I'm being stalked....

....by Adam Lambert.

You read correctly. I'm being audio stalked by this guy:

Do you know how frightening this is? Every time I turn on the car...I hear that  "What do you want from me?" song. Dear god..it's like it's on auto repeat--just for me.

NO MORE. I'm am done with your serenading me, sir. Done, I tell you--done!

It doesn't matter what time of day. It doesn't matter what station (I'm a notorious flipper...I have no station loyalty whatsoever.). It doesn't matter what I'm doing. Every time I turn on the radio..I hear Adam Lambert.

So the real question is this--what the hell do you want from me Adam Lambert? Huh? Huh? Seriously..you are driving me freaking nuts.

I don't know what I did to deserve this--but whatever it is--I'm sorry. Please, please, please...just make it stop!

Please?

I think I've finally lost it...

Why is that you ask?

Because I'm in my kitchen....singing along with Bing Crosby like my life depends on it.

And if you know my singing voice, right now you are counting your blessings that you are far, far away!

(Side note: Oh...the weather outside is frightful....and I got sent home from my part time job...thank god! Because I don't think I would have made it up the hill later tonight. And when I peeked out the window just now, the car is already completely covered in snow. I am SO not looking forward to the drive to work tomorrow.)

So. I've been home for about an hour and I feel quite accomplished.

I've made rocky road bark, peppermint bark, my peanut butter fudge is divided up---and some is coated in chocolate--coconut rum balls are sitting pretty in a new coating of powdered sugar, and now I'm starting cookies.

Black Walnut cookies---yummmm.

I am usually quite the Christmas grump, waiting to the last minute possible to do everything and bitching about it the whole time--but this year, I don't know what the deal is. I'm not in a super grouchy mood, I'm relatively happy (which after last year is a GREAT improvement) and not actually dreading the upcoming holidays. However, among other things, I do absolutely miss a certain little fuzz ball who loved Christmas trees, which is why I've moved Jeter to the dining room. Call me morbid, but somehow, I think he appreciates being near the tree. Maybe that's why I'm in such a good mood?? A little kitty karma is rubbing off on me?

Perhaps.

I've always felt I've needed someone looking after me--maybe now I've got it. (It's a nice thought, actually. So if you think I'm an idiot--just keep it to yourself. I pretty much think I'm an idiot most of the time, so I don't need any help from the peanut gallery.)

I have not, however, tried wrapping presents. Last year I had to trap the two of them in the bedroom until I was done. Wrapping paper, if you didn't know, is even more like catnip to cats than catnip. Not. Joking. And since Yogi is a little bit more special than most boys, I'm going to have my hands full. Good thing he's freaking adorable....

So I'm going to enjoy my good mood, and my good fortune of not having to work tonight, by baking. Lots and lots of baking.

Ah...being in the kitchen. It's like therapy..but cheaper.

Happy Holidays to everyone!

Hey morons! It's called English, so learn to use it--PROPERLY.

There are somethings that just grate on my nerves.

And people who treat the English Language like a red headed step child? Ugh. They are on my list.
And sadly,..most people treat it way worse than that.

And today--I just can't take it anymore. I'm done with people too stupid to take the time to learn to use the language properly. It doesn't mean you are uppity--it means you have some pride and aren't a lazy asshole. Me personally? Well, I just don't want anyone to think I'm stupid.

Spellcheck people. Spellcheck can be your best friend. That said, I do excuse typos from people that I know have an IQ above the average bear--and spellcheck doesn't catch everything. That said, since spellcheck doesn't catch everything, you actually have to be aware of your grammar, too. If you graduated from High School you should be fully aware of the following items (Look! I'm even nice enough to create a guide for you!):

No and Know
No is the answer to a question.

Example: "Did you see that pimp smack the crap out of that midget hooker?!?"

"No! Damn--how did I miss that?"

Know is having knowledge (hint--see how the both start with KN?)

Example: "Well, boo. I know how much you love streetwalking midgets."

Sit vs Set (This is like nails down a chalk board to my brain. Figure. It. Out. NOW!)

Sitting is something you do. "Sit down!"

You set an inanimate object in it's place. You know--when you set the table?

There vs. Their

There is in regards to a place. (Oh wait..if you don't know the difference between these two, how am I supposed to hope you know what in the hell 'in regards' means?)

Example: "How do we get there from here?"

Their is a possessive pronoun.

I'm going to let that sink in for a moment.....I know, I know--it hurts.

Example: "Is this their Valtrex? I would hate for Paris and Nicky Hilton to have left it behind..that would be a shame, wouldn't it?"

Now. I know I'm not perfect, but I know bad language when I see it. And I don't mean swearing and the like. And yes, this is a short list. Trust me, if I had time--I could write a lot more than this.

So please, for my sanity--take heed and share your new found knowledge with your buddies.

It will make me a happy girl, indeed!

People watching...of the first order!

So tonight Carm and I went to see one of my favorite bands...(and vowed to be in New Orleans come Mardi Gras...we shall see if that works).

And were subjected to the normal number of couples groping and feeling all over each other (BARF)..but then...then there was something special.

Incest.

Yes. You read that right. Incest. With a reindeer sweater and a pearl barrette (which actually was a friend of the offender...but still. A reindeer sweater? ACK!)

Let me just say--you can certainly love your children..but you should NOT love your children.

There was this woman who, it seemed, could not keep her hands off anyone. Her son, her son's girlfriend, her husband, her friend, her friend's husband.

All of us in the general vicinity were disturbed by this woman in the high waisted jeans, bad perm, and velvet leotard.

Let that just sink in for a second. Velvet. Leotard.

Dear lord..it's like she wanted us all to be uncomfortable as possible!

But then Better than Ezra started and I could have cared less about the crazy woman and her family "dynamic".

It was, once again, a kick ass show...and that, and the Sun King Cream Ale and the good company (of which I could make a total ass of myself screaming out the lyrics to Laid...and not be judged) are all that mattered.

So thank you BTE for another amazing stop in Naptown. I will see you again and again...for as long as you are on the road busting your hump.

And hope there isn't any more "Mom Love" at the next show. I think I may have been scarred for life.

Gee thanks..as if I'm not fucked up enough already!

Um..this year is almost over? WTF?!

Let's see..year started off with promise...it really did. I was excited about maybe, just maybe, getting a new job, being with friends, celebrating turning thirty....a new year always seem to hold some sort of promise for me for some weird reason. A clean slate--who could ask for more than that?

And then--as usual--I had to go and mess things up. Sigh.

Because I'm an idiot. A total, giant, fucking idiot. Some things..I'm pretty slow to learn, what can I say?

But it seems like I blinked and we fast forwarded from February to ...December?

December? Seriously?

And what have I accomplished?

Ahh....let's see...

Not that much.

Everyone said "Thirty will be the best year ever!"

And they were all dirty liars. Thirty? You know what I think of you? I think you can suck my ass.

I don't feel more empowered, in charge, or in control. In fact, I feel the opposite of these things. Especially since it seems like I just repeat the same pathetic cycles over and over and over again--professionally and personally.

But..there is a month left of the year...and a few months left of me being thirty. So who knows...things could completely 180--which would actually be awesome...

Now, let me get back to Tosh.O.

Because my ten year old boy sense of humor? Totally something that doesn't need improved upon. If only that were true for the rest of me...

Snuggie Fun!

Okay.

I am willing to make a fool of myself for a good cause now and again.

This past Friday? Oh yea. There was foolishness. But, it helps sick kids and their families--so it's totally worth it.

Even if it doesn't excuse it.

What am I talking about? I'm talking about wearing a Snuggie in public, while drinking, scavenger hunting, and winning prizes. And having my photo taken with the tallest freaking girl in the world (who, coincidentally had on the same snuggie as yours truly). Sadly, I do not have this photo. I would like this photo. She's a giant. So giant, in fact, that when they insisted we take our photos together, she hoisted me up and squealed "Oh My God! I love you..you're so tiny!" (Let me just say..I'm not that tiny. But, compared to someone who is easily over six and half feet tall? Yea..I'm pretty short. Short--not tiny. Trust me, there is a huge difference!) I realized in that moment "This is how midgets must feel...all the time." It's not that fun of a feeling...being lorded over by much bigger people. Especially when a largish horde of people are pointing at you and laughing. See for yourself. Hardly mini..even if I did have to roll the damn sleeves up three times just to be able to see my hands.

Other than that, things went pretty smoothly. Started off chill enough. Thank goodness the above photo was taken early. I think there might be nacho stains on the dawg's face now. At least these things are washable, eh?

