Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Reason #897 that my office-mate rocks.

Him: You are wearing socks today.

Chick: Yes, it's cold.

Him: Yes, I know that. But your socks are pink.

Chick: So?

Him: But your sweater is red.

Chick: Well, if you look closely (taking off shoes and sticking socked foot in co-workers face) you will see that these socks have red and blue and pink and white polka-dots on them. Therefore they match.

Him: Not really.

Chick: Okay, not really.

Several moments of working pass.

Chick: Heh. My socks don't match my shirt.

Him: Sadly, you are probably still the hottest woman here. What with the engineers and all.

Good times. Good times.

I have no idea what I'm doing.

Officially, I became a mom on March 21st, 1998.

In reality, I'm still an utterly clueless individual who's trying to figure out things as she goes along. So far, it's worked out okay. By okay, I mean that no one has ever called CPS on me. That I know of. But honestly, I'm frequently amazed at how much I have left to learn.

Last night when Boy Child gets a nosebleed, what do I do?

I say:


Then, predictably, boy child begins to panic. Because, you know, when the person who pays the mortgage doesn't know what the crap to do, then there might be a problem.

Quickly, I say:

"Um, I's not so bad?"

Boy child rolled his eyes at me and went into the bathroom calling over his shoulder, "I'm going to get some toilet paper now."

I followed him in. He sat on the toilet and I sat on the basket of dirty towels (do towels really get dirty? I mean, we just use them to dry off after we shower. I presume we are clean once we get out of the shower, yes?) in front of him.

A flash of brilliance came to me!

"I'll go get the peanut butter!" I proclaimed.

"No thanks," said Boy Child. "I'm not really hungry."

"I think peanut butter stops nosebleeds though," I said.

Boy Child looked at me skeptically.

"Oh, no wait. It stops hiccups. I think."

Boy child began to laugh. Presumably at my stupidity.

I said, "Never mind. I suck at this being a mom thing."

Boy child said, very thoughtfully, "No, no. You're a good mom. You're the nicest mom ever. Even though you say lots and lots and lots and lots of bad words."

"Awww...thanks," I responded.

"Also, you're bad at math," he went on.

"Okay, Boy Child, I think I get it-"

"And your science skills are questionable!" called Girl Child, from the hall where she was listening in.

I sat silently, on top of a pile of wet towels, trying not to laugh.

Boy Child looked at me earnestly and said, "But really, really, really. You're a good mom."

That's good enough for me.

Tuesday, January 30, 2007

100 things.

I kind of jumped into this blogging thing with both feet and sort of just started talking without ever really saying a whole lot about myself.

BAHAHAHAHA! I know! I talk about myself ALL THE TIME.

But anyway. I've seen these 100 things on practically everyone's blog, so I thought I would do one. I probably could have thought of more, but I wouldn't allow myself so I wouldn't look at my own blog later and be all like, "GAH. I'M SUCH A TOOL."


1. I was born and lived the first twenty-two years of my life in East Tennessee.
2. When I was twenty-two I moved to North Carolina.
3. I moved back to East Tennessee when I was twenty-eight, almost twenty-nine. Yes, voluntarily.
4. I became a mother at the age of twenty-two.
5. I had a set of twins.
6. They are a boy and a girl.
7. No, one of them is not evil.
8. I credit most of who I am as a person to my children.
9. I’m the third of four children.
10. I have two sisters and one brother.
11. I don’t see any of them very often.
12. My parents are both still living and are still married to each other after almost thirty-eight years.
13. I also have two living grandmothers and one living great-grandmother.
14. I love my nieces and nephews almost as much as my own children.
15. My first crush was on a boy named Ben Fields.
16. He had blue eyes.
17. He was a nice boy. I hope he’s very happy now.
18. I don’t see or hear from almost anyone I went to high school with. I’m cool with that.
19. I used to be a credit counselor.
20. I had that job for almost five years.
21. To date, it was the worst job I’ve ever had.
22. My first husband left me when I was pregnant with the twins.
23. I haven’t seen or heard from him in so many years it’s been to long to even remember when the last time was.
24. He has nothing to do with my children.
25. That’s the only good thing he’s ever done for them- left them alone.
26. I have trouble remembering what he looks like. I don’t know if I’d recognize him if I saw him.
27. I got remarried when I was twenty-seven.
28. My husband was also twenty-seven and he had never been married.
29. People in Eastern NC told me that my husband was either gay or a child molester because he was twenty-seven and had never been married.
30. My husband has a very small family.
31. Everyone in my husband’s family hates me.
32. My husband has no contact with his family (see #31). He has not seen or talked with them voluntarily for over two years.
33. That fact makes me profoundly sad, but only for selfish reasons.
34. I just got a “promotion” of sorts at work.
35. My title is now, “Environmental Specialist”
36. I drive an SUV.
37. I secretly want to be a writer.
38. When I was younger I had poetry published.
39. I couldn’t write a poem now to save my life.
40. I write things all the time and I’m afraid to send them to publishers.
41. When I was twenty-one I sent a lot of stories to magazines and they all got rejected.
42. I still have all of the rejection letters.
43. I read them sometimes.
44. I kept a diary starting when I was seven and ending maybe two years ago.
45. I don’t keep a diary now. I just blog.
46. My wedding day was one of the worst days of my life.
47. Everything that could have gone wrong, did.
48. My mother-in-law wore a black dress.
49. My great-grandmother was completely appalled.
50. I’ve never been on an airplane in my life.
51. I’m not afraid of them, mind you, it just costs a lot and I’ve always been able to drive wherever I was going.
52. I received my B.S. in December 2006.
53. I was thirty-one.
54. I thought I would be the oldest person at my graduation, but I wasn’t.
55. I don’t regret going back to school. Not for one second.
56. I’m an overachiever and really tried to make straight A’s in college.
57. While working full-time.
58. And raising two kids.
59. And making my husband happy.
60. And running a Girl Scout troop.
61. Mostly, I succeeded.
62. I have almost no memories of my childhood.
63. Except for my dog. Gator.
64. Gator killed chickens from our neighbor’s farm and my dad had to give him away.
65. I cried. A lot.
66. I have a dog now named Ginger.
67. I call Ginger my furry baby.
68. I have secondary infertility, so she’s the only baby I get to have.
69. I had a miscarriage in 2000.
70. I feel like a failure because I can’t give my husband a biological child.
71. He doesn’t care, he loves the kids I already had.
72. Still, it doesn’t seem fair.
73. One of my favorite books from when I was a child was The Outsiders.
74. I think I would still love that book today.
75. I read a lot of self-help type books now that I’m an adult.
76. I also read a lot of books about serial killers. I know, I know. I like to know what makes people tick. And true stories are always more interesting than fake ones.
77. I love Mexican food to the depths of my soul.
78. My husband hates it, so we never have it.
79. When I was thirteen I had a pair of pink underwear that I was saving to wear when I went out on my first date with Ben Fields.
80. He never asked me, so I never, ever wore them.
81. I thought they were pretty, not that I would, you know, show them to him or anything.
82. I cannot spell the word “embarrassed” to save my life. Spell check corrected it for me just now.
83. Same thing with “available” I always confuse one of the letters.
84. Thank God for spell-check.
85. I’m a very spiritual person, but I don’t consider myself very religious.
86. I think God really, really likes me.
87. Also, he thinks I’m funny.
88. I can identify any Brady Bunch episode within 15 seconds.
89. I can usually tell you the actual name of the episode also.
90. I have at least four pillows on my bed that are for my use only.
91. I love the television program Law and Order. All of them.
92. I used to work at McDonalds, when I was in high school.
93. People I worked with made fun of me and called me “rich girl” because I could speak proper English.
94. I am terrified of birds.
95. I really like to move. I’d move every two years if possible.
96. I want to move to Texas next and I think we’ll get to because of my husband’s job.
97. I’m really proud of my husband and children. They are the best things in my life.
98. I love pecan pie almost as much as I love breathing. I almost never eat it though.
99. I hate my neighborhood and I hate the vast majority of the people who live in my neighborhood.
100. I am really bad about calling people. I really need to work on that.

Monday, January 29, 2007

Making progress. Or not.

Back about a month ago, I made the following goals for myself to celebrate the New Year and whatnot. I thought I would do a little check in to see how I'm doing today.

1) I want to be a better wife.
Okay, I'm not really sure how I'm doing on this one. Because, on one hand, I try really hard to be a good wife and friend and all that crap, but also? I'm still just kind of wildly inappropriate all the time. Like last night, we were going to go to this Japanese restaurant? And we get there and there's a forty-five minute wait and we didn't make reservations. Okay, honestly? With two eight year kids around? How many times do we go places that require reservations? If you said almost never then you are the winner. You don't get a prize though, sorry. I'm a low-budget blog.

Okay, so anyway, we go to this other restaurant that's kind of quiet and out of the way, but it's still a big chain restaurant. It was really high class too, the guy at the table across from us burped really loud when he was done with his dinner. But anyway, our waitress was a really, really sweet girl.

On the way home I said:
"Our waitress, she was really nice. I think she's probably about my age. She probably married her boyfriend immediately out of high school, he does some kind of manual labor, and they have two or three kids. She's never lived anywhere but here and she never will because her entire family is here and she can't imagine living away from them. She doesn't have any education beyond high school, not that there is anything wrong with that, but her parents never encouraged her before so that is how she ended up being a waitress instead of her dream of becoming an x-ray technician."

Jason looked at me, befuddled and said, "You got all that from the two times she refilled your Diet Coke?"

