Missing Generation

So, nerd that I am, I watched a History Channel special on the Fighting Sullivans the other night.

I had certainly heard of them, and knew all about the policy that their deaths created in the military. But, I had failed to notice that they were from Waterloo, Iowa. The same town my dad is from. I have played in the park that was named for them in town.

They were almost exactly the same age as my grandpa and his brothers were during that time. They worked at the plant that my grandpa worked at. And through this whole show all I could think about is how that could have easily been my family.

My grandfather and two of his brothers were in the service (though the Army and not the Navy) though they did not insist on enlisting together. And they all did survive the war.

That family was pretty much wiped out by WWII. Only one brother had a child and the one sister was the only Sullivan to survive the war. It is amazing to think about a family of seven children with no next generation at all.

I asked my dad if his parents had known them. It turns out my grandma when on a date on a motorcycle with one of them before the war. And everyone was just shocked that I would make the connection.

I have done such a great job keeping expectations low that my family is thrilled when I can figure that people of the same age in a tiny tiny town might actually know each other. Not hard to come out a winner there.

Could Have Been a Tragedy

I have sunk to a new and depressing low.

I am blogging while sitting on the toilet with diarrhea and watching the World Poker Tour.

Is it any wonder that my husband can't keep his hands off of me?

I have been in a food warp for a couple of weeks. My digestive system has become a snobby and exclusive club and only a short list of foods make it past the bouncer. If I sneak something in that is not on the guest list my body is an angry bitter mess. Said food is expelled immediately, using the nearest available orifice.

On this list: toast, crackers, popsicles, applesauce, jello and Coca-Cola.

I am officially a first grader.

God bless wireless internet connections, or I could not share this with you.

Wouldn't that be tragic?

Heads Up Smurfette

I think most of us have a few . . . uh . . . dalliances in our pasts that perhaps were not the best ideas. And I know that I had a couple that had Big Giant Warning Signs flashing in red letters in front of me that I just did not pay attention to. I was having fun skipping around like Smurfette, all Fa La La La La FUCKING LA.

Once, the wife of the man I had been dating (oh call it dating, it is easier) called me. Sadly, it wasn't even an indignant get-your-ho-hands-off-my-man call, it was more of a resigned, I-am-required-by-the-freedom-of-information-act-but-do-as-you-will call. Truthfully? I should have known though. Just a tip, if you only have his office number and email and he always wants to come to your place? He is either married or lives with his mother.

YES I SAID IT.

And while it was certainly not my job to force this man to fulfill his vows, that is his Pig Farm thank you, but no one wants to admit that they were the Other Woman not because they were tricked, but because they just didn't want to know.

We have all done it. But we grow from it and stop it and help others to learn to open their damn eyes and not fuck such goddamn tools.

This is why I implore Katie Holmes, yes I know everyone is doing this, but KATIE PLEASE LISTEN! When a man twice your age with two ex-wives and a history of strange relationships suddenly comes your way, sweet talks his religion (cult--tomAto/tomatO) and proposes at breakneck speed? That is not normal.

I know you dreamed of marrying him when you were a kid (though I have done the math and you were very advanced for your age weren't you--when I was four I was going to marry Johnny Quest) but take a deep breath and listen to your mother. And if she isn't jawing at your then open your damn eyes Sister Mary Clarence. I mean the guy isn't respecting your wishes to remain a virgin until you are married because he respects old fashioned values (though a really old fashioned value might be to not talk about your virginity--who are you BRITNEY?) but because the man is gay.

Call me when you are ready for some help. I will be waiting in the living room for his lawyers to show up with a defamation lawsuit.

Shut It TomKat

I really really hate the word blouse. It sounds much to much like louse and seems dowdy and honestly is just a gross word.

It is right up there with moist. Ew. Or slather.

Strangely lather is ok.

Perhaps blogging after taking a sleeping pill is a bad idea.

Save it TOM CRUISE. I love my drugs.

Better Get Some Waders Pop

My mother has been playing this sort of cat and mouse mindfuck with me about she and my dad moving up to the north end by us. She will start this pissing and moaning routine about how she hates the school she teaches at, how she is going to freeze to death in her classroom, how she cannot STAND to be in her house one more second. I then run around, find applications and job fairs for school districts for her to visit. I find houses in her budget online. We go to open houses. I try to sell my dad on this whole deal.

And then she hems and haws about how she doesn't want to leave her friends and what if she doesn't like it and blah blah blah.

Lather, rinse, repeat over and over until I want to kill some one. Possibly her. Maybe myself.

And about a month ago I said screw it. Stop messing with me. You are never going to move you are never going to change jobs. Quit wasting my time.

I was sort of mean about it.

I was really fucking mean about it. But. I mean. Y'all. HOURS I have spent on this for nothing.

And then last week, she got a call from one of the districts. For an interview. And she is all a twitter about it. It is the nicest district in the state.

So we drive to where her interview is going to be. And by the school. And it is so nice.