Amy was smart..and borrowed her Snuggie. She even took it a step further decking it out in a full costume. Sort of Phyllis Diller meets Cruella DeVille:

Needless to say..we had tons of fun, I'm hoping lots of money was raised..because after this next pic was taken of me and Todd (Karen's delightful husband)..it was definitely time for me to be at home. However, before I made it that direction, we hopped across the street  into Qdoba. (What is it about bars that are so magical? You feel fantastic inside but as soon as you hit a well lit establishment? Whoa...why is the room spinning?! Who did this? Stop it!!) I ended up falling face first on Amy's couch..and that is where I stayed until morning time..with enough time to spare to meet the handyman--on time! As for the photo; please note I have stolen Karen's cat ears, raided Amy's purse for cash (why? I don't know..I had more than enough moolah of my own) and Todd and I are planning on ways we could keep it and she would never know. Except for Shawn took this picture. And I'm posting it on my blog. Needless to say, drunk people do not have very clear thought processes. This is why so many of us end up in jail. Or sleeping with ugly people. Thank god neither of those things happened Friday..or I might not find the night, or the two day long hangover, so amusing.

Who's a happy girl? The girl with the brown liquor and limes..that's who! This was a ton of fun....but lesson learned. I should NOT have skipped the McDonald's stop on the way home. A world of hurt could have been prevented with a Filet O'Fish and a large Coke. I'll make a note for next time...because trust me. There will be a next time.

Pitter patter does NOT go my heart....

I have amazing friends.

Awesome friends. A real extension of my family. People I can count on to:

Bail me out of jail
Help me dispose of a body (no questions asked!!)
Pick a hair cut
Tell me I shouldn't have picked that hair cut
Let me cry on (sadly this means copious amounts of snot--pretty crier I am most certainly not)
Tell me with out hesitation "Do NOT by that! It makes your ass look ginormous!"
Put up with me in general
Travel with (This is a true definition of friendship. If you come back from a trip that lasts more than three days and you are not only still speaking, but still want to hang out? Wow--it's impressive. Oh! And if one of you had the courtesy to bring matches? This will be a bond that cannot be broken.)

That said, I would trust none of these people to procure me a life partner. The only person I might trust less is my mother who forgets to mention things like crazy soon-to-be ex wives or ten kids. (It's not her fault...working in the hospital in her fancy pants position, she is exposed daily to the most prized of future son-in-law bait: Doctors. This makes her more than a bit nuts, actually.)

This past Tuesday was no exception. How did it start? The way so many of the comedies of my life have started: "He's a really nice guy!! I really think you'll like him!!"

If I had a dime for every time those words were uttered....

I wouldn't be killing myself working three jobs, that's for damn sure.

But back to Tuesday.

Let me start by saying Mr. X was, indeed a really nice guy. However, when you meet an adult man with a job, his own house, decent ride--your first impression should NOT be "Hey--who let the homeless guy in the bar?" (the only exception I can think of for this rule is maybe Zack Galifianakis). And no, I'm not being a snob here--this dude looked, well, homeless. His hair--oye--was all over the place crazy. There was no rhyme or reason. Fingernails? Filthy. He had on cordovans, track type pants, and a full zip hoodie. With NO shirt on underneath it. And as the night progressed? That zipper just kept creeping further and further down. I also thought he was higher than Everest until he announced he hadn't had any sleep in three, maybe four days.

Ahhh.....this explains it.

But unfortunately--you know what they say about first impressions? So true. I can handle assholes (prefer them, actually) and I certainly don't think a man needs to spend a ton to put well put together--but looking like you haven't bathed in a week or so? No so much.

And he was, actually, pretty cool. I would totally hang out with him again--but there was just NO spark on my end. Nada, zilch, zero. Sadly, I have a type--and he just wasn't it. If you know me, you know what said type is and I will not embarrass myself by putting it down to be shared with the world.

So, my friends, if you have a guy lined up for me--please, please, please refrain yourselves.

That said, they do say you need to suffer for your art..so maybe that's not such a good idea.

But for now--restraint is probably best.

Jesus Hair!!

Okay, so Sunday I'm standing in line waiting to check out at my least favorite grocery store in Speedtown (Yes--I mean you Kroger. Hey Marsh--bring back those gas points, will ya?), and I keep getting swatted in the face.

With hair.

Human hair.

That is approximately 4 feet long. And no--it wasn't Crystal Gayle in line in front of me. It was an annoyingly hyper 14 to 17 year old girl. It was hard to tell. Really..it could have been Cousin It under there, who knows?

Did I mention the freakishly long hair? Past her knees?

In my face?

Well--I couldn't let this child continue to assault me, and I figured she may not realize she was attacking me with her locks (You know--like how people who smell don't know they smell? Same concept.). So, I casually say

"You certainly don't see hair that long anymore...do you?"

Girl's mother (who has a big scary mound of hair wound around her head...and a floor length skirt. Which is odd considering child has on skin tight jeans--obviously two or three sizes to small--suede boots that come up past her knees, and is reading a copy of some tabloid) replies with the following:

"Well how else are people to know she's pure? And that she loves Jesus?"

Okay--this lady was totally not joking when the above was said.

And  I SO wanted to say "Of course she's pure. No one's going near two feet of nasty old split ends!"

 No matter how hard up someone may be, you will find even most men have hair standards.

But did I utter? No, but I started to say something benign, and that's when girl spins around to pay for her smutty tabloid magazine....(again--this does not fit in with any religion that forbids hair cutting that I'm aware of...maybe there's a new sect out there)

And I pretty much get a mouth full of Jesus hair.

And you just can't top that.

Adventures in domesticity...

So it's that time of year...I start planning ahead for the upcoming holiday season.

"How?" you ask?

Let me tell you in two words:

Apple Butter.

This is Indiana--everyone loves apple butter. I also had a request to show Laura how it's done...so yesterday before I went to work, she came by, watched the prep of the first batch (second one was done today...with the Sound of Music playing in the living room. It seems like it went from Nuns to Nazis really quickly when you aren't fully paying attention.). I'm also trying another recipe for a little something different...we shall see how it goes. I just have to go to the store and buy ten pounds (yes--you read correctly) of sugar. If I bought all these damn jars..they are going to get filled with something!

Enjoy peoples....well you better. These first degree burns on my face and foot better be worth it.

Trust me--you DON'T want to know.

And yes--you are jealous of the high risk lifestyle that I lead.

Soooo jealous.

If you really loved me--you would get me a maid.

Yes--some girls may want diamonds.

Some may prefer pearls.

This girl would like a clean house--screw the jewelry (for now! NOT FOREVER!! That would just be stupid).

I wouldn't let anyone I know in the door right now, not kidding. Laundry has piled up, the office is a disaster, the living room needs a good pledge fest, and the floors desperately need to be done..it's like a pig lives there.

One does--"oink, oink"--me.

I've tried my usual list making (not working), wipe off board motivations (soooo not working), writing on the mirror "HEY PIGGY! PICK UP YOUR SHIT!!" (well...in this case, I just seem to be pissing myself off--so I'm not doing it out of principle), you name it--I've tried it. I just can't seem to get motivated even though I feel much more zen (go ahead..laugh) in a clean environment.

Okay. Cleanish. I'm not some OCD freak...yet. I'm sure that will come later in life.

Here's what usually happens when I get home from work (either a nine hour or 15 hour day, it seems to go the same these days):

Open door--am attacked by desperately lonely Yogi (Who is so happy to see me I feel a little bit like a bad kitty owner. I'm so not ready for another fuzzy, but Yogi so is.).
Feed cat.
Am still attacked by cat who now wants to play. For hours.
I break down and give him about 20 mins or so. (See? Baaad kitty owner.)
Feel vaguely hungry.
Shrug off hunger.
Sit down on couch to contemplate to-do list.
 Look at first item on list: work out. Laugh out loud.
Wonder what is on Tivo...oooh! Oprah has polygamists on...it won't hurt to sit and watch the first half.
Watch entire Oprah show.
Realize am now pretty hungry.
Make dinner.
Realize haven't done anything on list.
Think to myself...I deserve a night of doing nothing.
Eat dinner.
Settle in to watch more TV or read new book or listen to Podcasts.
Promptly fall asleep.
Wake up around 3 am on couch.
See list.
Get mad at lazy self.

