Please, Like I Would Want To Get Close Enough To Cut Them

My dogs and my husband and his friends were operating in a horrifyingly evil conspiracy to not let me fucking sleep last night. The dogs kept hearing the raccoons rooting through our garbage and wanted to go out to play. Ten times they made me go out there until I figured out that they were eating garbage and drinking dirty water out of the lid. How much did I hate them? I seriously considered FEEDING THEM TO THE RACCOONS. Then my husband and his friend called me smashed out of their minds. They were mocking my steam cleaner (fuckers) and J was screaming "BABY I LOOOOOOOOVE YOOOOOOOOU" in the back ground. I hope they had fun because people who interrupt my sleep (I had taken a sleeping pill so I was all stoned and trying to listen to see if something was important) get their balls cut off.

YES CHRIS, YOUR BALLS. OFF. IN A JAR ON MY DESK MAYBE.

Actually, why should I care, since Darla and Buster were putting me through sleep deprivation drive the woman nutso operation #87. I was going to be up anyway, might as well get a drunk dial.

I took the dogs to my mom's house today, let them chase her dogs, let her dogs chase mine. Little bastards are passed OUT right now, and they better stay that way. I am eating celebratory fried rice and watching home improvement television.

And dusting a spot on my mantle for YOUR FUCKING BALLS UNCLE CHRIS THEY WILL BE MINE IN A BIG GLASS DECANTER.

Or something.

He Better Come Home With A Good Shave

This morning I made a Costco run and found out that apparently Costco on a Saturday morning is apparently a serious meet market. Why all these single people are buying in bulk is beyond me. I was just checking out light bulbs, Coca Cola and flaxseed oil and my ass was getting checked out. Tip to single men in Washington, sidling up to a woman at Costco when you have a giant box of KING SIZED condoms in your cart she will mock you on the internet. Especially if you note the felt pads she is buying to put on the legs of her furniture and offer to come over to help her "move things around and whatever else (you) need."

Though, single ladies of Washington, get thee to Costco if you want to meet a man who gets up early to shop on Saturdays and knows his way around the tool aisle. Several look extremely hot in their flannel shirts and hiking boots. If you like that sort of thing. With crew cuts. Which apparently I do.

My mom and I then spent the day looking at ridiculously expensive furniture (rest assured should we be forced at gunpoint to buy a 1500 dollar bed we CAN) and all kinds of goodies for people who are much more organized than us. I was sorely tempted to buy a shoe rack that I would probably never use and a sock drawer organizer. That store is not selling storage tools, they are selling the idea that YOU TOO CAN BE ORGANIZED, even though there is no fucking way I can be organized.

I am actually really enjoying my weekend alone. The dogs were so worn out by keeping my ass up on Thursday night that they let me sleep in until 9 this morning. I got to wander around Costco as long as I wanted and I have made my bed both mornings. My house looks neat and I have a crazy night planned of playing online poker in bed.

I suppose I will have to let him come home, can't have him camping out on the porch. But I must say, it is a good thing that he cleans the litter box for the cat--I mean he has to serve a purpose or he is not getting back in.

Looking cute may or may not be enough.

Oooooh Steamy

Because I am a wild and crazy single gal I just spent the last three hours cleaning my entire house.

Since we moved in two months ago I have gotten into the habit of cleaning the house when I get home on Friday night. I would like to pretend that I am taking on the traditions of my people and cleaning in preparation for Shabbat. But I get home after sundown and really I think it is more that I can see the end of the week and the end of my energy and I just want to cram it in before I collapse. I bought a steam cleaner (that is not the exact model but apparently that exists nowhere online) and man, I am in love. My floors are gleaming (the thing about having floors that hide dirt is that it is sort of hard to tell when they are clean but man so shiny) and you just have to be a geeky housewife to understand the joy that was walking around with the nozzle blasting everything in sight with steam. It kicked ass on my flat cooktop and on the mildew on the toilet seats (which NOTHING seems to get). It is sick as hell how excited I was to get those seats clean. Am officially an old hag.

I changed the sheets and washed dishes and Febreezed the fuck out of everything and now I just want to go to sleep.

My husband called (only mildly intoxicated, I think he wants to remember the concert) and I am sure he was HORRIFIED he was missing the excitement.

Little Bit Of What?

Because my parents are crazy dog people I was not surprised when I got a new baby brother a couple of weeks ago. They had coveted this puppy when it went home with his new owners and raised their hands eagerly when that couple decided to bail on their new treasure.