And we go to open houses. One house that was too old and needed a lot of work. One that was a melange of every disaster that came from the seventies. I dearly wish that I had my digital camera because I cannot explain the bathroom in this house. There is no explanation. No rational person would live in house with that bathroom.

And then we went to the house. The house that my mother loved. That had just been decorated and had new floors and a great kitchen. That was a short commute for my dad. That my mother got way too attached to considering she needs to basically sandblast her house before they can sell it.

My dad, my dad who really does not want to move and is very resistant to this whole idea?

Is in deep shit.

Is He or Isn't He?

I was watching the World Poker Tour and this guy hit my screen:

Hi, my name is Blair Rodman. I'm from Las Vegas, Nevada and I wear entirely too much lipstick and blush for a man of my age.

I know you can't tell on the internet y'all but on TV he looked entirely too much like David Gest for my taste.

9am is much too early to be trying to figure out if some one is a drag queen who just cannot bring himself to be on TV without his "lips".

Vote Now

I bought this dress (in black, I feel sorry for people who bought the red online, not because it is a bad color or anything, but because the color is nothing like that and is actually pink) for a wedding early next month. J votes that I keep it (the decision to return it or not is being delayed because of PMS). What do you all think? Is halter ok for a wedding?

I was thinking with like my gold sandals (GOOD GOD WHY DO I OWN GOLD SANDALS) and possibly some big ass gold earrings.

I hate hate hate trying to figure out to wear to things like this. But I hate wearing something not cute to them even worse.

Come on internet, vote on the dress. Too seventies?

Where Is My Citizenship Award?

Today I decided to flip destiny the bird and wear white pants.

While I have my period.

Apparently, this defiance somehow broke my streak of shittiness and today was a decent day. I scored a couple of cute tops for cheap.

And we had cake. Ice cream cake! It is pretty hard to have a bad day that includes ice cream cake.

You know it has been a less than fabulous week when you are just happy that nothing shitty happened today. Work was kind of boring but I did get to go shopping and load about 84,000 songs into the media player on my computer.

The only mar on the day was at lunch. Seattle is not really a tourist town. Our reputation for rain and lack of amusement parks really knocks us down on the list of cities to visit on your summer vacation. But, if you live in a hot and humid climate, our sunny and warm but not hot weather must feel divine. And we do get a few people in June and July.

And I guess these people are flown in directly from the fucking turnip truck. Because they are overwhelmed by the TALL and SHINY buildings and have to stop in the middle of the fucking sidewalk to gape at them. We are not talking the Sears Tower here Tex, it is the fucking Gap. Seattle is an easy going town, we are not in a big hurry here but you do actually have to walk down the sidewalks in this town. The stores and attractions don't come to you, you have to pick up your feet and move here.

Somehow I got stuck behind this stereotypical Ugly American Family. Two loudmouthed adults with mullets wearing Hawaiian shirts and ill-fitting shorts and their two unwashed tubby kids. And no matter what I did, short of darting in front of a cab, I could not get past them. They would stop up short and block the entire fucking sidewalk. And when I did say "excuse me" and tried to push through, they were outraged and muttering about "rude city people."

I did not, however, push the four of them into the street.

I really feel that I deserve a medal for that.

O-V-E-R

This is just not our week.

I found out today that my health plan went from pretty good and workable to shit. And we owe approximately 80 frillion dollars. Also, those medical measures required to have kids? Good thing that we were not planning on doing that any time soon. Because no longer covered.

And then. Softball tonight.

J got thrown out of his first game. I was in the bathroom so I do not know what he said. I do know that the ump was the most sensitive ump I had ever seen and would get pissed if some one even looked cross-eyed at him. I know J lost his temper and that is unfortunate, and GOD KNOWS he is embarrassed. But I do not know how some one gets thrown out of a rec league game just by yelling.

Then we lost our co-ed game. BAD. For no real reason.

And then he got thrown off his men's league team. Because he got thrown out of the game? Not sure why actually. And I feel really bad because I hooked him up with this team through a guy I knew from work. A guy who was basically a dick to J all season long. A guy who I would gladly slap around at the moment.

J has a temper. A bad temper. It is no secret from me. But he does an excellent job of controlling it 98% of the time. We have been married for four years and he has lost it with me once. And he isn't violent at all. I know when he was younger he made some interesting holes in walls but that has happened in a long time.

He prides himself on controlling it. And he lost it today. And he feels humiliated.

So to recap the past three days:

shit news that should have been great news
two lost softball games
one ugly confrontation/ejection
two health plans that now blow
one weeping freak out in the car
one migraine
and one less league he will be playing in

At least tomorrow is Friday because this week needs to be OVER.

Fast Forward

The good news I was hoping for and secretly was certain was going to happen? Did not happen. Will not happen. Everything sucks. BOOOOOOOOOOOO.

On top of that? I feel very fat, have a weird painful zit under my eye, have a migraine and damn near puked on the way home.