Do you see now why I need a maid? What happened to the good old days when working girls like me and Doris Day had a house keeper? How freaking sweet would that be..Thelma Ritter taking care of my stuff every day? Life couldn't be better....and my clothes and my job would be better, too. (Know not of what I speak? Really? Who hasn't see Pillow Talk? One of the best freaking movies ever made! If you haven't--GO. SEE. IT. NOW.)

So seriously, I'm thinking of starting a begging fund. I thought of calling it Rhea-Aid...but that sounds too much like it's for some sort of weird STD or something....I'll have to think up something else.

In the mean time, I need to get back to work on my list for tonight. Maybe tonight I will actually get stuff done.

That's the plan, anyway.

Wish me luck.

Getting out of the doghouse? Methinks not.

So I was at work the other night (shocking, I know), and I received a phone call for one of the many departments I was covering.

It went something like this:

Me: Can I help you?

Dude: Yes. Do you sell wide women's belts?

Me: (thinking does he mean a wide woman...or a wide belt?) I'm pretty sure we have what you need. Any particular style?

Dude: Just wide. In black. Or Brown.

Me: We do have those--and they are buy one get one half off. The belts start around $20.00.

Dude: Hmm. Well, it's for my girlfriend's birthday, which was last week. I forgot. So I guess I can splurge and get both.

This is how the conversation ends--and I hang up thinking Buddy you are SOOO going to get it. $30.00 for belts? WTF you moron! When you FORGET a woman's birthday, it's time to break out the big guns "Baby..I wanted it to be surprise, but it just wasn't ready yet. Did I fool you? Of course I really didn't forget your birthday!" and then bust out the beautiful earrings, necklace, purse--whatever it is for god's sake it's not going to be some utilitarian object that she could buy herself. And a mushy card (Unless it's for me..I hate mushy cards. Blech.)You might as well give her new sheets if you're going to go that route--cause the ones you slept on with her will soon be burned in a bonfire after she kicks your ass out the door.

Now I say this, but actually, what do I know? Yours truly has never received a gift from someone she's dated, but I have lots of friends that have wonderful boyfriends and husbands who spoil them rotten when it comes to gift giving occasions (and in some happy instances, for no reason what so ever). Maybe this girl would be happy with two belts.

But I'm guessing not.

Welcome to singledom Douchey Dude!

For Jeter...with love

How do you say goodbye to a friend?

Well, here is my probably very poor attempt.

I still can't believe he's gone. It's been 24 hours since he died, and I feel more than a little lost. I physically hurt from all the sobbing I've done. I know Yogi is absolutely confused. He keeps wandering around the house..and comes back to me with this look of "Well--where are you hiding him?" Poor Yogi, he's never been alone at any time in his life...

Jeter Bean, the little furry light in my life. Five years was not nearly enough of you. Yes, he was a cat, but he was also the closest relationship I think I've ever had with another living thing. Was it perfect? Um. No. We fought (trust me), I yelled, he yelled--but we always made up. One look in those big green eyes could melt me, if he wanted it to. If he was still mad--they would be shooting daggers at me.

He picked me--something I don't think anyone had done before or since. Wandered up to my house and made himself right at home, like he knew something I didn't. That first year was non stop vet trips--and vet bills--but I made him promise that he would be around for a long time. Long enough so I could get him to a big house with a yard and a screened in porch that he could take control of, see my children born and be part of their lives, too.

He promised.

Or so I thought.

He was also good at changing the subject, so maybe he didn't, but I'm going to say he did.

But I still feel like I let him down--he did love to go outside so that porch idea was something he would have  held me to.

Sorry buddy, I didn't know you had a time line.

Looking back, he probably didn't feel that great Wednesday night. I got home after work at midnight, cleaned up the throw up on the floor (that I wrongly thought was Yogi's), and crawled in to bed. He came in with me, curled up under the covers and put his paws around my neck. He was cold.

I had no idea that this meant his kidneys were shutting down.

I had no idea that these would be my last few happy moments with you--not full of fear and panic and guilt and pain. So, I snuggled you in, kissed the top of your head, turned off the light and said four words I've said almost every night for the last five and half years "Good night, Jeter Bean". You curled up even tighter and closed your eyes.

You looked exactly the same way after you died.

Which just breaks my heart.

I've told people jokingly that Jeter was my soul mate. Okay--that wasn't a joke, actually. He made me a better person because I loved him so selflessly. He was one of my best friends and I will miss him for a long, long time.

The rest of my life, actually.

I love you Jeter--thank you for being one of the best parts of my life. It's going to be a good long while, but we'll see each other again.

This time, I promise.

Xanax? If I'm ever going to be a parent--YES PLEASE!

Sadly, the drugs are not for me.

No..the xanax is for Yogi.

Let that sink in for a moment. My 2 year old CAT needs downers to go to the vet. Just for giggles--I asked them to throw in an extra for me.

They didn't do it. Bastards.

Let me explain to you perhaps, why I thinking shouldn't have children. (And yes--it has to do with fur balls and what comes out of them, so if you are squeamish--stop here. Trust me.)

I had an appointment to take the boys to the vet on Wednesday for distemper vaccines and routine health checks. I got Yogi in his crate and took him and Jeter (who rides sans crate) down to the car. My vet is less than five minutes from my house.

And yes--Jeter pissed in the car. Sigh. He hopped down from his perch in my back window and just let loose all over my backseat. Needless to say, I've cleaned the back seat of my car about a million times since Wednesday. (It sucks having such a sensitive nose! And if this was all that had happened, I would say that all in all, it was a good trip).

So we get to the vet. I pull in, get them out, put the towel in the backseat to take care of the mess. We go in..and they tell me all the stuff they are going to do (fine), they take Yogi into the back and I'm talking to a girl I went to high school with who runs the office and we hear this blood curdling scream from the back: Yogi.

(If you know Yogs..you know he is a sweet, but dim, cat. He likes people, he plays and romps, likes a good snuggle before he goes to sleep and LOVES cat treats.

And apparently, he becomes the anti-christ when we leave the house. It's like I have the only cat in the world with agoraphobia.)

And it just gets worse. They had to bring him back to me in another, bigger crate. And he's growling and screaming...people in the waiting room where talking amongst themselves about what in the HELL is going on in there?!?! So yes, it was pretty awful.

Oh. The whole time they are working on getting a blood draw from Jeter (I loved the vet's reaction when she brought Yogi in..."Yea--that's a NO on the blood draw"), Yogi crouched under a chair and growled and hissed. At no one. It was just nuts. So I get to take the little booger back next Sunday--but only after I give him some kitty Xanax. And cat nip. Ah...my little junkie.

So after all the hoopla, I get Yogi back in his crate, leave the two of them in the room together so I can go pay the bill (yikes!). When I come back in, it is eerily quiet. (I should have known what was coming) A tech helps me take them both out to the car. I get them settled in, Jeter on my lap (no peeing this time, mister!), Yogi next to me in his crate.

I am literally two minutes from my front door when I hear this really weird high pitched sound...like air coming out of a balloon. Or in this case, poo coming out of a cat. The cat on my lap.

That's right. Jeter crapped all over me. I had to stop on the turn in to my neighborhood to gingerly get out of the car to remove all the cat turds from my person. And shake them loose of said cat's behind.

So, I spent my Wednesday night doing a giant load of laundry, practically detailing my car, and receiving death stares from two small mammals. I get this scary feeling that this is what parenthood is like on a daily basis...and I'm thinking I might just have to pass--because I can take a lot of things, but please--please?

Don't shit on me!

Christmas Trees? In September?? Getting ready for holiday shopping (blech).

Okay. So on Wednesday night after we closed at Retail Hell, my part time job from Hades, I noticed that they were cleaning out all the items in the back to school area (you know, clip lamps, disco balls, and those half chair/pillow thingies) and putting up a new display.

What ever could it be?

Christmas Trees.

Are you freaking kidding me? It's not even Thanksgiving yet! And then on Thursday--they were decorated. With the most god-awful looking shit. Whoever came up with the fake white tree needs to be killed. It's just tacky.

Yes. Tacky. And if you like them..well. I think you know my feelings on this matter.

This. This IS the reason I don't like Christmas. In fact, I would say it is my all time LEAST favorite holiday. Why? It's involves too much money, too much stress--and really, no one's happy when it's finished. It's "work". And it's not that I have anything against Christmas trees and twinkle lights..I don't per se...but is it December? Then WALK AWAY FROM THE EVERGREEN. There is only one exception to this rule--and that is Carmen's tree. One, because it is so pretty and Two, because she enjoys it so much. This isn't cheap wal-mart ornaments thrown up just so you can say the tree is done...it's the real deal. Fancy enough for a magazine and doesn't lose it's charm? Now that's what I call a Christmas tree!