Eh. I l just like to give everyone a back-story.

So, yeah. I probably need more work on being less annoying.

2) I want to work on my forgiveness skills.
I'd like to say that I'm doing better at this, but actually, I'm not. Not really. I'm still really angry about a lot of things that I have no control over. Which is not smart and really isn't helpful either.

So I need more work. Also, therapy.

3) Finish my novel
This one is the one I thought would be the easiest. I thought, stupidly, "I have this story in my head. I just have to put it on paper." Alas. Not so easy. It's still in my head but putting it on paper in such a way that would actually interest anyone and not make them, you know, fall asleep in their cornflakes, is actually much more difficult than I anticipated.

Also, I didn't realize the emotional impact it would have on me to relive a lot of what happened. I thought I was over it by now. I thought I had moved on. I have, in most ways. But sometimes, I write down something like, "My son, my little son, he wasn't moving. He wasn't breathing. I expected a rush of screaming, of tears, of...something. There was nothing. He was silent." And it all rushes back to me again and I have to stop and catch my breath.

So it's hard. I'm still dedicated, but it's hard.

4) Stop working so many jobs
I'm actually doing better at this. Last week I worked for only one company. I mean, I'm still doing two different jobs, but technically, I'm working ½ capacity at each, so it all balances out. I think this one is actually going to work out and I'm going to (eventually) feel more balanced.

5) Walk five hundred miles
I'm kind of embarrassed by this one. I'm still working at it, and trying my best. Unfortunately for most of January I had my girlie issues going on. I won't rehash that in great detail. Needless to say, I became quite anemic and am still feeling overly tired and weepy about the whole deal. But I'm still plugging away. I haven't quit. I won't quit. I'll get there. It might take me the entire year, but I'll get there.

Here is another one. I told you all I'd have more, right?

6) Start recognizing my own self-worth
This one has been, by far, the most difficult. I've always thought I was slightly less than nothing and I surrounded myself, for a long time, with people who were very happy to confirm that notion.

Now, I have a loving husband and two children who think I'm the shiznit. Also, I just got my degree and I have a great job. My weight isn't what I want it to be, but I'm working hard on that too.

I asked for a raise last week. I asked for a huge raise last week. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do, to speak to my boss and say, "I think I deserve $10,000 more a year."

Much to my surprise, he was okay with that and told me he would be happy to pay it to me, as long as the client agrees to my new, higher bill rate. I'm still waiting to find out, but I am SO proud of myself for saying, "This is what I need. Please give it to me."

You've got to start somewhere, right?

Sunday, January 28, 2007

Gettin' all political...

I enjoy politics, a lot. I like reading about them and I like learning about them. I've not always been this way.

In 2004 I took a government class at college and I learned more about politics than I ever have in my entire life, anywhere, and for any reason. To this point my political experience was based on the following: My mom and dad are Republicians and expect me to be a Republican. I remember making posters for Ronald Reagan as a little girl. Pretty much the rest of my family is Democrats. So we don't talk politics at family functions. But that's about it.

I had a really excellent teacher for that class. One who didn't let his personal feelings influence our debates, which is rare in a college setting these days. Also, the class was at 8am on a Saturday morning so it was usually just me and him who showed up and we talked a lot.

I still haven't decided if I'm a Republican or Democrat. As a middle child I feel it's important to see all sides of the issue. Also, I'm a total fence straddler and I don't like to hurt people's feelings. So it makes it hard to be definitive on most issues. Very few issues get me really, really spun up. Some do, but honestly it takes a lot.

I have a lot of friends/acquaintances that are young women between the ages of twenty-five to thirty-five. As expected, Hillary and her White House run has become a big topic of conversation as of late. What was UNEXPECTED, to me at least, was the number of women who immediately said, "Of course I'm voting for Hillary! She's a woman!"

Um, okay. But do you know what her political platform is? Do you know what she stands for and what she believes in? Do you know what her plan is for reform (because, Lord knows, we could use from reform up around in here)?

Well, NO. But's SHE'S A WOMAN.

Okay, so the fact that she doesn't have a penis is the only reason you are voting for her? The hell? I mean, okay, let's put convicted child murderer Susan Smith on the stand! She has a vagina as well, therefore she'd be an excellent candidate!

I'm being ridiculous, you say? Okay, well vote for me! I have a college degree and I'm funny and somewhat intelligent and I can balance my own checkbook like nobody's business. I have never been in jail and I don't do drugs. Plus, I don't have a penis and that's what you're looking for, right?

Sound ridiculous?

Yeah, that's kind of my point.

If you want to vote for someone, please do the research. I'm not saying Hillary is a bad candidate. I don't KNOW if she is or not. I haven't done the research yet on her, or any of the candidates. So do the research and then vote. If it ends up being Hillary that's great. But only if it's because you are making an informed decision based on the facts. Don't vote for someone MERELY based upon their genitals.

Thank you.

Vote or die. Or whatever.

Saturday, January 27, 2007

I look great for my age!

Because, you know, my son told his teacher that I'm FIFTY-ONE.

She said, "I hope you don't mind me saying this, but you look GREAT for your age!"
I, flattered, replied, "Oh! Thank you! I was so worried about going into my thirties!"
Her face began to turn red, "Oh. Um. I'm so sorry. Boy Child told me you were fifty-one."

He can't do math in his head either.

Friday, January 26, 2007

The one about the marriage license.

I'm feeling nostalgic and romantic these days what with the children reminding me every thirty seconds that Valentine's day is upon us (I think the school system is in on this marketing ploy, honestly) and asking me, "Who is your Valentine? You can tell us. We won't tell Daddy!" So today I'll tell you the story about the day we went to get our marriage license.

It was July, 2003. We went to the courthouse to get the license in anticipation of our upcoming wedding, which was held on July 12th. We went at around 10am, it seems like. Fortunately both of us had jobs that were pretty liberal with our time off (read: he was self-employed and my boss worked in a different state so she didn't know if I was at work or not...hehe!). Anyway, we parked, walked through the building (which was set up like a maze) and went into the office that had a big sign on the door that said, "MARRIAGE LICENSES"

We went in and stood at the counter. There were seven people behind the counter. All of them looked up at us, but no one made any move to "serve" us.

Jason said, "Excuse me! Can we get some help here?"
One of the women looked at us in disgust and horror, rolled her eyes and then pointed to a sign on the counter.

The sign said: Please sign in and then take your seat in the hall.

We both looked at each other and then looked around the empty office. Literally, I'm not kidding, we were the only people there.

Jason said, "Excuse me? Can't you just help us?"
The same woman who had pointed said, "No. You have to sign in and then go take your seat in the hall. We'll call you when we are ready for you."
Jason, looking exasperated said, "But we're the only ones HERE."
The woman looked frantic, "But you have to sign in and go take your seat! That's the way we do it!"

We signed our names on the register and took our seat in the hall. The seat was immediately outside the door.

Less than 15 seconds after our butts hit the seat, they called our names. I'm not kidding.

We go back in and they give us a form to fill out and direct us to...guess where? Back out in the hall!

Why they couldn't just GIVE US THE FORM and have us take a seat without having to call us, I have never figured out.

Anyway, we go back out into the hall and begin to fill out our form. Our conversation went much like this:

Chick: How is it that we've been dating for over three years, we've lived together for a year and a half, I've seen you naked and stuff and I had no idea what your dad's name was?

Jason: Dunno.

Chick: You never TOLD me what your dad's name was! And he was born in Yonkers New York! What? I totally never knew that!

Jason: I thought I told you that.

Chick: You never told me that. So you're like a long-term Yankee? How is this going to work?

Jason, sighing: I promise I will work on being more Southern, okay?

Chick: Okay. And you have to stop talking so fast.

Jason: If you promise to learn to make cheesesteaks.

Chick: And you have to stop laughing at the way I pronounce the word "right".

Jason: Well and you have to stop laughing about me telling the kids to "shove over".

Chick: You have a deal.

So we finished our paperwork (which also included him saying, "I never knew your dad's real name was Ira!") and took it back into the office. We were then told to, surprise!, give them the paperwork and go wait back in the hall.

We went back out and less than a minute later they called us back in. And made us stand there for no discernible reason while they talked about some television program they had seen the night before and how they liked it real good.

While standing there trying not to kill anyone, I noticed a large yellow sign on a placard that was bolted to the desk. It stated the following:


Okay, I started laughing. I could not stop laughing. I was holding my sides I was laughing so hard. I pointed it out to Jason and gasped, "I wish I had brought my camera!"

He, typically, did not think it was funny. "I think that's very sad Chick. Divorce is no laughing matter."

Which, of course, made me laugh even harder.

My laughter stirred some interest in a woman standing behind the counter and she came to tell me the reason they had that yellow placard in the office. Apparently several young couples "from over to the college" had come in after nights of drinking and decided the would get married. Once they sobered up, they realized that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to agree to spend the rest of your life with someone wearing a hat that says, "Rock out with your cock out!"

True dat.

Apparently, some of their parents had intervened and tried to come in and get their $50 or however much it was back.

Which made me laugh even harder. Because clearly, if you need your parents involved, you are TOTALLY ready to get married.

Finally, our license was ready. We took it, went back to work, and got married the next Saturday. Our rent-a-preacher signed the license and so did my mom and Jason's mom. The preacher was afraid to ask Jason's mom to sign it because she "clearly did not approve of the marriage."

But that's a story for another time.

Thursday, January 25, 2007

The guy with George Bush on his wall.

Wouldn't the title of this post make a great song sung by someone like, Panic at the Disco?