I also had a little meltdown in the car on the way home. Yes, there were tears. Yes, I actually wailed. No, I have no fucking idea why.

What the hell did J do in another life to get saddled with a psycho like me?

I am going to take a rather large sleeping pill, pass out, and pretend that today didn't happen.

Just A Little

I think that maybe I mean it could be, that I might have some potentially good news to share soon. I mean it could happen. Maybe. Hopefully. Possibly tomorrow.

Hold me.
***

I went to a panty party for a woman I used to work with today. It is three weeks before her wedding so it was supposed to be a low pressure luncheon filled with giggles and trampy lingerie.

Sadly, I am the only one who got the memo about the trampy part. People bought her underwear that was not see through, not a thong and that you could possibly not be embarassed to leave on the chair when you go to the gynocologist. That is just Wrong Daddy Wrong.

We had a lovely lunch. Very light-hearted. And then something nice, but so sad happened.

Gladys' husband and daughter came.

None of us had really seen her daughter since the funeral. And she was so tall. So big. I realized that when Gladys died her daughter was two and a half years old. That was four months ago. Four months is a long time when you are only 30 months old.

I never thought she looked like her mother that much. I always thought she was sweet and shy and pretty. But now, now she looks like Gladys. Her hair is the same. She holds her head the same way. Her smile is exactly the same if you ignore the tiny baby teeth.

I went back to my office and bawled in the bathroom for ten minutes.

They are doing so well which is wonderful. But she is a toddler. Right now she still asks for Mama. She sort of remembers all of us from her visits. She doesn't honestly understand why we all need to see her so badly. Why she will always be so important to us.

But soon, too soon, she will not remember. She won't remember her mother at all. She will know her face, because her grandmother and father will keep her picture close all of the time. She will hear stories.

But the memories will fade soon. She will forget her mom coaxing her hair into pigtails. She will forget whose chest she slept on every night as a newborn. She won't remember how special she was.

I know that this is a good thing. I know that you cannot live in the past and it will do this little girl no good to grow up longing for something she will never have.

But my heart is broken about it anyway.

Oh We Already Do, We Lock Them In The Closet?

One of the difficult things about having been a frickin child bride and being married for almost five years is that people are starting to ask questions. J and I have good jobs, own our home and have built ourselves a lucky lucky life together. It is inevitable that people ask us almost every FUCKING day, "When are you going to have a baby?"

The intent of this question is nice, people are trying to build common ground. They don't realize that it is hard to answer.

Someday is the best that I can do there.

See, for reasons that are complicated and boring and personal and stupid we probably will not be able to have kids without some type of assistance. It is unlikely that we are going to be popping up with an ooops baby in this house.

So while other couples are starting to build our families we are hanging out in limbo. I am firmly in the denial camp, which is why this mess isn't known so much in my family (which I would like to keep that way, dear sister, if you do not mind). We are holding our hands firmly over our ears and running around maniacally screaming LALALALALA.

But the questions are hard. They are hard because every single cousin J has has at least one child, and we are practically the only ones with jobs. They are hard because half of my department at work is pregnant. They are hard because I do not know what to say.

What I know intellectually is that being able to have kids is not about fate or destiny or God. It is not about being a good person. Crackheads have babies. Britney Fucking Spears apparently got pregnant after trying for about thirty seconds. Obviously, these things are not decided by fitness.

What I do not know is how our family will be created. Or when that happened. It could be tomorrow (HA!) or it could be ten years from now. I know that one day we will have one, whatever form it might take.

What I do not know, is how to answer that question?

Don Welches Is Going to Put a Cap In My Ass

My darling but oh so deluded husband did a bad bad thing.

He bought juice bars.

Has he met me? Does he not know about my popsicle addiction? Is he trying to turn me into a psychotic shell of the fabulous wife he once had?

I mean juice bars are ok, I mean they are perfectly fine for what they are. Frozen yogurt is lovely also, but it is not ice cream and juice bars are not popsicles and WHY IS HE DOING THIS TO ME?!?!?!?!

I mean, I still have a couple of popsicles left, thank GOD, but there is a bag of eighteen juice bars in that freezer. Juice bars that have to be reckoned with. Juice bars that have connections with the fucking mob and they are going to bust my knee caps if I do not appreciate them properly. But I cannot appreciate juice bars because I do not want them, I want popsicles. Why must you put me into bed with Don Welches?

Possibly. I might be overreacting.

But I do not think so.

Then Again, Who Isn't?

Have spent the last couple of days doing a work activity that I am not used to. Since I am crazily afraid of being Dooced I can only say that I spent the past two days running around on stupidly high heels. My feet look like chubby sausages. Chubby sausages that have been smushed into foot bindings. They are an alarming purple color and Darla is helping by licking the toes.

It says a lot about how tired I am that I am not even stopping her.

