposite routes) and twice every afternoon.

I wonder if he thinks he knows me.

Which in turn makes me wonder if he's friends with drunken hobos since I drive a little like Cruella DeVil with spittle on my lip and wild hair at that time of morning.

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Happy Tuesday, everyone!

We'll be making our final descent... into coma

My brain is changing altitude without me... about every 20 seconds.

In the ongoing saga of Everything Weird Happens to Me, I woke up yesterday feeling sick, as if my head couldn't decide what pressure to choose for the day.

How about normal? Nah... 3,000 feet above sea level!!! Just kidding, back to normal.

It's not painful, but it's making me feel like getting a little Gilligan all over The Professor, if you know what I mean. Blech.

To add to the weirdness, I was getting undressed in front of the mirror and noticed my stretch marks are bleeding underneath my skin. So not only do I have my tiger-striped bathing suit permanently etched into my skin, but it has turned bright red and purple.

Plus I woke up feeling like my legs had run a marathon while the rest of me slept.

I don't even know anymore.

Mike is making me take aspirin regularly because he's convinced I'm having a stroke. A stroke of GENIUS, perhaps...

Since I've sworn off doctors unless I need tests or already have my diagnosis and need drugs, feel free to get all Dr. House on me and tell me I've got Cracka Ass Sickle Cell or something fun.

Until you guys figure it out, onward and upward.

We're planning to build some storage shelves out of 2x4s and brute strength (mine, of course) where we'll put all of the crap that we can't stand to look at but can't stand to throw away. I think there are about 5 whole totes, 2 of which are just the girls' stuffed animals. What do you DO with all those things? And they're from the NICU and when they were first born, so I can't just chuck them.

The other 3 totes are filled with tchotchkes from our pre-marriage, pre-budget era. Pictures of France? Sure thing. Can you see anything in them? Yep, if you can manage to peel them apart.

Garbage...

Some might say that using power tools and such isn't a good idea while hopped up on blood thinners, but I say it merely adds to the adventure.

Plus today is the last day in 2010 that will be above Freeze Your Totties Off (that's in Fahrenheit). Get while the gettin's good!

Kisses and disses

So...

You may have heard that there was this little thing called an "election" yesterday.

When I retrieved the girls from school, I told them we were going to vote.

In stride with our rhyming exercises, the girls convinced themselves over the 10 minute drive that we were on our way to buy a goat.

They were sorely disappointed when all they saw at the Community Center-slash-Farmers Market-slash-City Office were a bunch of octogenarians trying to remember what their phone numbers were and what county we live in.

I am amazed that these people could figure out the ballot. The test is the offspring of a standardized ITED and a VCR instruction manual... in microscopically small print. Kudos to all the elderly who get out and vote, even the lady who tried to ram her plastic folder into the ballot reader along with her vote.

Of course we had a lot of looks and awwws and even a few Aren't they a little young to be coming to these things? You're starting them a little early.

To which I answered: This is their third election plus we brought them with to caucus in 2008.

So suck it.

I mean it's not like there are riots just outside the doors. We're not Ohio circa 2000. The only danger is that my children will start their lives off valuing civic duties.

But what my girls ARE too young for are boys.

And Emma has a cuh-RUSH.

She talks about Christian every day and today, she picked him to be her painting partner. They also sat next to each other and made eyeballs at each other the whole time I was volunteering to journal with the class - a non-job, one half-day a week that makes me wish I had vacation time.

I just realized I kissed a boy for the first time when I was six. God help us and God help the boy who falls victim to the girls' first smooch, since Mike doesn't look too kindly on that sort of thing.

I'd rather buy a goat than deal with that mess.

Titillating Tuesday: Say WHAT?!?

How busy was your doorstep last night?

There are towns that banned kids over 12 from Trick-or-Treating... and I hadn't really had any thoughts on the subject until yesterday.

We had roughly 80 kids in adorable cartoon and action figure costumes, plus one slutty Eskimo.

I had just left the house with the girls when she walked by, talking on her cell phone, with her much younger sister and her parents just steps away. When my brain finally wrapped itself around the concept of parents escorting their early teen on the streets with her ass cheeks hanging out, I tried to snap a picture.

Clearly, I need a new camera for times like this.

I wish I was joking when I say it was something a hooker might wear, in faux suede and fur trim.

Who knows? Maybe she was out looking for Johns...

So thinking back on that incident, it's not only the scary teens who come at the end of the night getting cocky and asking for the rest of our candy... it's the slutty pre-teens who dress like they're meeting Hugh for a jail-bait cocktail later that evening.

Maybe those towns are onto something.

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With last week being insanely busy, I had less than no time to eat well or work out. Unfortunately for me, last week was ALSO the first week that a huge group of triplet moms were posting weights in an effort to keep or get healthy.

Last night, I had nothing to do. Or nothing urgent, anyway.

So I played a little Dance Dance Revolution on the Wii. I hadn't played in a while, and the arches of my feet were getting sore from all the jumping when suddenly everything went dark in our house for a few second.

I thought, Damn! My fat ass knocked the power out!

Then I looked outside to see the street lights coming back on, and realized I should probably stick to sit ups and deadlifts before I knock the Earth off its axis.

When I told Mike about the whole ordeal tonight, he asked, So is that why you yelled 'What the HELL?!' in the middle of the night?

Guilty as charged.

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Is anyone getting tired of the political crap yet?

Ha. Ahahahahaha!!!!!

Don't forget to vote today.

Even though I've heard a lot of people say that we're not really a democracy blah blah blah, it doesn't change the fact that the people we put into office are the ones who vote on our civil rights (*unfortunately*) and make fiscal policy, etc, etc, regardless of who they spend time with in the bedroom-slash-airport bathroom or how rich they are.

I would urge you to get more involved in local government and your community if you're feeling disenfranchised, but still...

DON'T FORGET TO VOTE. It does matter.

Even if it makes you feel clever to think it doesn't.

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Happy Election Tuesday, everyone!!! Time for me to go knock out the power again...