Edited to add: I put this entire story in my fantabulous book, so I took it off here.

Sad, I know.

Buy my book! :)

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

The Dating Game

The day I met my husband, I was really tired of dating.

See, my first husband walked out on me when I was, oh, I think about 10 weeks pregnant or so with the twins. That was in November, 1997. I didn’t date anyone until September, 1999. The primary reason for this wait was because I was still married to my first husband until then. Did you know you can’t get a divorce when you are pregnant in some states? Well, I didn’t either until then! (I mean, unless you are an attorney or know someone who is as unlucky as I felt I probably was at that time then you would probably have no reason to know that). But yeah. I just happened to live in one of those states. Then, even though I gave birth in March of 1998 (really early, yes, I know), my ex-husband continued to drag his feet on the divorce. Do you know why? He’s the laziest person ALIVE. I’m not kidding. He was too lazy to divorce me, when he’d been pushing for it the whole freaking time. Also, I moved out and took the kids and his girlfriend still hadn’t divorced her husband I suppose, and he didn’t have to pay child support and could do things like take Miss-I-have-a-huge-tattoo-on-my-inner-thigh-and-a-2-4-7-haircut-wanna-see to the beach without any fear of me or his BIOLOGICAL CHILDREN needing money for formula. I didn’t even WANT to get divorced and I had to call HIS attorney and ask them to move it along. I didn’t want to be stuck in a state of limbo either. It just wasn’t fair.

So anyway, I started dating. Okay, I fudged just a bit and went out on ONE date with ONE guy before my divorce was final on September 3rd, 1999. He took me out to eat at a Mexican restaurant. I had met this guy on the internet. He posted a picture on his website (this was before anyone had a blog) that was from when he was in high school. He was 34. He had gained well over 100lbs and lost pretty much all of his hair. No truth in advertising!

After that, I started dating another guy. He lived in a different city. We sent long steamy emails back and forth every day, several times a day. When we would meet, it would always be in my city or in the city in which he worked (but did not live). Anyone want to guess why?

Well, if you guessed he was married, you are clearly smarter than I was at that time because he was! Additionally, his wife was pregnant! Fantastic! I immediately kicked him to the curb and have never heard from him again. Okay, that’s a lie, this one time? A girl I was administering credit counseling to told me where she was from and since that was where he was from and since I’m a, you know, glutton for punishment or whatever, I asked if she knew him (it was one of those small North Carolina towns where if you fart with some velocity everyone in the town knows about it in a minute and a half). She told me he and his wife had THREE babies and seemed happy. Or whatever. Then, after that I never thought about him again. Not ever. Until today.

I then went out with a guy who was in the Army. He was a huge tool. Oh, sweet Lord. He was SUCH a HUGE tool. Good thing my self-esteem was so low or I would have never got to meet him. He was madly in love with a girl named Jennifer. Completely obsessed with her. She couldn’t stand him. Clearly, she was intelligent. He was dating lots of women, including me, because Jennifer rejected him. He made it quite clear that he was not looking for a serious relationship, only biding his time until Jennifer fell in love with him. Among his other more charming attributes:

1) He told my dad, who he had just met because my dad happened to be helping me work on my car that day, that he really needed to get him a job at his (my dad’s) company once he got out of the military and he would expect a starting salary of no less than $75,000 annually. This is a guy with a high school education and a couple of years of military experience living in a town where the average annual salary at the time was $28500. And he honest to God expected my dad, a man he had ONLY JUST MET, to come through with a job for him. Plus, he was a tool.
2) On our very first date he said, “Would you like to know how I rate you?” I said, “Um, okay.” He then told me he would place me at “average to slightly above average”. I then asked if he would like to know how I rated him. Surprisingly, he was not interested in my assessment. Plus, you know, he was a tool.
3) He would take me out to eat at really cheap places like Taco Bell or McDonalds when it was his turn to buy and then when it was my turn to buy he’d want to go to really expensive places. Even at reasonably priced places like Applebees or whatever, he’d order the most expensive item on the menu and a margarita the size of my head. He was completely aware that I was a single mother of two children. Plus, did I mention he was an enormous tool?
4) He told me he didn’t want to date me anymore via an instant message. The reason he didn’t want to date me was because he didn’t like the way I kept house. I asked him if he was aware of the fact that I had two children who were just under the age of two. He said he was. I asked him if he thought he could do any better with two children under the age of two, a full-time job, and two part-time jobs. He said he thought he could. He was a huge tool.
5) Immediately after telling me he didn’t want to date me anymore, he asked if we could move in together. I told him no that the places I was looking at were only 2 bedrooms. He said that he and I could share a bedroom and a bed, but there would be no sex involved. Damn skippy. I told him no and to leave me alone. God, he was such a huge tool.
6) One week later he showed up on my doorstep with a diamond ring and asked me to marry him. I said, “Why would I marry you? You don’t love me. And also, I hate you.”
He said he didn’t love me and he knew I didn’t love him, but I had these childbearing hips. He might have said something else, but I slammed the door in his face. Tool.
7) About nine months after that I got a wedding invitation from him. He was marrying a girl named Jennifer. Not THE Jennifer, another girl he had met and gotten pregnant. The invitation included a detailed registry as well as directions for this shindig which was being held several states away. I took the reply card and wrote a long, detailed message on the back about how I wanted him to leave me (the blank) alone and stop emailing me and stop sending me crap in the mail and how I couldn’t STAND him and he was SUCH A TOOL. I said something like, “WE ARE NOT FRIENDS. DO NOT SEND THIS CRAP TO ME.” Lord, have MERCY, he was a tool!

I never heard from him again. And I also grew a pair and stopped dating people like that. Well, okay, maybe I went out with this once. But if they showed any signs of toolishness, they were out the door immediately.

There were several more that I will save for another time, including a guy who had a large framed photograph of George Bush (the first one, not W) on the wall of his trailer and the guy who took me out for drinks the night before Hurricane Floyd. But suffice to say, I’m really happy I met Jason.

He’s totally not a tool.

The Public has a right to know.

Well then. That hot babe Bethany over at Ice Cream Mama tagged me. Cause she's awesome like that.

Once you have been tagged, you have to write a blog with 5 facts about yourself. Then choose 5 people you want to tag and list their names. Then leave a comment on their blog letting them know they've been tagged.

You guys know the drill.

1) I am pretty much what you would call obsessed with being on time. The very thought of not being on time for any event, ever makes me feel very antsy and nervous and want to physically harm people. I, for whatever reason, happened to marry an individual who will be late for his own funeral. Often, when it's important for us to be on time for something, I tell him that the event is actually 1/2 hour before it really is. That way, we can get there on time and I have the added bonus of making him feel just slightly guilty for taking so long grooming his eyebrows.

2) Everyone thinks I'm obsessed with my hair. I'm not. But I do think my hair is really, really pretty. I don't do anything to it ever except wash it and condition it. While I'm conditioning it I run my fingers through my hair to get any tangles out. Then I use a towel to dry. If it's really cold I'll run a blowdryer over it for a few minutes. But that's it. Seriously, I do nothing. My hair is my favorite part of me.

3) I think my job is really, really cool. Often I don't understand what the crap is going on, but I still think it's cool. Sometimes when I'm driving onto the site I think, "Holy crap. I work here. I rock!" Okay, that's not exactly what I think, but it's something really similar.

4) I've never been good at doing math, especially not math in my head. I've gotten much better at math since I've been an adult though and I've had to help my small children with their homework. I took Statistics (okay, I know it's different than say, Algebra, but work with me here) in college and made an A. When I got my report card I hung it on the fridge. I was thirty.

5) I am the first person in my family to have twins. My little sister will be the second.

Okay, now I'm tagging people! Hurray!

Please don't shoot me, My beloved M.
Get down with your bad self, Badger Baby
My little friend SJ
The Keeper of the Cheerios, a new read. Hi!
And this Oh My Sweet Lord cool chick, Angie. Hi Angie!

If you totally hate these, I'm really, really, really sorry. With cheese.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Love is a family.

This picture currently hangs on the wall of my office. It is a present from my little son. Check out my bodacious ta-tas! Also, he was very generous with Jason's hair. It's not really that thick and full in real life.

In an effort to not include a map of a secret place in my photograph, I cut off the top. Which is a heart that says, "I love you all."

I have bad days at work sometimes. Sometimes people yell at me for things that aren't my fault. Sometimes I have so much work to do I want to cry and cry and tell people to leave me alone and then cry some more.

When I have those days, I look up at our family and my bodacious ta-ta's and the world seems okay once again.

Engaged and Underage- Discuss.

As I've mentioned before, I grew up poor and we didn't have things like MTV or socks without holes in the toes, so since I'm an adult now I have good cable and lots and lots of socks. Warm ones.

I'm also interested in weddings. I'm not interested in weddings like some people are. You know like people who read wedding magazines every day since they were fourteen and book a church three years in advance when they don't have a boyfriend and things like that (which, hey, whatever floats your boat, it's just not for me). Mostly I'm interested in how weddings have seemed to blow up over the past few years and people are spending more and more money on them. It's fascinating to me. Probably because I used to be a credit counselor and this one time? This couple came in and they had been married for six months and they told me they had over $60,000 in credit card debt and she worked at Target and he worked for his dad. And I guess her parents had paid over $5000 of OTHER wedding expenses. And they wanted to buy a house. And her wedding dress cost more than my first car.