As a reward for my toughness (or possibly for a two hour block of time of me not whining about my damn feet) J took me to see Batman Begins at the Imax theatre.

If you can get there, I highly recommend seeing it in that format. It was fantastic. A little overwhelming honestly.

I know the comic geeks were nitpicking it a bit, which WHATEVER, but it was a good story, great effects and I even forgot to get annoyed with Katie Holmes. Which is SAYING something.

Plus, Alfred? Looks a lot like my grandpa.

A lot less dippy though.

Random Thoughts That Are In Know Way A Cohesive Or Interesting Entry

Most Surreal Thing I Saw Today That Made Me Think That I Might Be On Drugs Or Possibly Just Batshit Crazy:

A very large black man who looked remarkably like Heavy D in big black Denali SUV with gold rims, radio cranked, eyes shut, singing loudly along with Wind Beneath My Wings by Bette Midler.

Grossest Thing I Did Today:

I managed to let my chicken terriyaki EXPLODE all over my desk today. And in the process managed to drip some sauce on my keyboard. Didn't notice until later when it was hardened to a cement-like substance covering a gross amount of my spacebar.

This was nothing something that could be removed with normal every day cleaners. I pretty much needed a blow torch.

Fashion Issue That Is Making My Brain Hurt Because DUDE Thinking Is Hard, Yo:

Can Monica/Chanandaler and I wear the same dress (this one, in black) to a wedding? Who would think that such a dress would be flattery on a little tiny long legged girl with no torso like her and a taller big shoulder short legged monster like myself? Both of whom are hippy? Should we just wear the same damn thing and scream, "YES WE ARE WEARING THE SAME DAMN DRESS SUCK IT BITCHES!" at the reception?

Nectar of The Gods

I just bought the most fantastic product. EVER.

Behold. Coke ZERO.

Y'all I am not going to lie. I love the new Diet Coke Splenda. It is close enough to real coke that I could live with it and god knows it is better for my teeth.

But this, this is even closer. This is divine. This is the new NECTAR OF THE GODS.

I may have to have sex with J in celebration.

Or I could just enjoy the near orgasmic pleasure of this delightful beverage.*

*I am the only one in the whole world who will feel this way, I am a little emotionally involved with my carbonated beverages.

Boob Tag

We had a softball game tonight--at my favorite time, 6:15. It is my favorite because we can just go right after work and it is still warm and we get home in time to take a hot shower and watch Sportscenter. Sometimes twice.

The hubby and I kicked some serious ass tonight. J hit a triple and a homerun (and honestly the triple could have been a homerun but the poor man does not have knees that work so you have to forgive him). I have three RBI's and two hits. I only killed on rally because I was waved in (way too ambitiously I think--do they forget that I run like an iceberg?) and could not slide.

And their catcher totally smacked me in the boob.

I know he didn't mean to, but MY GOD did it hurt. My prima-donna ultra-sensitive winy baby boobs tend to swell up and scream with pain if you breathe on them too hard in the days before my period. And this guy just nailed me with a ball and a glove.

And I did not rip of his testicles. So that was good.

And we kicked the holy shit out of this team. It felt good, we are sort of a rag-tag team. A little older than the other teams (who are mainly are in their early twenties, J and I are the youngest on our team at 26). Our guys are small and the girls besides me even tinier. And this team clearly thought that they were going to roll right over the top of us.

More importantly, I was a good hitter! Everything I hit went into the outfield! Like I knew what I was doing! WHEEE!

We were short on female players so some one invited this woman who had never played before. She was possibly the sweetest woman in the world, but she really didn't know anything. She didn't have a glove. When she got up to bat she stood on the plate. And the other team started to laugh.

Fuckers.

I mean we are a REC LEAGUE y'all. Any league that allows me to play does not have high standards. But she fucking showed them, because she had a hit and an RBI.

Which was more than a couple of their better players.

So fuck off you cowboy-hat-wearing-during-a-fucking-softball-game-and-do-not-think-I-don't-know-those-are-SEVEN-jeans-you-are-wearing-smug-motherfucker.

What is that anyway?

Of course I do have some shame in all of this. Because that guy was smoking hot. And I totally checked out his ass when he was running.

Why couldn't he have been the one tagging my boob?

Stop Hurling the Hate Mail Right Now

I am going to take some heat for this, probably a lot of heat for this, but I was relieved by the Michael Jackson verdicts.

To me, they were a sign that the system worked. Not because he was a celebrity. But because the prosecution had no case and were charging him because he acted in a batshit crazy manner.

I am not defending Jackson's behavior. I think the man has zero boundaries and really no idea of how to behave appropriately with children. I have no idea if he molested those boys. And face it, neither do you. Because they had no physical evidence and no credible witnesses. The family of this boy had a track record of filing false charges. The mother had perjured herself. Actually, many of the prosecution's witnesses perjured themselves.