But I digress.

What the monster trees signify is the beginning of the Holiday Shopping Season. (Dear whoever may be listening..I re-vamped my resume...please, please, please make it that I'm not working at Retail Hell during the Holidays. I already have issues pretending to be nice to these pigs we call customers.) So, here are some helpful tips to keep yourself from being beaten to death by a retail minion such as yours truly:

1) This is NOT an option. Are you checking out? Then get off the effing phone. We need to share information with you..like your credit card has been declined. Which is hard to do if you are yakking to your buddy about your raging yeast infection (welcome to my Wednesday night of fun this week--I'm not even joking) that just won't clear up. Maybe if you didn't talk on the phone so much, you would have money to pay your bill? Just a thought. Oh..and for the record--if it's been more than two weeks and it burns when you pee? It's sooo not a yeast infection.

2) They are called Dressing Rooms not Restrooms and it's only legal to drop trou in one of them. Do you know which one?? Let me help: If you open up a door to go in--and there's not a white porcelain seat waiting for you--then keep your pants up and move on. There are lots of loverly sales associates such as myself that would be glad to point you in the right direction.

3) Speaking of dressing rooms....did you take those clothes in there wadded up, inside out, and in a giant pile? No? Gosh, I thought that's how we kept them on the sales floor! Kidding aside--we keep a fricking cart right by the door. That you have to walk by. To leave the dressing room. It's there for you to hang your unwanted items on. It's not like we ask you to put them back where you got them...god forbid you have to walk an extra two feet! You can be as nasty as you want in your own home, but for the love of my sanity--these ARE NOT YOUR CLOTHES SO PICK THEM UP YOU LAZY PIGS.

4)I'm sorry, but your table's not ready...because you're in a department store. Look..I don't care if you have a quick nibble of a snack when you are walking around. I understand some people are professionals--prepared with energy bars, bottles of water, etc in their bags to get them through a long day of shopping. That said, this is not the place for your nine year old to eat out of a bucket of chicken. Or thrown the bones on the floor. Or smear mashed potatoes and gravy all over my freshly folded jean table. Yes--please use four hundred dollars worth of denim as a napkin...I mean--what else could it possibly be there for?

5)Did you walk in with that stuffed Tigger? No? Then it's not yours? Could you please explain to me then why you are blowing your nose on it? Not only is this stealing--it's just nasty. But not as nasty as THROWING SNOT COVERED TIGGER BACK UP ON A DISPLAY BED! Seriously y'all. You can by a travel pack of Kleenex for something like $0.50--not exactly breaking the bank. And--they will fit in daddy's pocket! See? Snot problem solved. We even have trash cans we will gladly let you throw the used ones away in. We're givers that way.

6) Is that child who blew it's nose on Tigger yours? So you're the idiot who thinks I have nothing else to do besides baby-sit your kids? Interesting. And when you laugh when they do things like tear up displays, blow their nose on things, pee in dressing rooms, and run around like little animals--it makes us want to kill you slowly in front of your children just to see them cry. I have never been so grateful for my own birth control in my entire life. This place may just render me completely sterile. Bratty kids are all I see. I've been kicked, screamed at, things thrown at me, and knocked down all while the little bastard's parents watched. It's not funny, it's not okay--and the next time a six year old kicks me--I'm filing assault charges. Hope you like jail you little shit..I have a feeling you'll be spending lots and lots of time there.

So please--take these things into consideration next time you're out and about gearing up for the upcoming onslaught of retail mayhem. Trust me--it will make all of us much happier when it's all said and done!

Happy Friday!!

This too shall pass...

Okay.

So let me just start by saying working two jobs---sucks.

But I figure that I have to at least make it until February, and I think I can do it. Well, it would be best if I could do it, let's just put it that way. And I couldn't do it without the support of my stand up guy--even if he is barely one foot tall on his four feet and covered with fur. He's sitting on my lap right now, purring his head off while we watch Lewis scramble to the top of the rankings in F1 (probably because I'm home and it's daylight..a rare treat these days--or maybe because it's pretty kick ass race today?): Jeter--my fuzzy fella.Yogi's pretty cute, but mostly just screams to be fed whenever I walk in the door. It's very clear most days where I rank with that one. So...guess who doesn't feel bad about taking the little booger to the vet next week??

So seven months of folding t-shirts, cleaning out dressing rooms, selling store credit, and dealing with full on crazies.

Yea..I think I can manage.

Other that working, not a whole lot has been going on. Same old same old--doing some digging through paper at the IMHM (Why can't I find someone to pay me to do that? I'm super awesome at combing through old stuff...), trying to keep up with the house hold necessities--and trying to eat better (I blame Barbara Kingsolver...damn you and your fabulous book!! Animal, Vegetable, Miracle: A Year of Food Life (P.S.) It made me want to have chickens and rows of green beans, corn, and tomatoes. Crazy, huh? Maybe not.). So pretty much for the last week, all I've been eating is locally grown produce (procured from Waterman's. OMG the tomatoes are fantastic!!) Today the kids at work begged for KFC, and I, sucker that I am, broke down and got it for them....and felt the entire time that my homemade version is SO much better.

Now that the school year has begun at good old FC, maybe I can make myself get back on the horse that is the gym. I have a feeling I'm going to need it. What's one or two days a week?

Turns out right now--it's A LOT. But...a necessary evil.

Hopefully this month I won't be such a slacker with the posting--but seriously, pick up a copy of Kingsovler's book. It will make you rethink some pretty fundamental things.

Chelsea Clinton...my nemesis

So. Every girl needs a nemesis, right? Right.

Mine is Chelsea Clinton.

"Why is that?" you ask? Let me tell you. It began at birth.

She was born Feb 12th, 1980. Me? Feb 13th of the same year, so it's be destined that I will always be playing catch up (Granted, I don't have to spend hours a day taming tragic poofy hair, so she might argue "hey bitch--we're totally even", but I really don't think that gives me a real edge.).

She has her undergrad degree in History, as do I. Little known fact: we both started college pre-med.

See? It's scary.

She has her Master's from Oxford...mine is not quite so prestigious, but hey--I don't see too many people thumbing their nose saying my MBA was a total waste (even though most days I kind of feel that it was...corner office my ass). She is pursuing a doctorate at NYU. I totally plan on getting another degree at some point in time--but mine will be a PhD for sure. (Then my parents, god love them, can say "Our daughter--the doctor. Mom will be so proud.) I just haven't figured out the when/where..and some days--the what. I would love to return to my first love, twentieth century American History, but I still feel the need to help people, too. I've been thinking more and more about therapy.

No...not for me (thanks guys), but I would love to actually help people. Some may think that lame, but whatever. My life, right?

I digress--back to Chelsea. If you have been living under a rock, you may not have heard that she was married a few weeks ago.

In a custom made Vera Wang.

I wanted to be married in a pretty Vera Wang dress. Whore. (Chelsea, not Vera--never Vera).

So you stole my academic career, my job path (working in a large global not for profit that attempts to make the lives of the world's impoverished better a little bit at a time), and now my wedding dress?!?

I could live with the first part--but not the last.

This isn't over Chelsea Clinton--just you wait and see!

I am a power washing GODDESS!

Okay...so last week I got a bug up my butt about cleaning up the outside of my condo. We are supposed to be power washed every year, but that hasn't happened in the last three. "Why is that?" you ask? Because there are a bunch of idiots who live here who don't realize that it actually is important to pay your association fees on time. Like every month. Duh.

I am also on the hunt for matching paint to touch up the outside trim--but have not had much luck with one exception...and it even has a fun name: Route 66. If it's not the same color it's pretty damn close, so that's what I'm going with, but have been told I need to wait to do this until Fall. Argh. Oh well..guess that at least gives me time to get everything scraped and ready.

But I digress-- back to the power washing.

I bought a hose (on sale for only $4.97!!!), deck cleaner, and house cleaning stuff and a hose to sink attachment. I was all set to go, tried to attach the hose to the sink and...

No dice.

Are you serious? Freaking A.

So what's a girl to do?

Steal the neighbor's hose, that's what. And proceed to spend an hour outside hosing down the stairs, the decking, and the siding of the condo.

And it was glorious...

I smell slightly of chlorine and have the happiness that comes with starting a project--and then finishing it (something that seems to be a rarity in my family).