At the time I saw that young couple, Jason and I had just gotten married. We had a super small wedding. To me, it wasn't small enough. I really wanted he and I to flee to the courthouse and get married without anyone there. But he wanted a wedding and he was willing to plan everything. All I had to do was show up. Oh and buy my own dress, so I did that.

My dress cost $50 on eBay. We paid $300 for catering (which included the room, all the food, and three waiters in black and whites). I got my daughter a little yellow dress at JcPenney. I think it cost $24.99. My son and husband rented tuxedos (my son had the smallest size in the store, tried it on, looked in the mirror and proclaimed, "I look hot!") which I think cost us about $100 total. Oh and we had to get a license, which is a funny story for another time. I forget how much it cost. We hired a rent-a-preacher and gave him $150. He was the nicest man ever and performed a really beautiful ceremony.

The grand total had to be less than $1000. The wedding sucked, but the marriage has been pretty good so I guess it all balances out. The wedding didn't suck for lack of funds. It mostly just sucked because of the people there. But anyway.

I don't even know how I got off on this tangent. Basically, I wanted to talk about MTV's new show Engaged and Underage which premiered last night. I anticipated it eagerly and then ended up, disappointed is the best way I can describe it. Disappointed and horrified.

I wanted to watch because I was genuinely interested in what would motivate people that young to get married. I know some people who have married between the ages of 18-22 and have successful marriages. My sister and her husband married when they were both 19 and have been happily married since 1989. My parents married at 17 (mom) and 19 (dad) and have been married since 1969. I have other friends who married somewhat young and have happy marriages. I guess I'm interested in how that happens and what is the motivating factor. I think with some of my friends, they just knew they wanted to be together. I think for others, it was things like, "He's going off to war." I am just interested because I got married at age twenty, for all the wrong reasons.

I was disappointed that this show didn't really go into great detail as to why this young couple was getting married. I mean, there were hints- the girl had an absent father (not that anyone would misconstrue the twenty-one year old guy she was marrying as a father figure) and they were both virgins and clearly wanted to have sex and not have Jesus be mad at them for it, but they didn't really say, not really.

The most disturbing part of the program was the mother of the groom. Sweet. Jesus. On. A. Bike.

Among the more disturbing things she and her son did:
1) Mom wanted them to take a photo of the bed they were going to spend their first night together in. Bride told her she thought that was weird. They went to look at the bed and breakfast and the mother called the groom on the way back and he went into great detail describing the bed, the room, and the fact that the other guests would be across the hall and probably not hear anything. The bride was appropriately mortified, yet did not scream at him, "I'M NOT MARRYING YOU, YOU HUGE FREAK!"
2) Bride and groom were going to live in a "house" which was in the backyard of the groom's parents home. The "house" was more like a little red shack (with a green porch! Rock!). Bride and groom were at the shack, fixing things up and mom calls groom on his cell phone. He says, "I can see you!" Bride is appropriately mortified and yet does not shout at the groom, "YOU ARE A HUGE FREAK AND IT WILL BE A COLD DAY IN HELL BEFORE I MARRY YOU!" She just kind of rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath, "You're so weird."
3) Mom has a big weepy, sobby fit at the wedding shower. Bride sits in her chair eating raw veggies looking non-plussed.
4) Groom's friends come to pick him up for "bachelor party" which involved him, for some unknown reason, dressing up in women's clothing (bra, thong) and purchasing condoms. Mom comes to car, leans in car window, and says something like, "Take good care of my son!" Sweet. Bertha.
5) Mom states to bride, "I'm going to sleep in the bed with groom tonight since I won't get to do it anymore once he marries you!" Bride looks alarmed. I throw up in my mouth a little. Bride says something like, "Um." instead of what she should have said which was, "Um, excuse me? Groom? You are a HUGE FREAK AND SO IS YOUR MOM AND I WILL NEVER MARRY YOU NOT EVEN IF YOU LOOKED LIKE BRAD FREAKIN' PITT WHICH YOU DO NOT."

So my disappointment in the show is due to the fact that the show should have really been called, "My mother in law is a huge freak." Because no matter how old that couple was? That mother was still just so wrong. I have a feeling her precious son could have been forty and she would have behaved in exactly the same manner.

I've been a bad, bad girl.

Well, that's a nosy question, yes? But I'm a sharing type of individual, so I'll tell you all about it.

Anyway, I stole this from Annie over at Crunchy with Style! She's really cute so you should hang with her sometime. Cute kids too!

Anyway, here goes.
Here’s how it works:
You don’t have to confess your answers, just the amount of your fine. And NO, it is not PER incident (otherwise, some of us would have totals more than the national debt!).

Bring up that calculator, and get going!

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

My grand total?


I guess I'm not SO bad. If there was a fine for something like, saying the "F" word, I'd be so screwed.

Monday, January 22, 2007

Every house needs a reindeer.

Most people will tell you that dogs do not like to have anything on their heads.

They, clearly, have not met Ginger.

Give the dog a hat, she'll wear it. Give the dog a birthday party, she'll get down. Give the dog some antlers (that blink with flashing lights! Flashing lights people!), and she'll rock the house.

She is my dog. If it was possible for a human being to give birth to a dog, she would unmistakeably be my child. She's fluffy, like me and has curly hair, like me. She's friendly and funny like me. And she looks good in hats! And I totally went through a New Kids on The Block phase when I was like, fourteen, and I wore a black velvet hat all the time! Even to school! And I looked super.

She is my dog. She is much, much more than a dog. She is my companion and my friend. I am grateful every day of my life for her.

Also, the kids are pretty cute too.

View from my front door.

Okay, it's kind of from my front porch. But still. It's kind of pretty here, yes?

The broken road that led you to me.

Recent Google Searches for my blog:

"Inability to poop"
"Girlie Bits"
"Jodie Foster pinged"
"God and Jesus"
"God loves me"

Yeah. I've got something for everyone.

Why I hate lots of people.

I don't like to go out to eat anymore. Jason, however, really enjoys this activity. Sometimes, I allow myself to be dragged out into town to do something. Normally, I just want to stay home and sleep.

Saturday, he managed to drag me out into town to go to a restaurant. I really, really, really didn't want to go. Not because the food sucks or anything. Just because I hate people.

I don't hate everyone, mind you. I just don't like crowds. Or people who neglect their children. And this particular restaurant, a "family-style" buffet, seems to have both.

Like the woman who was there with her five children who ranged in age from one to six years old. Her primary function seemed to be yelling at the children to do things that children have no business doing. Like, this place? It has the bathrooms RIGHT BY THE FRONT DOOR. The restaurant is close to the highway. From where we were sitting (and she was unfortunately also sitting) you could not see the bathroom or the front door. No way, no how, especially if you were busy watching other children. This did not stop the following from happening:


A small child who appeared to be approximately four years old walks by us, holding the hand of a child who appears to be two years old.

What the hell? I mean, excuse my language, but WHAT THE HELL? My son is almost nine years old and when he declared he had to use the restroom my husband immediately got up and took him. There is NO WAY we would let him go the bathroom by himself in a crowded restaurant, next to the highway, when we could not see the door.

When Shakira and her sister did not come back in what the shrieking, insane woman felt was an appropriate period of time, she then LEFT THE OTHER CHILDREN ALONE AT THE TABLE and went to the bathroom to retrieve them. She shouted at poor little Marrisa Sue Lynn Jane all the way back to the table.

I. Was. Mortified.

I mean, I feel for people who have lots of kids and no help. Lord knows, I do. But come on. I mean, COME ON.

There were two offenders sitting at the table next to us also. It was a man and a woman. I could not tell if they were on a date or if they were father and daughter. No, I'm not kidding, I honest to God couldn't tell. What I could tell about them was that they were listening to everything I said. I could tell this because they weren't intelligent enough to at least talk quietly. Whatever I said they would immediately start talking about.

Chick, to Jason: So I was thinking about Barack Obama the other day and...

Insane eavesdroppers, to each other: What about that Barack Obama? I think that there boy is a terrorist!

Chick, to Jason: I sold numerous boxes of Girl Scout cookies at work.

Insane eavesdroppers, to each other: I need to buy me some of them Thin Mints. Rhonda Sue is selling 'em for Becky Jo. I love them Thin Mints.

Chick's son and daughter: BAHAHAHA! You said HERPES!
Jason: Um, excuse me?
Insane eavesdroppers- Silence.

Then their check came and they had a big fight about it, about who was going to pay and how much each one of them owed. Because either the man got a senior citizen discount or something. I wasn't really listening.

The final offenders were a young couple who came in with their baby. They looked to be less than legal drinking age (prompting an interesting conversation regarding the new MTV program: Engaged and Underage which I can't FREAKING WAIT TO WATCH by the way). The baby appeared to be approximately 16-18 months old.

The father was carrying the baby. He sat down on one side of the booth, with the baby. The mother sat down on the other side. Instead of, you know, getting UP or anything they decided that the baby should sit with the mother and prompted the child to WALK ACROSS THE TABLE WEARING MUDDY SHOES. Brilliant. The child banged his head on the light fixture on the way across. The parents laughed.

The mother then got up and left the table to get food. The child was sitting on the seat by himself, and predictably, he slid right off the vinyl seat and into the floor. The "father" instead of getting UP AND GETTING THE BABY OFF THE FLOOR just sat there and half-heartedly said, "Get up."

The mother came back with food. Ignored the crying child and went BACK to the buffet.

To get her husband a plate.

Instead of letting the kid eat, they gave him a bottle. The little boy cried the WHOLE TIME. The couple ignored him and talked to one another about how they couldn't wait for the NASCAR races to start again. I seriously wanted to go give the kid food off my plate, because he was clearly hungry.