I would not leave my child alone with Michael Jackson. I wouldn't leave my dog alone with him (though maybe the cat because Rooster can take care of herself). But being a weird ass motherfucker is not a crime. It is a cry for physiological evaluation and possibly medication. But not a cry for jail time.

And yet the whole world is acting as though he got away with something. Perhaps he did. But that is the fault of the prosecution, not Michael Jackson. The cornerstone of our system is that he does not have to prove his innocence. If the state of California is outraged about the money they spent on this failed prosecution they should not point the finger at his defense team. It should be pointed directly at the DA's office.

People criticize MJ and OJ and other wealthy people for hiring expensive defense attorneys. Completely leaving out that they would do the same thing if charged with a crime and with those financial resources available to them. The only bad thing about this is that the quality of the services of public defenders and those of private defense attorneys are so disparate.

No matter what you hear on CNN this is a victory of American justice.

It just doesn't necessarily feel that way.

Send My Husband Your Sympathies and Possibly Some Beer Because He Has To Live With My Crazy Ass

Had myself a little meltdown in the car on the way home today (y'all J deserves a medal). The gal that is supposed to train me for my new job has long since moved onto her new position (she left four weeks before I started--I do not blame her at all). And no one seems to be able to help me at all. They ask me to do things but I do know how, not only do they not know how to do these things but they have no idea how I can figure it out. Normally, I would just make up my own way and just fumble through it, but my new boss is very particular so I am at a loss.

Not only that but I am just so lonely. My new co-workers are all very nice people but I sit by myself, separated from all of them and they sit together. I could not show up for days and no one would probably even notice. They would think that they were just missing me while I was in the bathroom or something. My old group was like family and yes that was difficult too but I could always ask people for help. I have no one to help me down there and I am not handling that well.

To top it off, I just feel stupid. Like maybe I was wrong to come down here. Clearly, it is not working. And I have a lot of paranoia about being fired. Which is so hard for me, I want to do a good job, it is so important to me. And yet I cannot for the life of me figure out how to do that.

So I cried, no doubt in part due to the crazy hormones that have taken my brain hostage (damn you erratic menstrual cycles! stop fucking with me, my skin and my mental health!).

In the mailbox when I got home was a fine assessment from our HOA for our dog shitting in some one's yard.

Pity the fucker that got my email. I am not paying that shit. They are going to have to provide dated digital photos to get me to pay that.

NOTE TO MY NEIGHBORS: IF MY DOG SHITS IN YOUR YARD I AM DEEPLY SORRY, PLEASE COME TO MY HOUSE AND GET ME, I WILL GLADLY CLEAN THAT UP BECAUSE IT IS GROSS AND AGAIN I AM SO SORRY. DO NOT CALL THE HOA AND COMPLAIN BECAUSE THAT IS AN ASSFUCK MOVE THAT MAKES ME WANT TO BURN DOWN YOUR HOUSE.

From weeping to raging in less than thirty seconds.

Bitter wiener Dog

Darla is trying to teach herself to type so she can alert the Humane Society. Apparently she was storing dirt, shit and berries for the winter and she is bitter that I have shaved it off. Worse, J gave her a bath, oh the HUMANITY of a BATH. Of course I found shit crusted on the bottom of her feet and that is just not going to stay.

I do not know how she gets this stuff in her fur, I do not want to know. It is possible that she has a day job as a mud wrestler that I do not know about. Is there a market for dachshund as brooms that I do not know about?

Here's hoping she doesn't piss in my bed tonight.

Or if she does let her do it on J's side.

Duly Noted

Note to self: do not look up the caloric content of Hostess cupcakes when you have eaten half a box in one weekend.

Uh. I mean J and I ate half a box TOGETHER this weekend.

Yes. That is what I meant.

Excellent Weekend

All I have eaten for the past 36 hours is Fruit Loops, nectarines and Hostess cupcakes.

I heart nutrition.

We haven't left the house since Friday night.

A truly excellent weekend.

Twee As I Could Ever Be

Since we have been together people have wondered why J and I are together. Since usually people assume that I am a saint and a wonder I have never really corrected them. I am not going to argue that my husband is not annoying, loud, obnoxious, etc--he totally is--but believe me when I say that I am not a saint.

In the past year it has really started to bother me how people act like he is a piece of shit and I should be given the Nobel Peace Prize for marrying him.

Nobody knows anything about a marriage except the two people in it.

We have a good time. People do not get how important that is. It is more important than love (though we have that) and more important than sex (which duh we have that too, and actually I guess it is part of the fun). You are going to be around each other a lot. You better be able to laugh or you are going to bludgeon him to death in his sleep one night.

I put up a good act in front of people. I feel no need to give semi-strangers a no-holds-barred look at my personality. I look like a nice person. I have an innocent face. I am quiet and kind to people. People assume that I am a nice person and deserve a nice husband.

The truth is neither of us is nice. But he is way closer than I am.