Oh--and I sort of did the whole building. Once got started I couldn't seem to stop.

You're welcome people in A and B...you so owe me.

Dream Therapy?

More like a freaking nightmare.

I'll leave it to you to figure out what in the freak the following means (and note to self: No more late night chili dinners!)

So I'm driving in my car (my new car), and suddenly it just won't go. Or will only sort of go. And this big scary light with a mocking frowny face pops up on the dash telling me the transmission is dead.

(Trust me--this is nightmare enough for me...super duper scary all by itself.)

So I have to walk to my doctor's appointment (I have no idea where this takes place, by the way), and when I look down, I notice that I'm pregnant.

Very, very pregnant.

Apparently--with twins.

Guess who the babies daddy is? Jonah Hill.

Not even kidding. And not the "real" Jonah Hill. More like it looked like Jonah Hill, sounded like Jonah Hill, but was most likely more like a character he's played in a movie or something.

Oh dear lord...this was the scariest thing ever. I woke up in a panic almost screaming. Really universe? This is what you are throwing at my subconscious? Why? Don't I deserve better than a broken down car and babies I probably couldn't afford to feed and FREAKING JONAH HILL?!?

On a happier note, I just finished an awesome book--Mennonite in a Little Black Dress. People should totally check it out...as Rhoda Janzen is quirky, smart, and really funny. (Hopefully I can still say the same for me when I'm 43, but without having a husband who leaves me for a guy named Bob that he met on gay.com. Intrigued? Seriously--pick this puppy up!)

So hopefully tonight I will have sweet dreams that do not involve car repairs or being knocked up. Honestly? I would prefer pure blank, bliss.

So wake up noggin and take note: only good things, please? Thanks!

They're here! They are finally here!!

You can mock me, but today is a happy day for this patio gardener: I have tomatoes!

Yes--that is plural.

And yes, they are tiny and green and not all that impressive, and you can mock or make fun, but I am most impressed with myself. So let me tell you why:

1) The plant is not only still alive, but obviously well taken care of. (Sort of. I think the cage I bought is too small so I will have to tie my plant to my patio. Yes, I'm aware of how jank tastic this will look. Suck it.)

2) Did I mention that the plant is still alive?

3) This is the first time in six years that my plan for edible plants on my back patio has worked!! I'd probably have bumper crops if I had a real plot of land to plant. (Ummm. Apparently someone wants to be a farmer now. And yes--this getting close to nature frightens me a bit. Maybe that desire for a shaggy pony when I was a kid was foreshadowing a love of a more rural landscape. Okay, who am I fooling? I STILL want a pony. And a beagle. Named Whitey Ford.)

4) Again--the plant is still alive!

Now before I get too vainglorious, I should note that my cilantro died and I have yet to have a pepper, but who cares?

I've got tomatoes!!

And I'm a big dork for being so happy about it.

What's gotten in to me?

Not quite sure, actually. I've felt the need to cook.

A lot.

And most of it revolves around summer squash. You know--yellow crook necked and zucchini. Mostly zucchini. It's like I could eat my weight in it every day. It's so much more yummy than I remembered it being, buttery and delicious....okay. I'm starting to get a little excited about eating my lunch.

Yup. It's got zucchini it there..happy days.

Let's see, Monday there was zucchini with pork slow roasted in the oven, and it was devine. Lucky me that the cranberry and vodka chasers I had as dessert seemed to be a nice compliment. And guess who will be eating left overs tonight? Lucky me!!! (Tuesday there was happiness from Thai Spice with Carmen--except in their new location, I felt like a giant in the tiny little chairs. Trust me, I find most airplane seats to be roomy, so if I say a chair is tiny--it's freaking microscopic.) Last night, I decided that what I wanted more than anything else was a roast drenched in red wine sauce with root vegetables and mashed potatoes (and yes, I'm aware that it's not November. That's what AC is for. Really.). And since my dining companion doesn't dig at all on mushrooms (which makes me so very sad for her, by the way), I pondered what else could I put in my Le Creuset knock off (that was still almost !100 bucks!--but an excellent investment) with the onions and carrots and garlic.

Zucchini.

And it was so very good...angels wept. Okay, maybe not, but it's a nice visual nonetheless.

And lucky me gets to eat more today--and sometime soon in the future, too as the rest went in the freezer.

What does this say about me, I wonder?

Actually, who cares--because I'm well fed right now, and that's all that matters.

Travels, SATC--and Bonk!!

Yes, yes..I've been lazy.

But I've also been a travelin' down to Dixie to help Beth get on her way to California. Hopefully I was of some use although sometimes I feel like bad luck locusts seem to follow me wherever I go. Let's hope not for the sanity of others, shall we?

So what's new, what's new? Got gypped on a financial matter (Thanks--thanks so much by the way. I'm forever grateful I've plodded away for THIS. Ha.), so there's that. Always fun times! So the re-doing of my bedroom will have to wait a bit longer. Especially since I have to cough up like 300 bucks to go to Florida for work in a few weeks. (Side note: who plans to go to Florida on purpose in late June/early July? Don't even get me started on this. I swear it's because they want us to feel like we are in Hell.)

In much more fun things--I saw SATC 2 recently.

Um. So not what I expected. Way too long (If I have to take a pee break--it's too damn long. I have the bladder of a freaking camel--not kidding.), way too over dramatic ("I'm going to tell him! AND then be surprised that he's mad at me!" Sobbing follows.), just too MUCH. And I loved the first movie--I really did.

SJP and company: please do not make another movie. Please do not ruin Carrie and Big for me. Let me have the fantasy....please? Let me think it can turn out to be everything I want and more. (Okay--what I want is Big AND Aidan. They can rotate days--brilliant, eh? What? Don't judge me!)

And for other media...I read a fantastic book recently. But, learn from me grasshoppers--perhaps the airport is not the best place for this one. Unless you don't mind people moving their children away from you. Lucky me--I don't.

It's Bonk by Mary Roach...of Stiff fame. (Have you NOT read Stiff: The Curious Life of Human Cadavers? Shame on you!! Pick it up today. Or the audio book is excellent, too. Loved it.Click here to learn more about it: Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers). Bonk, on the other hand, is about the science of being..well...how shall I say it...sexy? Okay, that does not do this book justice---at all. But it does go into a lot of detail about why we do what we do with our naughty bits. And the stories of the scientists (and freakshows...for sure) who were brave enough (or just plain bat-shit bonkers) to go public with their research. Trust me--it's NOT boring. It's even funny. Just check out the link. Please, please, please Mary Roach--write more soon?

And thanks to Carmen, now I've got to get caught up on my Christopher Moore reading. I think a list of my all time favorite's will have to be done sooner than later--but I will save that for another day.

As well as my lust for True Blood.

It's true kids: I've got no shame left.

The indignity of disposable underpants

Um yes...you read correctly.

Today I am sporting some bruises (from a blown out vein), welts (from medical tape), and an altogether grumpy self.

All thanks to outpatient surgery.

And no, since I'm allergic to codeine, I have no good drugs, either. Just super-duper Ibuprofen. And it's not really touching squat at this point.

I won't bore you with the medical details of the 'why', but I can entertain you with the idiocy that ensues when I go anywhere.

I get to the hospital, check in, talk to the nurse and am told to disrobe and put on this purple (Sweet! My favorite color!) gown. That is giant. How giant? I wrapped it around me twice and tied it in the front...that's how giant. (And I'm not the smallest person on the planet kids..I've seen grown people much smaller than yours truly.) And blue no slip socks.

Blue? Wait a second.....this clashes with my purple gown. (And just by luck, I had on a purple headband, so from the knees up..I looked as put together as one could in hospital garb.) Not just clashes..it just looks stupid. Leave it to me to ask if there was another color of sock available.

Nope. Not kidding.

And nope. There weren't.

That's when the disposable underpants come into play.

And these, my friends, are truly GIANT. Like you could park a mack truck in these bad boys. But you gotta do what you gotta do, so on they went much to my chagrin.

Oh! And did I mention the blazing migraine headache that had been bouncing about in my skull since 6 am? That I couldn't take any medication for? Yea..that was awesome, too.

So my IV gets placed (twice...see above for that blown vein reference), I try to sleep for an hour (not) in a darkened room, but my head--oi! It wouldn't stop. Hospitals, it would seem, are NOT the place to go to get caught up on your rest. Thank god my anesthesiologist is a fellow migraine sufferer, and took pity on me. I got caffeine with my narcotics! This, people, is something I highly recommend. I woke up in a good mood, sans headache, and ready to go. No kidding! (This is much better than the last time when all I did was cry and pretty much punched a nurse in the face. Ooops...)