This is why I hate going out to eat.

This is also why I think we need to move to another state.

Friday, January 19, 2007

TMI Fridays!

It’s like TGI Fridays without the alcohol!

Boys, I’m serious now. This stuff is gross. Here, go look at this for a while. Bid on something nice for your momma while you are there.

Okay. It happened. I got out of the car this morning and felt the big whoosh goosh. If you are a girl (or maybe just a weird girl) you know what I’m talking about.

So I come into the building and head immediately for the one bathroom that we have for 20 people and guess what? Yep. All over my pants.

I went back outside to see if there is anything in my car I can put on or hide in. Well, there is a pair of black dress pants that I need to take to the cleaners. But guess what? I have on a red t-shirt (nothing else was clean and I’m too tired for laundry) and my gray Adidas. And jeans. Not because it’s Friday but because this is how I dress for work everyday. You would too if you could.

Seriously. I am so firing my doctor. I haven’t even called, because what would be the point? So I can be talked down to and told that “breakthrough” bleeding is normal?

I know I’m a huge freak, but I think this is abnormal even for a freaky chick.

Thursday, January 18, 2007

Stuff that used to happen to us- Part One

One day, Jason and I were sitting in church listening to our pastor preach on alcohol. In case it's not obvious, what with us being in church and all, he was preaching on NOT drinking it.

Honestly? It doesn't bother me when other people drink. I don't drink myself. I'm not good at it. I drank a little bit years before I was twenty-one. It didn't do much for me. Also, I tend to have an addictive personality, so I think it's better to nip stuff like that in the bud, rather than tempt fate.

Jason doesn't drink alcohol either. A lot of his "issue" with it stems from his people in his family drinking to much.

Anyway, at the end of the sermon the pastor asked if anyone would be willing to come forward and pledge before God and Jesus and the whole congregation that they would not drink alcohol.

No one came forward.

Jason whispered to me, "Maybe we should go."

I balked. Even though I appear to be a huge attention whore, I really don't like people looking at me a lot, especially if there is the potential for them to see the size of my rear.

He said, "It would be a good example to the teenagers...besides, we don't drink anyway."

True dat.

So we start our journey up the aisle. We are midway there and the preacher says, "OR! If you have a DRINKING PROBLEM! Come bring it to Jesus!"

Immediately, four hundred eyes are upon us. The two people trudging up the aisle.

I then pointed at Jason and made a glug-glug-glug kind of motion.

No, just lying. I didn't really do that. But wouldn't that have been hilarious?

Anyway, I thought the whole thing was hysterical. Jason, as one would imagine due to his general level of appropriateness, was absolutely horrified.

"Do you think I should call the preacher tomorrow and tell him we don't drink?" he asked.

I laughed really hard.

He didn't think it was funny at all.

He didn't call the preacher though. So he might think we're a bunch of drunks. I'm not sure.

It's all about ME, ME, ME!

I was talking to an acquaintance of mine (I can’t call her a friend as I don’t really like her, nor can I call her a co-worker do the marked lack of work she seems to produce) about a friend’s blog and how interesting it was to see her trip to China and the new baby. The acquaintance…let’s just call her Shahnahnah, made a comment about how stupid it was to have a blog. The ensuing conversation was interesting, to say the least.

Shah: I mean, its okay for someone like HER to have a blog. But most of them are just completely stupid. Like I care what someone had for breakfast!

Chick: I’ve never seen a blog regarding what people had breakfast.

Shah: But you know what I mean. Like anyone cares about what these idiots write about! We don’t know you! We don’t care!

Chick: Hmmm.

Shah: I mean, whatever! Those people are completely narcissistic!

Chick, grinning widely: I have a blog.

Silence from Shahnahnah.

Chick: But you know, I never write about my breakfast or anything.

Shah: Well, but it’s OKAY for you to have a blog. Because you live far away from your family.

Chick: My family doesn’t read my blog.

Shah: What?

Chick: Why would my family read my blog? They are generally uninterested in me the three times a year they see me.

Shah: But don’t you write about your kids? And put up pictures of your kids?

Chick: Why would I do that?

Shah: Why wouldn’t you?

Chick: Cause I’m not a mommy blogger. Not that I have any problem with them, I’m just not one.

Shah: So you don’t write about your kids…what DO you write about?

Chick, wide-eyed: Well, YOU of course!

Shah: REALLY?!?!?!

(And I’M narcissistic?)

Chick: Well, today I am!

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Things my children teach me.

Yesterday, the girl child comes home with the requisite Martin Luther King, Jr. All-about-me!-type book.

(Note: Before I get called out for not recognizing the sanctity of this day, let me just say that I think Martin Luther King, Jr. did a lot of great things while he was alive, not only for African Americans, but for the country as a whole. That being said, he was just a man. I got very disturbed when both of children, while in the first grade, watched a video that indicated that Martin Luther King, Jr. was sitting up in Heaven, apparently right next to Jesus, on a throne, looking down upon the world in some sort of blessed observation. Um, no. He was a man. A good man, but not a perfect man. A man who did a lot for this country, but not on the same level as Jesus. No one is. Okay? Clear on that?)

Anyway, my daughter had dutifully colored in each picture and written her engaging commentary on each page. Martin Luther King, Jr. was a lovely chocolate color in each drawing. One page showed him and his wife and I noticed that Girlchild had not colored his wife in. I asked her about it and she said, “I didn’t know what color she was, so I left her blank.”

I told her I didn’t think that when he was alive it was even legal for black people to marry people of other colors and her face contorted in horror. Our next door neighbors are a white woman and a black man and they have a beautiful little son and that is her frame of reference. They are just our neighbors, not an interracial couple.

At the end there was a question: Do you think if Martin Luther King, Jr. was alive he would be happy with the way the world is today? Why or why not?

In my daughter’s childish handwriting was written: Martin would be happy because the world is a beautiful, wonderful place full of love.

Oh, to be eight years old and have no concept of hate and war and even the jerks who live up the street who call your mom “fat-ass”.

I like the way that kid thinks.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Could this day get worse?

I open up my local paper and catch a headline with my parents hometown in the title.

Because their church was set ON FIRE.


Now, I'm not the most religious person you'll ever meet, but I am very, very spiritual. My church is my sanctuary. My safe place. To think of anyone violating that makes me want to alternately vomit and cry.

This is really unchristian and uncharitable I'm sure, but I hope whoever did this gets punished by getting run over by a large truck. Good GRIEF.

What an awful day this has turned out to be.

If you aren't pregnant, we don't care about you.

Okay boys. Once again, I will be discussing my girl parts. If you don’t want to hear it stop reading now.

So I called my doctor at 8:30am, hoping they would go ahead and see me today instead of making me wait until next Thursday. Because it’s day twenty-three of Aunt Flo and even though I’m a really tough chick and all? This is kind of scaring and bothering me A LOT.

At around 11:30am I tell my coworker that they are never going to call me back. That gynecological offices only care about pregnant women and us infertile bitches just get the sloppy seconds.

(Incidentally? My coworker TOTALLY deserves combat pay for having to hear about my girlie problems. Good Lord.)

The nurse (FINALLY) calls me back at around 1:30pm. (I ask her to hold so I can go to another room. I say to my office mate, “I’m certain you don’t want to hear about my vagina.” Also, when I came back in the room he said in a Mr. Rogers-esque voice, “So! How’s the vagina?” He is the wind beneath my wings. But anyway.) She is just on the edge of condescending when she tells me that she has spoken to the doctor and the doctor feels that I’ve probably had a miscarriage and there is nothing they can at this point anyway, except let the tissue pass. So my appointment is moved up two whole days. Because that’s going to make a huge difference, I’m sure.

I have several issues with this. The biggest I guess being: That’s not the way to tell someone they might have had a miscarriage. Especially if that someone has been wanting a baby for like, three years and hasn’t been able to have one.

In 2000 I had a miscarriage. I had no idea I was pregnant but I went to the doctor after a couple of weeks of having “my period”. Somehow, and I don’t recall how…they did a blood test maybe…they found out I was pregnant, but I was in the middle of having a miscarriage.

So they sent me to get an ultrasound. Again, I don’t know why. I’m not a normal girl; I don’t know why they do certain things. The ultrasound tech, which was a guy by the way, and I guess I thought that was weird because of the looking at vaginas and whatnot, said, really friendly, “When are you due?”

I mean, what the hell? Can’t you put a big sticker on someone’s chart that says: "THIS PERSON JUST HAD A FREAKING MISCARRIAGE. DON’T ASK HER WHEN SHE’S DUE."?

Really, I should get to be in charge of that too. I would make a lot of women’s lives a lot nicer.

But anyway.

I’ll find out Tuesday I guess.


I totally stole this from Mum to four, who claims she is not funny but really is. Also, I totally told her I was going to steal it, so I hope she doesn’t cut me.
The point of this is to find the significance each number has in your life. At first glance I thought it might be difficult, but it wasn’t so bad. Probably due to the copious amounts of children people surrounding me seem to have. But I digress.

1- The number of puppies I have.
2- The number of children I have.
3- The number of siblings I have.
4- The number of people who live in my home.
5- The number of nephews I have.
6- The age my children were when we moved here.
7- The number of years I have known my husband.
8- The age my two children are today.
9- The day my very first nephew ever was born.
10- The total number of nieces and nephews I have, as of today.
11- The age I was when I went to my first school dance (6th grade).
12- The day I married Jason.
13- The number of first cousins I have on my dad’s side of the family.
14- The number of first cousins I have on my mom’s side of the family.
15- The day I was born.
16- The age I was when I found out my mom had cancer.
17- The age I was when I graduated high school.
18- The number of procedures I need to assign other people to read. Today.
19- The number of procedures I need to read. Today.
20- The age I was when I got married to my ex-asshat. I mean, ex-husband. Slip of the tongue, I’m sure.