He is the kind of person that will do anything for his friends. Actually for anyone. And people take advantage of that.* He does not care about inconvenience if he can help some one out. He is a fair person, he will always give people the benefit of the doubt. He is incapable of believing that people are trying to fuck him.**

I am not as fair as him. I do always try to account for intent but I know that there are people who are just assholes and I am always watching for that. I care about my friends, but I am not nearly as generous with them as he is, only my closest friends get that treatment.

Before I met J I was dating a very nice man. He was clean cut and sweet and just adored me. He was the most husband material guy I have ever met. He was a veterinarian for crying outloud. And I was not comfortable with him. How could I relax and enjoy myself with some one who was just so good all the time?

I did not need a nice person. I needed what I found. Some one who puts up with my moods, understands that sometimes I will freak out, who will make sure that we always have ice cream and Coca-Cola, who lets me have the down comforter all by myself and will get up before me on weekends to let out our dogs. His job is to be funny and interesting and to keep challenging me.

My job is different. My job is to prevent people from hurting him. My job is to keep people from taking advantage of his generous nature and general lack of self-confidence. My job is to believe in him, because no one else ever has. My job is to know where his wallet and keys and glasses are.

It doesn't really bother me that he plays video games all the time--they make him happy so I am glad that they are there. He is obsessed with the Yankees--no problem, if he wants to love a shit team that is his problem. He collects comics and can't stop talking about politics. So what? He tells off color jokes and he cannot read a room at all. He is inappropriate.

Do I wish he could control himself? Sure. Do I try to make him? YES. But for some one like me, who is more reserved and hates to make an ass of herself, he is liberating. No one is going to pay any attention to me when he is being a fool first. And he does not care about being an ass at all.

It makes me crazy that people don't get it. I know that it hurts him when people think that I am too good for him. Believe me when I say that no one else would be happy married to me. And believe me when I say no one else would be happy married to him.

I guess people who aren't married can't understand. Maybe those that are can't either. But think about how things are different in your relationship behind closed doors. The way you know what the other person needs without thinking about it. J loves to make jokes about how he is the dominant person in our marriage, about how he tricked me into marrying him. It is his defense so that no one can say it first. I let him do it, even play along, because he needs me to. But at home I make no bones about how much I need him.

God that is twee.

*This is what is happening to him at work now I think. He is busting his ass to try to do a good job and I think that his bosses and coworkers know that he will do that even if they treat him like garbage.
**I also know that people slack off at his work, happy to have him cover him because they know that he would never get them busted.

It Is A Little Like Heathers

I couldn't help but listen to something that was going on over the wall in my office today.

There is a woman in my group, she is a little older (even then everyone else, who are all older than me, I think she has kids closer to my age than she is), her husband also works in our group. She is respected and liked but just different. So far I can tell these people are pretty cliquey and she just doesn't fit in.

It was some one's birthday today and several people were going out to lunch. They invited her but left while she was in the bathroom. In their defense, I don't think they planned it that way, they had just said we are having lunch at this time at this place you should come. Her husband came over, and in that dopey husbandy way, dragged her to the lunch. He is a sweet man, not unlike my husband in that he is a dork and has no problem making an ass of himself. Good thing too. Because he does.

Anyway they walked over there. And then came back like within ten minutes. And I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was upset. I guess they were all sitting at a table for four. She didn't even go in. She was convinced that they didn't really want her to come, that they invited her to be polite.

Her husband, so sweet, but so clueless just didn't understand. But dear GOD, I have been there. It takes you back to being in fourth grade and not sitting at the popular table. No matter how popular you were later, how many friends you have now, that shit sucks you up. Especially women. Because women do bullshit things like invite people to lunch and not want them to come. They do it all the fucking time really. Men cannot relate to that at all.

That kind of stuff has caused more arguments in my house than I can say.

"Did they really want us to come? Or was it sort of like 'oh come over whenever?'"

" . . . ?"

"Well?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

I wanted to go over and talk to her. Tell her that I really don't think that they meant it that way. That it was just a Friday afternoon and they were happy to go to lunch. That they really had meant her to come. I mean, it is not like the invited me. But I couldn't do that. I didn't want to embarrass her and besides that would be breaking the cardinal rule of cubicle dwelling.

Pretend you didn't hear that.

Twelve More Hours To Go

Amy in NY, my email does not want us to be soulmates. I wrote you a lovely email and it bounced back! Does your email hate my email? Can I send it flowers?
***
Just got home from playing softball all night. I was like a power hitter tonight. I love the bat we stole from our neighbor! It is made from space age polymers or something and is illegal in seventeen states. I hit the ball far with it though. Even though J sabotaged me and lollygagged to second on one of them for the third out. Hateful he is.

I am really loving our team this year. Everyone has played together for a few years now so we do asshole things like show up thirty seconds before the game and not practice. But we still kicked the holy shit out of the team we played tonight.

I think we crushed their souls a bit. Which makes it sweeter of course.
***
How is it possible that I have heartburn from nothing? Fucking useless digestive system.
***
I've got nothing y'all, it is like 27 hours past my bedtime. At least tomorrow is Friday so I only have twelve hours to go.