Well, sort of ready to go. I'm still feeling kind of icky, but I'll live. Trust me, I've felt WAY worse than this.

But the idea that perfect strangers saw me in mismatched hospital clothes and NO makeup (I wasn't even allowed mascara! Cruel, cruel people!!) with scary stretchy mesh underpants? That's the stuff my nightmares are made of!

What a way to end the week!

So.

I feel violated. Sooooo violated.

Some ass-hat stole my phone. From work. From right behind me.

Did I mention I was WORKING at the time. Stupid, stupid asshole.

The only good thing to come of this? My new replacement phone should be here no later than Tuesday. (Customer Loyalty still does get you some things...and even without insurance, I don't have to pay for a new phone.) That only leaves me driving one day to FC without my phone. (I really don't like to drive far without one. It has saved my cookies more than once!) The bad thing? I've lost all my numbers. All of them.

Which sucks butt.

Oh well. I guess I should be grateful they didn't go into the office and steal my wallet, too! And I deactivated  the phone, so it can't be used at all for anything. So ha ha sucker! And since that serial number has been reported as stolen, you can't pawn it either. Boo-yah.

Lesson learned--Trust no one.

Especially people in ill-fitting "dress" clothes.

All I wanted was an eye exam!

So yesterday, I headed after work to my insurance approved eye examiner.

Or so I thought.

I had even gone online before I went to make sure everything was kosher. I had provided them with my insurance info BEFORE my appointment.

When I get there--well--it was a clusterfuck of idiots. (Sorry--there is no nice way to say it!)

First, the girl tries to tell me that I only have a discount plan. (No. I have a discount plan AND full coverage for an eye exam. It's part of my insurance coverage.) She tries to argue with me, so I pull out my phone to call the insurance company...who agrees with me. And offers to call the girl and explain to her what paperwork needs to be done, etc.

In the mean time, I give another girl my glasses to adjust. I don't wear them very often, but because my last pair (hence, the visit to the eye place) of contacts have been bugging me, and because I expected to have someone poking about in my eyes, I just wore my glasses on Monday. They are kind of big on my face (not the lens part..but the sides..it was weird), and she tells me "Oh--that's an easy fix!"

Twenty five minutes later (and the insurance company calling multiple times...and them NEVER answering the damn phone~) the girl sheepishly (I'm guessing here..as I am totally blind without glasses or contacts) puts two pairs of glasses on the table.

One of them, would be mine.

And they would be snapped right in half.

What. The. Freak!

The second pair is a very, very ugly super square framed Vogue monstrosity with clear sides. Nothing I would EVER pick out for myself.

 And they now hold my lenses.

What. The. Freak.

She tells me they managed to get my lenses into the new frames since she broke my original pair of tortoiseshell (classic shape, classic style--which is WHY I BOUGHT THEM)...and they won't charge me for these new frames.

You are damn right you not charging me for those ugly ass glasses.

And I didn't even get my exam.

Nope. Sure didn't.

The breaking of my glasses was the straw that broke this camel's back. I told them I would contact my insurance company and re-schedule my exam..but that I was not going to pay 150.00 for something that is free to me because I already pay for it by having health insurance.

And no, actually. I'm not going back there. Ever.

So I guess the hunt is one for a new insurance approved place to go to ASAP.

Or I'll get one of those creepy eye cruds and will be blind forever!

Miracles! They do happen (or how a so-so day turned AWESOME!)

Well...do wonders never cease?

No. They do not.

The day was fairly ho-hum (with the exception of Bret Michaels being on the cover of People this week...what would reality TV have done without him? Be grateful kids...seriously!). On the way home from work, I had to stop off and do some Wedding and Mother's Day shopping (Done!! Check that off the list!). So I'm driving towards home on 465..and what do I see?

A squirrel.

A running squirrel.

A running squirrel crossing three lanes of traffic moving at 65 + miles per hour.

A running squirrel WHO MADE IT ACROSS ALL THREE LANES! His little tail was haulin it! Me, being the superstitious girl that I am, took it as a good omen. May the force be with you little squirrel...you've earned it!

So after witnessing this miracle, as I was strolling through the aisles of Wal-Mart (not my first choice most days--but I'm a fan of shopping off the registry. Get people what they want and there is no awkward, lying through the teeth of "Oh--a crystal ashtray held up on a stand of naked woodland nymphs. How did you know that is EXACTLY what we needed?") I also needed some milk, so I strolled towards the grocery aisle...

And that's where I saw them.

Are you ready for this? Cause I sure wasn't. Be still my heart, but what did my eye spy sitting on a shelf like a little gift from the universe?

Oreos. But not just any Oreos. Oreos filled with OREO BLIZZARD CREAM!

Holy shit..I think I could have died of happiness right then and there. Now, I'm not usually a cookie buyer (not a sweets person, really), but Oreos? And Blizzards? Shut up. I'm powerless to resist the call of these little delights. And trust me people--they are all you could hope for and more. I'm just sad that one serving of these little angels is only two cookies. But I was good...I only ate three (hey--I'm not made of stone!).

So I get home and unload my booty, haul it up the stairs and what's waiting for me?

Why a little gift from Amazon.com! Jen Lancaster's newest book, My Fair Lazy!



Oh!! Happy piglet am I! I think I squealed. A lot.

I have no shame.

The only hard part about this?

I'm going to save it for a little bit later in the month...so I can enjoy it properly.


And I might even have some Oreos left to go with it! Joy of joys : )

Too bad I can't feel my face (or the perils of dental work..)

Say...you know what's NOT a good idea?

Going out in public and attempting to talk to people immediately following dental work. After I got my cleaning about two weeks ago, it was discovered that not only do I have crap teeth that require prescription toothpaste (30 smackers a tube for 3 times the flouride....stupid, stupid teeth), but I also had two tiny spots that needed to be fixed on two of my bottom teeth.

And of course, they were toward the front.

So when I went in this afternoon, I got more than my fair share of numbing, but was basically in and out a lot faster than I thought I would be.

Since I didn't have rush hour traffic to drive through, I decided to look at the garden center at Lowe's out on 334. (And yes...I did buy a hanging basket of impatients. I'm a sucker, what can I say. And they were only seven dollars. Isn't getting needles stuck in my gums worth at least that?)

Um. Not my brightest idea.

As I write this, I STILL cannot feel the lower half of my face. My bottom lip feels like it could the the size of a car tire. I bet you could punch me in the mouth right now and it wouldn't hurt a bit. However, we would  most likely no longer be friends. Trust me..this WOULD hurt you.

Back to my meanderings at Lowe's.

Since I can't really feel my face, this means I can't really talk. I mean I can, but it's really ugly. It sounds like I've had a stroke. Or two. Or maybe it just sounds like I drink a lot. (A LOT!) Whatever the case may be, I frightened a perfectly nice high school aged boy when I tried to thank him for my change. It was probably the combination of stroke speech and unmoving mouth that creeped him out. (But hey! It wasn't ME picking my nose waiting for customers at the cash register. Thankfully, he had the decency not to use that hand in giving my back my change. Thank god for small favors, eh?)

I'm getting ready to take off to walk the canal downtown..and maybe when I'm done with my stroll, I will be able to feel my face again.

It's a beautiful day--so who can ask for more than that?

Nothing a little eye candy can't fix!

Well, actually sweating my ass off multiple times a week and contorting myself into various poses that are reportedly in some places called "lunges" is what it's going to take to "fix" me.

I've got the Spring Time "I don't want to be at home and act like a grown up and take care of my house!" bug. And unless it involves being outside and planting flowers, I'm not doing much of it.


However, I have made my bed for like a week straight. Every morning. I know. This shocks even me.(This kind of thing got me an allowance when I was like eight. $.25 a day! Woo-hoo!) I'm actually beginning to wonder what is happening to me? And now I'm ready to re-do my bedroom. Bought paint samples and everything. I'm going to be doing some drawings to see how I want my furniture to go in the room. (Okay. Wait a second. Me? Thinking something through? Beforehand? Seriously--this might be a sign of the Apocalypse. Don't say you haven't been warned!)


But..let's get back to the eye candy.

It's a beautiful day and I plan to take full advantage. That's why after I leave work today I'm heading downtown, meeting up with people and "strolling" (which is code for busting my hump) along the canal. I have it on very good authority that boys from IUPUI do lots of running on said canal--sans shirts. (Thank you, thank you, thank you!) Let's hope it's all it has been hyped to be, or I may forgo the exercise for a few beers and some nachos.