Monday, January 15, 2007

Email. It's not a new thing.

Today for approximately the one zillionth time (did I make up that number? I'm really not sure) I opened up an email from someone I don't even WORK with that was a "Reply to All".

Here's how it usually goes:

1)Company A sends out an email to everyone in the entire company, all the contractors, all the subcontractors, their moms, and possibly some dead people. Usually the email is something boring and stupid that I wouldn't care about even if I worked for Company A.

2)People who work for company A, in a state of mass confusion, click on REPLY TO ALL instead of just reply.

3)Chick's inbox is flooded with comments such as "I wish they'd put more money in OUR RETIREMENT FUND instead of this stupid stadium!" and "My password is not reset and you told me it would be reset by MONDAY and today is MONDAY and it's not reset and when are you going to reset it?" (And by the way, LEARN TO USE PUNCTUATION. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. I find it amazing that you are an engineer and probably make like, four billion dollars a year and you don't know what constitutes a sentence. I mean, come ON.)

4) Chick sits on her hands lest she reply back to them something along the lines of, "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD COULD YOU JUST HIT 'REPLY' AND STOP HITTING 'REPLY TO ALL'? Because NO ONE CARES. The person you INTENDED this message for doesn't care! STOP IT."

Because, you know, that's not good corporate etiquette.

I've been using email for a good 10 years now and I've learned a lot in that time (some of it thanks to the handy "recall" feature that AOL offers me). Honestly, it amazes me that in this day and age people do not know the difference between "reply" and "reply to all".

Unless they really ARE trying to share with 4000 people that their password isn't reset.

In which case, I DON'T CARE.

I dreamed about reading the newspaper.

It was the newspaper from my parents hometown.

The headline was big, and loud:


It was about me and my sister.

My sister is pregnant with twins. I have twins that are almost nine.

The article was about our lives and how I had twins in 1998 and then suffered infertility. My sister found out she was pregnant with twins and amazingly, my infertility just "cleared up" and I got pregnant. And it was even more twins! Twins galore! Twins everywhere! Twins, twins, twins!

In the article there were pictures of my sister and I. We were smiling and happy and holding our babies. She and I were close to each other and helping one another raise our little babies.

Then I woke up.

I reached down to feel my stomach. Not quite flat, but definately not pregnant either.

It was really nice while it lasted. A lot better than that dream I have all the time where my teeth are falling out.

I really miss my sister.

Saturday, January 13, 2007

Things I really do say.

Conversation #1
Chick, singing to the puppy: Don't you wish your girlfriend was HOT like Ginger? Don't you wish your girlfriend was a FREAK like Ginger? Dontcha?

Jason: Um. Did you just say, "A freak like GINGER?"

Chick: Yes.

Jason: You are aware that Ginger is a DOG, yes?

Chick: She can still get her freak on.

Jason, sighing patiently: Honey, she's been spayed.

Conversation #2
Boy child: Mommommommomom!

Chick: Sonsonsonsonsonsonsonson!

Boy: I'm going to say math problems and you can tell me the answers okay?

Chick: Is this for homework?

Boy: No, just for fun.

Chick: Now that's cooking with gas!

Boy, patiently: Not cooking mom. MATH.

Chick: Okay, yeah. Go ahead.

Boy: What's 10x10?

Chick: 100.

Boy: What's 5x5?

Chick: 25.

Boy: What's 3x7?

Chick: 21.

Boy: Are all of those right mom?

Chick: As far as you know!

Conversation #3
Chick: How many times have I said the f word today?

Co-worker, pondering: Um...four hundred and sixty-seven.

Chick, pondering: Yeah. That's about right.

Friday, January 12, 2007

Here's your sign.

So, I've mentioned the parkway is closed, right?

Today, I notice as I'm driving home that there is a big sign on the Highway sign that would normally lead to this exit that says:


Are they asking me to suggest an alternate route?
Or are they say saying, "Hey, we suggest you take an alternate route"?

Because it's not so much "We suggest you take an alternate route." as it is, "You will die a horrible, tragic death if you take this exit."

And I don't mean like when P. Diddy says, "Vote or die!" and then you don't vote and you get like, a mild case of heartburn. I mean like, you will really, honest and for true DIE because there is no bridge there anymore and you'll plunge to your death.

I wish I worked for the Department of Transportation.

That's not clever marketing.

I'm a big fan of commercials and the witty and catchy sayings they bring to me. I'm still looking for the Beef, twenty years later. I wanted that Taco Bell dog to take home and feed burritos to. I'm fairly certain that my children's first words were, "Ba-da-ba-pa-pa! I'm lovin' it!" and we don't even eat McDonalds food. I'm not sure about the last one. I'd have to look it up. My point is, I appreciate a good jingle.

I do not appreciate the one for sanitary napkins that wishes me a "Happy Period".

Note to the gentlemen who read my blog. I'll be talking about girlie bits now. Specifically, my girlie bits. If such things gross you out and whatnot, there are many nice websites who would love to have you. I think Hulk Hogan has a website now. Check with Vh1. I'd love to have you back after this!

Anyway. Back to me and my vagina.

I've been having my period since December 24th. DECEMBER TWENTY-FOURTH PEOPLE. Admittedly, I'm not good at doing math in my head and all, but that seems like about nineteen days.

I am bloated, irritable, my iron is low, and I want to cut everyone I see with a sharp knife, repeatedly. What part of this is happy again? Please remind me.

The part about my back hurting?
The part about me wanting to eat everything I see?
The part about wanting to come home, lay down on the couch, and sleep until next Tuesday?

Shockingly, none of that seems like anything happy or fun to me.

I've been irritated with the sanitary napkin industry for quite a few years anyway, ever since they came out with "Plus size" pads a few years ago. I would really like someone to explain to me why just because I'm a "plus size" that my cootcher is as well. Because, logistically? That just doesn't make sense. My really skinny ex-sister in law squeezed a huge kid through her vajayjay without any epidural. Maybe SHE needs plus sized pads. But me, over here with the c-section? Um, no. I mean, I accept that I have to shop in Lane Bryant instead of The Express, but let's not rob me of my dignity in the "Personal Care" aisle of the Kroger, okay?


Thanks much.

What was I talking about again?

Recently, I have developed an extreme inability to focus.

Basically, my mind is working something like this:

Okay, what do I need to do today? This report is due by 10am. But I really think I need some water first. My water cup is so pretty. Such a nice color of yellow. I love yellow. But I also like purple. I think purple is probably my favorite color. The tabs on my dayplanner are purple. Oh that reminds me, I really need to write all my tasks in my dayplanner. With my blue pen. Or maybe my black pen. I really love my black pen. It writes so smoothly. I wish my life would go as smoothly as my pen writes. Everyone told me that my thirties would be less angst-ridden than my twenties, but so far, it's been just as bad and maybe worse. That's probably because my dad got sick. I wonder how dad is doing. I wish he'd take better care of himself. Bladder cancer must really suck. On the subject of bladder's, all this water is making me want to pee. But I don't think I'll pee yet, because I know there's something I'm supposed to be doing. What was that again? My performance review. Oh, no wait. Um...a report? Yes! A report. But what was that report about again?

I wouldn't even want to be the voices in my own head. Just writing down what they say makes me feel tired and weepy.

I used to be so organized and focused. Now, I'm all at loose ends and it makes me feel nuttier than a walnut tree. Or Tom Cruise or whatever.

Like, the other day? I had to go to a meeting to learn about selling Girl Scout cookies. I'm really excited about it, at first, thinking, "Finally! Here's a way for our jinky little poor-ass troop to earn some money so we can, you know, go to the nature center." Because, sweet Lord. I can't get these girls to bring 50 cents for a troop meeting, much less $6 to the nature center. They just don't have it. Bless their hearts.

So I go to the meeting and it's the most bizarre thing ever (and, have you MET me? I mean, I have bizarre things happen all the freaking time). I guess all the other women pretty much know each other, and then there is me, and I didn't know anyone. (Okay, there was one other new troop and they had three leaders for eight girls, so I'm not thinking I'm going to be friends with them. That's just a bit more micromanagement of seven year olds than I can handle) Still, I think, this will be simple. We will come in, meet for like, one hour, and go home, secure in the knowledge that cookies will be sold.

Two hours later I staggered out of the building, bewildered and confused, clutching more paperwork than was required for my entire four years of college. My head hurt from the noise. My brain hurt from having to think about getting Thin Mints from point A to point B without a U-haul truck. (Our troop bank balance is zero dollars and zero cents, I can't afford a U-haul truck!) My butt hurt from the really hard metal chair I had to sit on the whole time.

Since that night, I still have not looked at that paperwork. I have no idea how to sell cookies. I mean, I can say, "Do you want to buy some cookies?" But the associated paperwork? Sweet Lord.

I'm going to have to hire an administrative assistant to help me be a good person to small children. I just can't think clearly enough to do it these days.

Thursday, January 11, 2007

Inability to poop vs. Herbicidal Warfare

When I was a little girl if anything ailed me, my mom immediately decided it was because I was constipated.

Chick: Mom! My stomach hurts!
Chick's mom: You must be constipated!

C: Mom! My head hurts!
CM: You must be constipated!