They are now the proud owners of a large ass Labrador (130 pounds), a medium sized mutt of undesirable origin (80 pounds) and a tee tiny smooth dachshund yippier than you can fathom (13 pounds).

That means my mother is dealing with 223 pounds of flailing animal flesh all alone this weekend while my father is off visiting my grandparents.

Which means I should shut up about how my two kept getting me up last night because Are you sure that Daddy is just not down in the cellar DEAD, can we go check ONE MORE TIME? every hour on the hour until I gave up and just went to fucking work already.

Of course my mom has thirteen pounds of this at home (one could argue that Darla is almost exactly that but she needs a haircut in the worst way and is not at her most attractive or best smelling).

As a side note, his name is Leon but my parents have taken to calling him LITTLE BIT. Does that explain everything you ever needed to know about me? I thought so.

Bon Voyage

J is leaving tonight, on a jet plane, for his weekend of faux bachelor debauchery. I didn't see him last night and really haven't seem him tonight since I guess it was more fun for him to watch Dodgeball than eat dinner with me. Did that sound bitter? I'm not really. This is just one of those occasions that I don't really understand the differences between us.

J is a very gregarious person in social situations, he talks a lot and just likes to be the life of the party. But when he is at home he likes to be alone. He thinks nothing of going down into his cellar and watching movies or playing games until the middle of the night. It is like entertaining people all day sucks it out of him and he can't take any more.

I am exactly the opposite, I am just a more quiet person at work. I do business and I enjoy my time there. I am just more of a one on one type of person, I really like talking with people on a more personal level. So when I get home that is what I want to do. Of course, I usually end up chatting with the cat and dogs because the husband is downstairs.

So I guess it makes sense what is happening--I am wanting to chat up a storm to get ready for my quiet weekend and he is just wanting to relax and be quiet because he knows he is in for non-stop noise and booze.

Of course the fucker could at least give the pretense of accommodating me. I mean white lies like that are what a marriage is built on. Is he trying to crumble our foundation by being HONEST IN HIS ACTIONS?

Heh. Actually, I am sort of enjoying myself, eating pizza rolls and watching HGTV. It's been a long week, maybe I don't need Mr. Slides-on-floors-at-weddings around after all.

Thanks Frank

Frank is a rock star, because he caved to my demands and posted in the comments. And he called me a celebrity. I just love Frank.

Talking About The Weekend Even Though It Is Only Wednesday--A New Low

J is off pretending to be twenty-one and still able to go see concerts on weeknights until the wee hours of the morning without looking like a hatchet face tonight--a fantasy that he will try to keep up through the weekend when he goes to San Francisco to visit Uncle Chris. They have eighty-four thousand things planned including multiple ball games and concerts and much much boozing. J keeps speaking in hushed and worshipful tones about doing Jaeger shots at a bar where a girl in a bikini pours them down an ice slide right into your throat. You can tell he thinks that that bar is just heaven and why on EARTH do Christians think that you have to die to go there? Clearly you just have to go to San Francisco. You even get to see her nipples for free.

I am playing single girl, something that I am embarrassed to admit I do not really know how to do. I am officially the old married hag who cannot remember living alone. Which I did live alone, for a few years even and I was great at it. With the going out with people every night and multiple boyfriends and all. Sadly, most of my activities would be verboten in the new harsh monogamy but still. . . one would think I would have some plans.

I actually do have plans. I plan to setup my attic painting space and buy light fixtures and go bed shopping for the guest room. Oh! And scrub my floors! Hot DAYAM. I am a wild woman. I should charge a cover to come to my house.

I also need to carve a pumpkin since HOLY SHIT it is almost Halloween. I feel like it was summer like a week ago and suddenly it is all wool coats and knee high boots and shit I have not purchased a vegetable in which to carve a silly face and lure small children to my home to amuse me with their funny outfits. Must get cracking on this.

The truth is that I really don't miss the old me that much. I take that back, I used to have a lot of fun, I had some really great friends to hang out with. One of the ugly truths is that even if you are not a smug married (which I swear I wasn't because dude I was a child bride and I knew it) your fun girl friends (and forget male friends, you have to start all over once you get married because the old ones now realize that you are never ever fucking them and hit the road Jack) abandon ship. I mean I was never so much on girlfriends to begin with (as am terrible with bullshit) but I do miss the going out and making an ass of myself part (as is every woman I know since we all were acting all psycho at that wedding). My best friend lives in Colorado and sometimes I just want to fly her out here so we can go get a pedicure and eat queso dip and have to call some one to come pick our asses up because we are not even entirely sure where we are.