Which is definitely NOT on my diet plan for today. (What is? Why that would be my homemade roasted chicken salad with walnuts, grapes, and a tad bit of tarragon and thyme. Toss with light mayo and fat free sour cream--and voila! Delish. Just be proud that I didn't buy super yummy butter filled croissants to put it on...and I won't say I wasn't tempted.)

Sigh. Yes. I've jumped right back on the wagon. Measuring portions, weighing things out (including myself...sigh) and just generally getting back into the groove of daily exercise. Which isn't bad, mind you, it's just that my body is weeping--and begging me to just "sit our ass down on the couch and watch Tivo!". Sorry body, gotta keep moving. Hence why I need a tad bit more motivation on this Tuesday afternoon. (I skipped yesterday. I didn't get home until after nine. But I did run up and down the basement stairs at Butler roughly fifteen times-that counts. Sort of.) So what if it takes good looking half naked men to get me up and going--at least I am!

However, I am in need of new shoes--and I'm torn. New Balance or Adidas? (I don't wear Nike. Period.) Decisions, decisions......

And maybe if I do sweat enough-I can have some of the BEST ICE CREAM EVER. Blue Bell is now for sale at Meijer in Indy! This brings me back to my days as a kidlet in Houston....and put the biggest smile on my face. Half a gallon? Who cares! I'll take it!

Now. Who is going to keep this stuff under lock and key away from me?

It's a BIG night in Naptown!!

Ooooh. How freaking excited am I today?

And for good reason: tonight at 9:21 pm, the Butler Bulldogs are going to start beating the tar out of those Blue Devils from Duke. And am I the only one that thinks of deviled ham when I see Duke's mascot? And what exactly is a "Blue Devil"? Is it just Satan sitting in some heavy air conditioning? Feel free to let me know.

Interesting tidbit: the only team in the Tournament that had a better graduation rate at 96% than Butler's 94%? Duke. See??? Some programs remember why those kids are there in the first place: TO GET A DAMN EDUCATION! So I have to respect them for that...but that doesn't mean I have to like them....
And hey Brad Stevens and co--next year let's get that back up to 100%--where it was when I was in school, shall we?

Even though I put in close to 70 hours last week--it was totally worth it. To see all the alumns, students, fans so excited was amazing. So many people were around just checking the school out, too. Guess what? I still highly recommend it. Pretty campus, fantastic instructors who push you to go above and beyond--because they know you can do better, great sense of community (but not in a hokey barfy kind of way), and more importantly, a real chance at finding out what you love and who you are. Oh! And actually being supported by friends that you will have for the rest of your life--the icing on the cake. I will be a Butler Girl forever. Don't like it? Suck it. (I didn't say a nice Butler Girl, did I?) I'm close to bursting with pride for my little school that could....bring on the big boys--we can handle it, no problem!

So tonight--wish us luck! Trust me, if Saturday is any indication--I will be crying either way. (I can't believe it. I cried. In public. See? My tear ducts do work.)

Something else I recommend? Pre-ordering Jen Lancaster's newest book My Fair Lazy:

There was also a web film thingy that she did that you can check out here:

http://www.amazon.com/gp/mpd/permalink/m3KAKABCVR1EBX

If you haven't read any of Jen's stuff--get thee to a bookstore or library STAT! Me? I'm counting down the days until May 4th!

But--most important for today: GO DAWGS!!

We'll sing the Butler war song,

We'll give a fighting cry;

We'll fight the Butler battle--

Bulldogs ever do or die.

And in the glow of the victory firelight,

Hist'ry cannot deny

To add a page or two

For Butler's fighting crew

Beneath the Hoosier sky.

OhmygodOhmygodOhmygod!!!

Okay--so I am a HUGE Butler Basketball fan. It's hard not to be when you actually went to school there (Ooohh all these people jumping on the bandwagon---I guess it's good for business but super annoying for those of us who have been here all along. Growl.) If you really want to learn a TON about my dear old alma mater--check out George Waller's book. It's a tome for sure, but jam packed of fun Butler tidbits.

Needless to say--this has been a crazy exciting past few days. And yes--I would sell my soul for some tickets, but I will make do with watching on TV. (This way there is no way that I can make a total fool of myself in public either screaming like a banshee or crying like a big fat baby.) And watching on TV means I can have beer. Which is good. And probably some chicken wings. This, buddies, is even better. (Time to splurge...seriously, how many times does YOUR team make it to the Final Four??? I think I should do what I can to enjoy this.)

However, depending on how the game goes, I may have to switch to something stronger to keep me going. We shall see. And if they win? Well--I will be running around downtown Indy like a crazy person. And thankfully, I won't be the only one!

There is going to be a pep rally downtown on the circle tomorrow at noon (sniff...I can't go), so if you are downtown--check it out! I'm sure it will be a good time. There will also be a practice session at Lucas on Friday from noon to 12:50 pm (again--can't go) if you are lucky enough to be downtown and free from work this upcoming Good Friday. Not me...sigh.

So I'm keeping my fingers crossed for the boys in Blue playing on their home court (well--sort of) Saturday at 6:07 pm. CBS. Watch it. I will know if you don't. And I will find you. Especially if they lose. It will be all your fault.

You can't OD on cough syrup...can you?

And I don't mean the good kind...with codeine (That I can't take anyway--stupid allergies to all the good narcotics! This is why I don't do drugs....well, sort of.) that will give me sweet dreams. I mean generic CVS TussinDM that causes me to wake up at 2 am and pray that sleep will once again sweep over me once I slide down a Mucinex/Cough Syrup/Naproxin cocktail--. Yea baby..that's how mama rolls these days. And yes, bitches, coughing HURTS when you do it all your waking hours--and sleeping ones for that matter.

Two weeks. Two weeks of this shit. Bah! I'm officially a mouth breather (yuck) day and night. My lips are so chapped..I want to cry. I'm drinking my weight in liquids (see reference to "mouth breathing"), and hacking up things that came from only god knows where. Actually, I do know from where--which makes it even more scary. "THAT came out of MY LUNGS?!?!" Not to mention the river o slime that is currently pouring out of my head. My poor nose...I'm looking more and more like W.C. Fields everyday.

Tres sexy, no?

I was certainly hoping that the miracle of antibiotics would speed up my recovery. Instead, it would seem, it just sped up my decline into snottiness. Boo. To. This. The only day in the last few weeks that I have felt human? St. Patrick's Day--so thank you universe for that one. And I wasn't even out late cause everyone had to get up and go to work the next day.

Being a grown up sucks, you know it?

But, being sick has meant I have been holed up at home--so here are some things you should definitely check out:

Chelsea Handler's new book: Chelsea Chelsea Bang Bang--Loved it! Fantastic! It almost makes me wish I could pop pills and chug booze like she does. However, yours truly would never appear half so adorable as Ms. Handler. More like a homeless person is my guess...methinks, however, money makes all the difference. Hmmmm.....

Julie Powell--Cleaving. I have loved Julie since I read Julie and Julia (She's a kind of crazy bitchy girl...who likes good food, decent (mostly) wine, has cats and loves to cook, she's kind of like me. But she's got a sweet husband who puts up with her.), but after this--I love her even more. I get it. Hopefully many of you out won't have first hand knowledge of the Bell Jar antics of our heroine--but give her a chance, please? And you will learn a lot about butchery. Yes. You read correctly. Butchery.

And since I think I will be too sick to enjoy my days off this week...I will probably be doing more reading. There are worse things, but I really wanted a mini road trip. Sigh.

Moving Schmoving...

At least I got to go to the movies first and enjoy some of my weekend! (Yea for the Philadelphia Story at the Artcraft Theater...go here: http://www.historicartcrafttheatre.org/home.html
to see if there's anything that floats your boat for the 2010-2011 Season. (Gone With the Wind? Yes please. South Pacific? Sign me up! Oh and THIS April 23rd and 24 they are showing Breaking Away...c'mon, you know you want to go see it!)

So after the movie, I head out with my buddy to have a few drinks. Since downtown was going to be a clusterfuck of madness due to the Big Ten, we headed to Ripple.

Sigh.

Let's just say that when 22 year old boys have lots to drink they become friendly with me. Apparently they are the only form of human male who thinks me not only "pretty" (And my hair got stroked...a lot. Weird, I know..I'm not an Irish Setter, but who can explain these things), but witty and charming, too. See--booze does work miracles : ) Get home, plop into bed and think about getting up the next day to help mom and dad "finish" up the moving.