I mean it is not like anyone expects much of me after noon.

Clogged Pore Fantasies

It is the week before my period and my skin is a cesspool of hormones. I think that my period is trying to feast on my face. I have one of those hard, painful, swollen cystic pimples on my chin. It is about the size of Idaho and is strongly considering annexing Montana.

Nothing I do will stop this growth. It will get larger and harder and more terrifying. I know that one day it will explode in a threatening shower or puss pyrotechnics. The oil and fluid leaking from this zit will flood the streets of Seattle. A scab will cover my chin where it will flake and bled repeatedly making camouflaging it with cosmetics impossible. I will not be able to stop picking at it.

I have elaborately daydreams about popping this sucker. I fantasize about using tweezers to pierce any head that forms. Puss will explode onto my bathroom mirror--the moneyshot of zit picking. It will be disgusting and bloody and oh so very satisfying.

I can't wait.

Meanwhile, I think I will just wear a bag over my head.

To Fug Or Not To Fug

One of the weird side effects of working in fashion is that your taste can become a tad skewed.

My natural taste is fairly conservative. I have a love affair with the color black. I wear tailored black pants and simple sweaters and knits. I am not so fond of embellishments like sequins and glitter.

I see trends all day long. I see colors and themes months ahead of time. And my co-workers wear fashion forward clothing--often tiring of trends before most people even start wearing them. Seeing trends all the time makes you a lot more likely to wear them. Since I have started at my job I have invested in ridiculously expensive jeans, actually own a pair of gold sandals and wear giant earrings. I would never have purchased these items before.

There are benefits to this. I look much cuter. My clothes fit better and are more flattering. I may still wear all black and tailored pants but I do it while wearing kick ass high heels and carrying a gorgeous handbag. Amongst my friends who do not work in fashion I am the best dressed person they know. At work I am still incredibly conservative.

The ugly side of this is simple. I am used to seeing really crazy colors and silhouettes and combinations and honestly have become desensitized to it all. And the line between fashionable and butt ugly is surprisingly narrow.

I bought a pair of pants that I have seen some gals wearing around the office. They would never be accepted at normal offices. And I loved them when I tried them on. So comfortable, like sweatpants, would fit while bloated. And yet the are fashiony, so I can pretend for that day that I am stylish. But I had a really hard time figuring out if they were gorgeous on me or if they were fug.

I am still not sure.

I will just wear my highest heels and hope for the best.

Not Me

Warning: Skip this if you are a big wussy easily grossed out baby.

Have you ever taken a crap and looked at and realized it was longer than your arm from your elbow to your fingers?

Have you marveled at it and wondered how on earth it was ever crammed into your intestine and up your ass?

UH

Me either.

Puke

Months ago J and I put an family ban on McDonalds. We had both gotten sick after eating there--not from any problem with the food but just in general. But tonight we were so late and the fish sandwich was so tempting we lifted the embargo.

Never again.

I am chugging Pepto and trying to convince the dog to massage my stomach.

Long live the anti-McDonalds embargo.

Two Fans

Amy in NY you are my women's softball College World Series soulmate. You may comment here at the length as much as you like and if I had your email I obsess about Michigan right along with you.

Apparently we are the only two people that are watching this so we have to stick together.

HURRY UP DAMN IT

I hate J right this second.

It is not his fault because they are having serious work drama but I have been waiting to leave for almost two hours.

TWO HOURS.

I could have taken the bus and walked the ten miles to our house in that time.

Not that I would, I mean I would sweat if I did that. But I could have.

I want to go home. And watch the rest of the Cubs game (they are losing but I just know that they would WIN if I were home being their lucky charm) and obsessing about the pants I bought. Do they make me look like a stump? This is what I want to be thinking about. Instead I am trying to dream up things to be doing on the internet and feeling really paranoid about it even though it is not like anyone is here DAMN IT.

COME ON. They do not pay him enough to make me wait TWO HOURS.

Nothing short of the second come of Harry Caray is worth that.
***
This amazes me. Also makes me think I should have totally walked home. If that guy can do it, so can I.
***
I wonder if the cleaning people go through our personal stuff at night. It makes me feel like I should leave them a little gift. Like thanks for looking for my crap, now could you empty the damn trash?

Also, I should totally lock my drawers.
***
Have a wedding to go to in less than a month. Nothing to wear to it. Have already RSVP'd and cannot back out now. Will have to overcome wardrobe issues and lack of motivation to leave the house somehow. Perhaps I would feel more prepared to do this if I felt like I was ever going to get to go home today.