C: MOM! A large dog just bit me and my leg is bleeding profusely!
CM: Well. Sounds like constipation to me.

Clearly, my mom has no advanced medical training. Clearly.

Now that I am a grown-up and my diet includes copious amounts of fiber, apparently constipation is no longer my primary issue. This has been replaced, however, by Agent Orange.

See, my dad was in Vietnam. My limited understanding of Agent Orange is that it was used primarily between the years of 1961-1971. My dad was in Vietnam between 1970 and 1971. He probably was exposed to it, no doubt, and there is a small potential that it did cause some problems. But I do not think this is the answer for every issue.

C: Mom, I am really stressed out about work.
CM: You probably wouldn't be so stressed had your dad not been exposed to Agent Orange.

C: Well, I fell down the stairs last night and bruised my butt really badly.
CM: That darn Agent Orange has made you so clumsy!

C: My physician said that I'm infertile and possibly sterile and I'm having a hard time dealing with it.
CM: It's probably that Agent Orange causing you to be infertile and possibly sterile! Stupid war!

If only all of life's problems were so easy to solve. Either take a laxative or blame it on the Vietnam War.

Bad days.

Lately, I have had a series of bad days.

I thought maybe it was just a fluke, but it seems to be ongoing.

After a really hellish morning at one building yesterday (and speaking of this...why? Why did I want to get into training? Someone please remind me. Because the job of training? Is sort of like trying to help people while they curse and throw rotten apples at you) I cried all the way to my regular office and came in and said to my office mate,

"I'm not funny today."

He said, "What?"

I said, "You know. Every day I come in and we laugh and I say funny things and we have a great time? Well guess what? Today, I'm not funny."

He sat there for a moment and said,

"I never thought you were funny in the first place."

Thank God for people like that.

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

Best. Note. Sent. Home. Ever.

Today was the first day back to school! Hurray!

I've had an utterly dreadful day, so I was delighted to find the following general announcement in both of my children's backpacks this afternoon:

Policy Update:
Students are not permitted to wear grilles on their teeth.

I don't even know how to appropriately respond to this message.

I'll just say: Hell to the yes.

To do-list for today

1) Try not to physically harm co-workers.
2) Drink more Diet Pepsi.
3) Fill out last week's timesheet
4) Send Christmas gifts that have been sitting in my living room since December 1st.
5) Try not to curse under my breath at co-workers.
6) Have another Diet Pepsi.
7) Kill about 40 trees in the process of making copies that people aren't going to read anyway.
8) Curse to my office mate about other co-workers.
9) Take down Christmas decorations (yeah right).
10) Six pointless meetings.
11) Have another Diet Pepsi.

Monday, January 08, 2007

My husband= Completely freaking awesome

He came home today with an amazing letter from his boss congratulating him on doing such a good job and saying how impressed he was with Jason's management skills.

I am so, so unbelievably proud of him. He's managed this huge, enormous change so well.

The start was bumpy. When he was promoted in October he worked about 75 hours every week. He would work until 1am. He worked all the freaking time.

He and I had a come to Jesus talk about it, and he's got it figured out and he's home for dinner every night.

I am so glad I am his wife. He rocks my socks.

Insane stuff that only happens to me- Part One

Yesterday I was driving to work (and don't get me started on the fact that I've worked for the last...I don't know, four Sundays? Including New Years Eve? When I work Monday-Friday? Because it just makes me mad) and I was behind a woman in a large SUV. We were still in the neighborhood and I was a good four or five car lengths behind this woman.

She began to navigate a blind curve and stopped. I slowed down because I thought maybe there was a deer or dog or something in the road. Her car was at a complete stop, so I came to a complete stop too. On a blind curve.

She GOT OUT OF HER CAR and walked around to the back and opened the trunk. I sat behind her in complete disbelief. It was a BLIND CURVE. Someone could have come up behind me and killed me, and, well probably her too because the speed limit is 45 through there and most people just use that number as a suggestion, not a limit.

She finally seemed to notice me behind her and waved me around. I pulled up next to her car and rolled down my window.

She looked over at me and said, and no, I'm not kidding about this, "What?"
I said, "Do you need some help?"

I mean, because really? I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. Surely no one would be so stupid that they would PARK on a BLIND CURVE unless something was really, really wrong.

She said, and again, I'm not kidding, "Do you MIND? I'm on the phone!"

I was stunned. I rolled up my window and as I was rolling it up I heard her say to whomever was on the phone, "ANYway!" as though I had somehow completely ruined her day by, GASP, asking her if she needed help.

I went around and drove on.

I got to the parkway. The parkway is mostly closed, but there is a small portion of it that is still open so you can pick up Interstate 40 (because you know I love Interstate 40). I was navigating the parkway and there was a large truck (a pick-up, not a semi or anything) towing a trailer. Apparently, he didn't know that the parkway is closed, although there are approximately 400 signs that indicate this fact all along the open portion of the parkway and big orange signs that say "DANGER" and whatnot. But anyway. He's towing a trailer and has it hooked up inappropriately. There are no lights on the trailer.

At the very last possible second, this individual in the truck cut me off to take the only available exit. Maybe he can't read, I'm not sure. But that's fine. I had anticipated him doing that and I'm certainly not going to speed because the POLICE STATION is at the top of the exit.

So we start going up the on-ramp for the exit.

And the guy in the truck? Stops the truck.

Again, I'm not so close that it's difficult for me to stop. I kind of doubt it's a deer this time, but maybe, I'm thinking, it's a disabled vehicle. So I slow my car to a complete stop. On the on-ramp. There are probably six vehicles behind me, who all slow to a complete stop as well.

The guy in the truck gets out of his vehicle and leisurely walks around the back to move a chain.

On an on-ramp.

In front of the POLICE STATION.

I'm totally not kidding.

At this point, I begin to look around, certain that I am on Candid Camera or one of those programs in which insane things occur and someone tapes you so they can make fun of your bewildered reaction later.

I didn't see a camera though.

Sunday, January 07, 2007

9-11 calls I get to make.

911 guy: 9-11, what is your emergency?

Me: Who can I call to report a dangerous driver?

911 guy: I can take the information ma'am. What kind of car is it?

Me: It's a Mitsubishi Gallant.

Guy: Color?

Me: Pewter.

Guy: Where are you?

Me: Interstate 40.

Guy: East or West?

Me: Eastbound.

Guy: At what exit?

Me: Um...365.

Guy: Before it or after it?

Me: I just went past it right this second.

Guy: Do you have a tag number?

Me: Yes sir. It's 9876QQQHSX.

Guy: What state?

Me: Alabama.

Guy: Can you describe how the car is driving dangerously ma'am?

Me: Well, he appears to be making out with his girlfriend.

Silence from guy.

Me: Or she could be his wife. I don't know. But you don't usually see tongue like that when people are married.

Guy: Did you say making out with his wife?

Me: Or girlfriend. But yes. Making out. For sure.

Guy (barely able to contain his laughter): Could I have your name please?

Me: Sure! It's That Chick Over There.

Guy: Okay, we'll send someone out to look at it.

Me: Thanks.

I am happy to report that about forty miles down the road, a state trooper pulled him over and he was caught. With his tongue out.

Saturday, January 06, 2007

What I've done today.

So far today I have done the following:

1) Watched MTV's My Super Sweet Sixteen (I don't know why I torture myself like that).
2) Washed two loads of laundry.
3) Dried one of those loads (note how I did NOT say FOLDED).
4) Loaded up the dishwasher and ran it.
5) Walked three miles!
6) Made high-fiber waffles with no sugar syrup.
7) Walked my dog.

Guess what I haven't done?

Taken down the Christmas decorations.

It's really getting embarrassing.

Friday, January 05, 2007

You know you want some of this.

I know God loves everyone.

I really believe that.

Honestly though?

I really think he loves me just a little bit more than he loves anyone else.

People always think I'm crazy when I say that what with the getting left by my first husband while pregnant and dealing with infertility now at the age of thirty-one and the amazingly large number of insane people I seem to encounter on a daily basis and all. But really, I am an amazingly lucky person.

I've always believed God has a good sense of humor. I think this was evidenced by the fact that he gave me a set of twins at age 22 and had slightly less than no idea what I was doing. When I was seventeen I was told I would never, ever have children. My doctor now says I'm suffering from secondary infertility, but I don't believe that. I honestly believe that I'm infertile. I've always been infertile. My twins were just a little gift from God. One that I completely do not deserve yet am extraordinarily thankful for.

I don't know how I ended up with such amazing people to be a part of my life. I just know I am unbelievably lucky.

That's why God likes me best.

Also, he thinks I'm funny and doesn't mind the number of bad words I say daily.

I'm just sayin'.

Thursday, January 04, 2007

You must not know about me.

This morning while I was in the shower, I was thinking about Harold Ford Jr. and I guess about how, at least in some small way, the problems with his family caused him to lose the election. There are other reasons, I'm sure, but that probably contributed a little. I won't get into the other reasons. I don't want to lose my testimony.

Families are weird, no?

My husband once said to me, "I'm really glad you didn't judge me based on my family. If you had, you would not have married me."

True dat.

Honestly, most of my life I just wanted someone in my family to notice me. I am the third of four children and without sounding like the poster child for the middle-child-syndrome, honestly I really think I got shafted on the attention. I'm all for big families, I really am. I've made it well known that I'd love to have a third child. But it's tough.

Every year on Administrative Assistants Day, my mom asks me if my company got me anything. Every. Single. Year.