OH. DEAR. GOD.

Let me preface this by saying that when I stopped by on Thursday to see how it was going, I was shocked. Kitchen? Not touched. Basement? Ditto. Clothes packed? Bathroom? Garage (which still *shudder* is no where near done....and they sign over on FRIDAY)? Ha ha ha! And the movers were coming the next morning at 8 am. Silly me thinking they would whip through stuff and very little would need to be done.

So I get there at 10 am...and I get home after taking seven loads of stuff to the laundry mat (How fast was that? One hour and all the stuff was done. If it wasn't such a pain in the ass and so freaking expensive...note to self: when you make big monies and strike it really rich--install your own laundry mat in your house. Why has no one else thought of this? Seriously people!), hit the grocery to actually have food that people will eat, and then had to pick up my house because the rents are staying with me on Saturday night.

So we can start the whole thing over on Sunday.

My parents, it would seem, move at the speed of snail. Granted, they are both sick (with the same crap I have it would seem), but c'mon people. Yes--they sold the house uber fast, and only had two weeks to get things together...but that's two weeks. Two. Weeks. If it were me? Everything would have been ready to go come Friday. I couldn't help it, by Sunday I was in Drill Sargent mode (the kitchen still needed to be finished--argh!) and if I didn't take charge, my head was going to explode. Hmm. Maybe I should have militarized. I seem to be good at it...

"I know you are my parents--but listen up..." is how it began. "There is still a lot to do here, so we are now officially in divide and conquer mode. Mom--stay downstairs. DO NOT come upstairs until it is done. I will finish the kitchen. Dad--this ridiculousness of buying a handful of boxes at a time? Over. Go buy EXACTLY what I have down on this list. No groaning--just do it. And remember: I'm the one who decides when it is time for you two to go to the home, and there's no one to fight me. Don't push me or I'll do it now and then we won't have to deal with this anymore!"

And this is how we moved every single time. I'm not kidding you. Scrambling around to the last minute to get everything done and taken care of. Except my stuff. After I was seven, I wouldn't let them pack my stuff anymore and moving day(s) consisted of me sitting on my boxes..hoping they all got on the truck. At about 12, I got to play referee and separate the two of them to keep them from killing each other (moving makes my normally laid back father a tad bit cranky..something mom, the instigator, like to take advantage of) and to crack the whip to keep them in line to make sure it freaking got done. The only good thing about this move? For the first time EVER, the rents finally hired movers! So I wasn't loading up the back of U-haul and driving a giant truck up to Atlanta. Thank god for small favors.


It should also be mentioned that when I moved out of my family home (as it were) in 2003 for good, I had moved, with my parents, a total of 13 times.

Thirteen times. I attended seven different school systems (that's not counting schools in them) in 12 years. Hell--people, you are lucky I'm as normal as I am.
So guess who hates moving???

Needless to say, there are two reasons for getting my out of my current locale: Death or Marriage. Let's see which one comes first, shall we??

As Etta James would say....

.....at last

Baseball season--it's here! My boys take on the Pirates today down in Florida. And yes--I would give my left arm for a few days down with the Grapefruit League (even if it is not that much warmer down there than it is here right now). And on March 14th? First F1 race of the season! Spring is finally here! Hooray!!

That's the good news.

The bad news? I have found myself swamped in the last week. S.W.A.M.P.E.D. Of course, it's my own making, so I really have no reason to complain. I just wish the rest of the month was shaping up to be more of the same.

(And even though it's officially March--it is still freaking freezing in Naptown. Hurry up warm weather! I want to actually go outside and spend more than the five seconds it takes me to get into my car! I want to drive with the windows down and not freeze my bullocks off--is this so much to ask?)

My first newsletter for the LWV? Done. Doesn't look too bad either. Thankfully all the swearing at the computer (and myself) and the gallons of coffee I downed came to a good end. Yea! One small victory in the "done" pile.

Inventory was last week at work...and so now I get to play the always fun "put the sales floor back together" game. Some years I actually enjoy this. This year..it's taken me a day or two to even get in the mood to even start. Something must be in the water cause I just cranked it out in about half an hour. Another thing finished. I better watch out...I just might go home and finish stuff there, too...

(Can you hear my hysterical laughter at this notion? Thought so.)

The highlight of my previous week was the waffle maker that I purchased. And St. Pat's socks. Too bad it took me more than one try to make something edible--with the waffle maker--not the socks. Note to self: Highest setting!!! And the ready light DOES actually turn off when it's done. That stupid little instruction book is a dirty, dirty liar. And when all works right--it's heaven.

There was also dinner with Laura and Carmen. The Chekov play that we went to see, however--hmmm. I think Carmen summed it up best "I know it's not supposed to be funny--but it is. You know, like Gone with the Wind." (I have to let you know that Carm thinks GWTW is quite possibly one of the funniest movies ever made. And even though Scarlett O'Hara is my hero-I have to agree with Carmen on this one.) Laura actually fell asleep towards the end. Thank god that thing was only 2 hours long...in the original version it was over three and half hours long. Shooting me in the face would be preferable to sitting through that again...and especially for any longer period of time. Other than the horrid story, it really wasn't too bad. The costumes were fun, anyway.

And you know what goes well with a Belgian waffle and bacon on a random Tuesday night? A White Russian...yum. The dinner of champions.

Argh...my life! Oh--and some stuff about yogurt...

So I'm laying in bed this morning....and I don't want to get up. Not even the tuna-morning-breath-funk that is Jeter breathing in my face got me motivated (Usually it motivates me to pick up his fuzzy ass and toss him out the door to allow myself "just 15 minutes" more of sleep. Har har.). Yogi bouncing up and down on my head and pulling my hair, however, seemed to do the trick.

But I really didn't want to move, actually. "Why bother?" I think to myself..."it's just the same old crap, day after day, week after week, year after year...". There was also: "And if I could just teleport these cats out of here...and WHY didn't I ever invest in one of those autofeeder thingies? My life would be so much easier in the mornings..."

Needless to say--I need a change of something, and I just don't know what yet. And no. I do not think the autofeeder thing will actually make my life easier...but it's a nice thought, eh?

(Obviously, I also got up and went to work. Not because I wanted to, but, well, someone has to pay my bills.)

I blinked and it was January..now it's almost freaking March. Is there anyway to slow down the clock? Seriously people..I'm not ready to for 2010 to be a quarter of the way over already!

Soooo, to pull myself out of my doldrums, I pre-ordered Chelsea Handler's new book on Amazon. (Yes-I work for a bookstore. No, not even my discount is THAT good.), but it won't be here until the week of March 15th. This, at least, gives me something to be happy about. It never fails--I forget I ordered something, and then it arrives and makes me as happy as a school girl.

Clearly I also forget I was also the one who paid for my own present, or I wouldn't be so damn excited. DUR.

I have to get up at the butt crack of dawn tomorrow----Yea for Inventory! (Actually--Yea for not having to be at work all day and maybe, just maybe, not being totally abused by the doctor's office. Boo, however, for having to have more blood work done because my first draw was sketch...and just to make sure I'm not dying of some weird freaky deeky disease, I get to go back and get stuck again.) And then I get to have a dose of culture. The Cherry Orchard is being put on at Butler--so a few of us are going...but first we get dinner at the Aristocrat..yum. Strongbow on tap!

Also something to be happy about? Yours truly is NOT working the day after March 17th.

Let that sink in, will ya. If you were me, wouldn't you be happy about this?

Yes. Yes you would be.

And a word of warning:

While not exactly a connoisseur of anything, really, I do know my way around Yogurt. Fruit on the bottom (my favorite), mixed up with bits in it, soy yogurt (NOT my favorite), fro-yo, and yummy, yummy extra think fat free Greek Yogurt (Trader Joe's is the best for smoothies--hands down! ). Now. Dannon and Yoplait, the giants of the American Yogurt Market have entered into the Greek Yogurt niche. My take? Dannon--with the fruit on the bottom (real fruit--and not too sweet) was pretty good. Yoplait? WTF Yopliat? WTF? Your "greek" yogurt may be one of the foulest things I have ever put in my mouth--and I've dated a lot of douchey guys...so that's saying something. Really. It was wallpaper paste with a pink tint that made me think of that stuff they put in your mouth for dental molds. Seriously people: Stay away from this crap! Unless you want to feed it to someone you don't like..and then, by all means--buy away....