That is the problem with RSVP. You can't bail later without being a big asshole. Which means that people should make me RSVP for everything.
***
God I am boring.
***
Hate everything.
***
How is it possible that my ten year high school reunion is next year? Am I old? No. Everyone I graduation with is old. I am twenty-two. Also, since I am controlling the world with my mind, I have a twenty four inch waist.
***
Something is stuck in my teeth.
***
I bet Darla is totally pissed right now that we are not home. She is missing her regularly scheduled lying on the pillow time. Girl please, I am pissed too. Daddy owes us big time.
***
I was on the escalator behind these two college girls at the mall today. They were talking about how they couldn't wait to graduate and how work had to be so much more interesting than school.

Four years of drinking, sleeping around and wearing blue toenail polish is totally wasted on the young.

Not that I did any of those things.

Blue toenail polish is tacky.

Green is more my color.
***
God I am tired.
***
I wonder where my first college boyfriend is now.

He was really smart, probably makes a lot of money.

Too bad he was so short. And skinny.

And drank wine coolers.

I bet he is gay.

Except he really wasn't cute enough.

GOD. Why is his name so common that googling is worthless?

When is some one going to come out with some useful websites? Something like is myexboyfriendgay.com would be good?

Or don'tdatethisfucker.net.

OOH! Or hisdickwassosmallIlaughedmyassofflaterbutdon'ttellhimbecausehewillknowitwasmewhoblabbed.com

No wonder the internet boom failed. Everyone was coming out with shit like Amazon, nothing anyone would really use.
***
I need to keep a pillow under my desk.

Just Go To Bed Fool

I just toasted myself in celebration. I finally finished first in a round of Web Boggle. I am ridiculously proud of this, considering that it was one round. But I feel like going out and printing buttons "Yes, I DID win at Boggle!"

I can't go to sleep yet. Am indulging my yearly addiction to the Women's Softball College World Series. I pick my favorite teams, despite my lack of affiliation with any school. I have players that I like and those that I hate, for stupid reasons of course. I get so excited when my teams win and I just love all the moms in the stands.

I played softball when I was a kid. I was possibly the worst player in the history of the world. It is amazing how hard these girls throw. And how slow my bat speed is. J doesn't understand how I get so sucked in. I can't help it though, I just love watching it.

Of course it is an extra inning game with no sign of stopping and it is almost eleven. And I am nervous and twittery. Am totally going to hate this game at six tomorrow morning.

I Should Get Wine Before I Look Like a Wino

Ever since the hives I am paranoid about bees. Even a loud buzz is enough to make me jerk my head around like a crazy person. J was level-headed enough to call our pest company and remind them to cut down the hives that get built in our eaves each summer. I am choosing to believe this was out of love for me and not because he didn't want to go through anymore bitching.

When I got in my car this afternoon a bee somehow got trapped in the front. It buzzed around wildly, like it was drunk, and it was all I could do not to flail around. Swatting at it was not an option, with my luck I would just get stung in the hand. I couldn't even freak out because I was hurtling down the road at forty miles an hour.

All I could do was whimper like a fucking baby.

The bee fucking sat on my nose. Can y'all imagine the hive I would get on my nose? I would look like a wino that got wacked in the face with a 2x4. SEXY.

I must have pissed of some bees in my life. For the ugly bee conspiracy that plotted to put two in my jeans in the tanning booth and then to try to give me a stroke by sitting on my nose and freaking me the fuck out.

Is it any wonder that I just had to come home, eat a Hostess cupcake and lay on some pillows?

So HOT

J was taking vacation under the guise that he would work on the house. He was going to do the yard. He was going to clean up. He was going to whip things Into Shape. He has one day left and has been doing jack shit.

This does not surprise me. It is totally how I would behave. I mean, who wants to work on vacation? Only psychopaths.

So imagine my shock when I walked into the house tonight and he had cleaned the downstairs. Including the carpets. And the couch. And the kitchen.

I could not feel more sexually attracted to him.

Sadly he is not home to participate in adult activities.

SELFISH.

How dare he behave so hotly and then leave me alone?

BASTARD.

But seriously, so HOT.

Threw Him Out The Window

The first day of work is always hard. Especially for anal retentive, anxiety-ridden and phobically shy souls like myself. I made it through ok, I just hate not knowing how to do everything and be little miss Perfect.

I mean, it is better than being brand new, I know where the bathroom is and I know that the cafeteria has some kick as vanilla cinnamon raisin bread to make toast with. But it is still scary for a Type-A tight-ass like myself. I mean if I can't work eighty million hours a week whatever will I do?

Answer: come home and eat half a pound of cherries for dinner.

***

When we moved into this house three years ago I braved the very scary K Mart to buy some cute-ass Martha Stewart bathroom accessories. White towels and bath stuff with pale yellow trim. The towels have hung from that towel bar ever since. Believe me when I say that no one has touched those fucking towels since I put them up. J likes his balls where they are thank you very much.

So why is one set (towel, hand towel, washcloth, layered in a Stepford wife display) a gross almost freshly-pissed-on-yellow? But just one set. The hell? Does the sun bleach towels a darker color?

If Buster learned to piss four feet into the air I am going to chuck him out the window.