(Disclaimer: I think Administrative Assistants are generally the hardest working people in a company and often get completely screwed when it comes to compensation. Without the admin here at my office, we would have died a thousand deaths at least twenty times. And she cooks for us all the time. She is an amazing woman and it is an amazingly difficult job.)

I am not an Administrative Assistant.

I have repeatedly said to my mom, "I am not an Administrative Assistant. I'm in the Training Department."

Apparently: Training=Administrative Assistant

This year when she asks me what they got me, I'm going to be all like, "No! I got screwed over once again!" Or I'm going to tell her they gave me a $1000.

The point is, my mom doesn't know what I do for a living.
The bigger point is, she doesn't really care.

I tried, earnestly, to explain why I switched my major to Environmental Health and Teaching instead of Elementary Education. It was as though I was speaking a foreign language. I tried to explain what Environmental Health is. It was pointless. I just ended up saying, "I try to make sure nothing bad happens to the world." No nuclear waste gets spilled. No excessive smoke or pollution gets in our air. Whatever. There's a lot more to it, of course. But I think now they just think I'm a liberal hippie who is going to stop shaving her pits and start wearing clothing made out of hemp. I drive an SUV for Christ's sake. I'm not going to suddenly live in a commune or something. (I might get solar panels for the roof of my next home though. Those rock. And I've been eyeing a Hybrid SUV. And I've been known to hug a tree, but just for photographic opportunities. But I digress.)

I understand that once you have children you are no longer a person in your parents eyes. You are merely the vessel that birthed their beloved grandchildren. Still, it would be nice if my family was even remotely interested in knowing something about me.

Two things my dad has said in the past several years have really struck me.

One was when my grandfather died in 1998. A bunch of us, my grandmother included, were going to sing at his funeral. The night before the funeral we were at the church and my Aunt began to play Amazing Grace on the piano. I sang along with her playing.

My dad said to me, completely amazed, "Wow! You can really sing!"

I had spent four years in my high school choir, singing. I had sang at my brothers (first) wedding. I had gotten a job offer at Dollywood. To sing.

But he didn't know I could sing.

About a year ago I was visiting my parents and I made some comment that made everyone laugh.

My dad said to me, completely stunned, "You are really funny!"

You think?

No, seriously? You think? I've been exactly this way since...I don't know, birth? Maybe? I guess when I was a teenager (okay, and now too) it was more like sarcasm than humor. But still. I'm the same person I've always been. Always.

It just amazes me how little my family seems to know about me.

I wish it didn't bother me so much, but it really does. I'm a grown-up and I guess I need to put on my big girl panties and deal with it. But it really does bother me.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

Um. Holy crap.

Remember when I was telling you all recently about how our Environmental Protection Officer resigned and I'm taking over her duties? You don't? Well, that's okay. I don't remember most of the crap I say and it's, you know, actually happening to me.

So, if you forgot, read this real quick.

Are you back? Okay good.

So today, my boss comes and says that the person who resigned? Called today and asked for her job back. Groveled was the word that was used.

And they said no.
They told her I had it under control.

Holy cats. I'm faking this really well. I should totally be an actress. I'd win an Oscar or some crap.

To Grandmother's house we go!

Since school in my county doesn't take back in (doesn't that sound Southern? I've been practicing all day!) until January the freaking 9th and I have to, you know, work to pay the mortgage and all, my children are visiting my grandmother in Virginia.

My grandmother and my mother are absolutely nothing alike. Now, my mother and my great-grandmother (yes, she's still alive and kicking at the age of 95!) are just exactly alike. People like me and my grandmother frighten and alarm people like my mother and great-grandmother.

My mother and great-grandmother always look just so. Hair is done, outfits are just right and appropriately accessorized. My grandmother is lucky if she remembers to comb her hair and if her socks match. I'm lucky if I REMEMBER to wear socks. Today, I forgot.

My grandmother is one of my favorite people alive, as evidenced by this photograph:

Incidentally, I don't know I'm making that face. I think I was just really freaking sick of having my picture made, not that my grandma's head tasted bad or anything.

On Monday, when we arrived at my grandma's house she was thrilled to see us. Within twenty minutes of our arriving she had dragged to the center of the room a large, industrial strength nutcracker. Which she had mounted on a table. (She probably welded it on herself, truth be told) She invited my small daughter to come over and crack some black walnuts.

I'm not sure if you are familiar with black walnuts, but the outer shell? It's much like a large sheet of really hard plastic. Covered by steel. Those suckers are really difficult to crack. This, apparently, was why she had this industrial strength nutcracker. She's awesome like that.

My daughter, all fifty-two pounds of her, was leaning on the nutcracker with both hands. I think she might have even had a foot up there. My grandmother had to help her lean into it so it would break.

Visions of my daughters fingers flying through the air danced in my head. What flew by my head was black walnut shells. One pinged me in the ear and I had several in my hair.

I suddenly remembered why I adored my grandmother so much.

This is the woman who let us ride down the stairs on cookie sheets.
This is the woman who lives on the side of a freaking mountain on top of a HIGHWAY and let us play on said mountain with total disregard for our safety.
This is the woman who has a big yellow school bus in her backyard for the kids to play in. She gleefully told me she had found a snake out there once.

All the reasons I loved her as a child scare the ever-loving CRAP out of me as a mother.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Speaking of the salad bar...

What? We weren't speaking of the salad bar? My bad.

Anyway, speaking of the salad bar, I was trying really hard to get some freaking salad yesterday at the salad bar? And there were these four people who were probably age 19-22 totally on the offensive. They were COMPLETELY blocking the salad bar so they could have the following conversation.

(To help clear things up, I have assigned them the following names: Willis, Arnold, Natalie, and Tootie.)

Tootie: "So like OH MY GOD! I got so drunk last night!"
Willis: "Me too! I had like, twenty-five beers!"
Arnold: "I had like, oh my GOD, at least twenty-SIX beers!"
Natalie: "BAHAHAHAHA!"
Tootie: "That was SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO cool! Oh my GOD!"
Willis: "I'm totally going to call The Fonz and see what he's doing later!"
Arnold: "We'll have to get some more beer!"

What can we surmise from this conversation other than:
1) Natalie brings nothing to the table. Clearly.
2) These individuals were asshats.

Why do people feel it's necessary to have their family reunions in the SALAD BAR LINE at the Ruby Tuesday? WHY?

How deep is your love?

In the spirit of keeping the New Years goals (it IS only January 2nd, after all) I am making attempts to be a better wife. Not just today, but every day. Or whatever.

Last night, I used some of my super-fine new lotion (you know, the eight hundred tons I got for Christmas? Yeah. That.) to rub my husband's feet. I would tell you what he said but it was dirty and I have a reputation to uphold.


Anyway. So one thing that Jason and I always do is leave each other notes on the fridge. Mostly because he cannot. remember. anything. Ever. So we started this leaving each other notes on the fridge because I am a total Diet Pepsi addict and must have one immediately upon waking. And he usually gets some water out of the fridge before leaving for work. Since he's so health conscious. Except for his smoking a pack a day and eating fast food crap daily for lunch and all.

We call it "Love on the fridgerator!" (Like that know...Love in an Elevator? Also, I know that's not spelled right. We're dorks.) Sometimes we even sing it to one another.

I totally meant to leave him a note this morning, but I forgot. I suck. But tomorrow is another day!

Also, yesterday we went to Ruby Tuesday's for lunch. I got White Bean Chicken Chili and the salad bar. (My son declared that he was glad he was going to grandma's because, WOO, was I going to have some really stinky gas after eating all those beans. And I told him not all beans give you gas. But he was totally right. And I'm not telling him that. Ahem.) With my soup I got a single piece of garlic bread.

I love bread. I love bread the way most people love their husbands. If I could only eat one food for the rest of my entire life, it would be bread. Also, I would die really, really soon from carb-overload. But I would die with a smile on my fat face because I LOVE BREAD.

My husband loves bread in the way most people love their wives. In our household you gauge the amount of love you have for someone by whether or not you are willing to give them the end piece of bread. The end piece is the most coveted piece available. I know there are two ends. But still, somehow it always ends up that one or the other of us gets ONE of the two ends and then says to the other, "Do you want this end piece?" I mean, duh. The answer to that is ALWAYS going to be yes.

So anyway. I tore apart my one single, solitary piece of garlic bread and gave him half of it. He looked amazed and then pleased and he ate it with a flourish.

That, my friends, is real love. Right there.

Stop the ride. I want to get off.

Have I stopped driving yet?

Because, okay, seriously? On Friday I drove 453.45 miles to North Carolina.
On Saturday I drove 453.45 miles home from North Carolina.
On Sunday I drove 40 miles (round trip) to do a little work and try (HA!) to get caught up.
On Monday I drove 262.10 miles (again, round trip) to drop my kids off with my grandmother in Virginia.

Today I drove my usual 29.35 miles to get to THIS office this morning.

I'm already dreading the trip home. I feel like I've been driving FOREVER.

Monday, January 01, 2007

I swear. We're like Beavis and Butthead.

Just now:
Me: "Where are my blue balls? I just can't find my blue balls!"

(I am referring to my Leslie Sansone Walk Away the Pounds weighted balls)

Me, again: "Oh! There is one of my blue balls!"

Jason says nothing.

Me: "Come ON! I've said BLUE BALLS like three times! You gotta have something!"

Jason: "You totally already called it. There is nothing left for me to say."

Me: "Look! It's Exit 69!"

Jason: "You said SIXTY-NINE!"

Me: "Guess what's off Exit 69?"

Jason: "What?"


Good God. We need help.