Actually is anyone up for that this weekend? It sounds pretty good.

Seven

Since Monica tagged me, you get a meme today. It is internet law after all . .

7 Things I Want to Do Before I Die
1. Publish a novel.
2. Learn to play the piano.
3. Travel to the part of Germany my family is from.
4. Create my own special, signature dessert.
5. Be able to follow along (in writing and aloud) to a Shabbat service in Hebrew.
6. Raise a family with J.
7. Visit every major league baseball park to see a game.

7 Things I Cannot Do
1. Dance (at all, and I was on the dance team in high school so figure that one out).
2. Sing
3. Public speaking.
4. Let anyone be rude to my mother.
5. Resist a puppy.
6. Grow my hair truly long (middle to low back).
7. Not pop a zit.

7 Things That Attract Me To the Opposite Sex
1. Hairy toes, pale skin (I know, sounds like an ape. Or J. heh).
2. Listening ability.
3. A great laugh.
4. Long fingers.
5. Ability to argue.
6. Intelligence.

7 Things I Say Most Often
1. Seriously.
2. I was reading.
3. No??
4. MOTHER FUCKER!
5. No Buster, I will not give you a cookie.
6. No Darla, I will not give you a cookie.
7. Fucking Cubs!

7 Celebrity Crushes
1. Scott Patterson
2. Chris Pratt
3. Truman Capote (I know, SICK).
4. Sean Connery
5. Winona Ryder
6. John Corbett
7. Chaim Potock (SICKER)

7 People (or less) That I Want to Do This
1. Virginia
2. Eeek and Frank, either get blogs or do this in the comments stat!

Carnage

Miss Monica took these photos of her plate at the wedding this weekend.

Take a moment to admire the carnage. Because Monica and I ate like some serious cows. And swilled wine like they were going to pry our hands off the glasses.

Perhaps they should have.

VICTORY

Whoever wrote that recipe that said that margarine was an acceptable substitute for butter was a goodamn liar. Am brilliant. Have actual cookies baked.

Computer is acting like an asshole though so. . .

Who Wants To Pay Me To Post Those Pictures On The Internet

Last night we went to a wedding with Monica and other assorted people we know. It proved to me that you can still be really happy for a woman who turned into a horrifying fucking Bridezilla, that I am terribly unromantic and that all of us married folks need to get out more.

I'm just saying that Monica was using my digital camera to take boob pictures of every woman we knew there throughout the night. That I know the cup size of all of them. And that J ended our night by doing a knee slide and disco dance to Saturday Night Fever. Twice. The groom's father requested that he do it again so they could catch it on video.

He is such a team player he even ruined his pants and got himself a big ol' knee strawberry for his trouble.

We actually had a really nice time, thanks to good friends and lots of wine.

Today he woke up with a sore knee (said strawberry) and an aching back and I have a cold. We've spent the day napping and I am currently ruining ANOTHER batch of oatmeal cookies. Apparently I am incredibly fucking stupid.

A nice weekend, if too short.

Magic Time

For those who care, this is my magic magic potion that makes me oh so pretty. I know! The price! Even with my employer's generous discount I spent too much. But a girl needs to be pretty and I cannot help myself.

If you are also a spoiled middle class brat, who suffers from acne or rosocea or wrinkles or just needs to look fucking fabulous than get on those wipes STAT.

Smooth Skinned

When I was in high school I had "normal" skin. Nothing spectacular, just a few pimples but smooth enough. I abused it, used my skin care sporadically if at all, wore a shitload of foundation (which I now recognize was a shade or two darker than I should have been wearing why didn't anyone fucking tell me?) and really paid few consequences for all of that.

I hit college, took better care of it and promptly started looking like a leper. My skin was so sensitive, I had a lot of acne, it was ruddy and raw. And thus began a lot of searching for something, anything that could make me not look like shit. And nothing worked. Sometimes I would find something that worked a little and it would be a relief. But I was still in my mid--heading towards late--twenties with more acne than most teenagers.

I took anti-biotics for it--which made me feel terrible but I looked fantastic. I didn't need makeup. My skin was still blotchy but it was clear. Unfortunately, I was so dizzy I hated driving my car which really is no way to live. So off of that I went.

I work in an industry where it is important that I look the best that I can. Not that I am a supermodel or something and would be fired for bad skin. But when you work with gorgeous women in an industry where your appearance is noticed having bad skin is something I just don't like thinking about every fucking day.

A gal I know upstairs recommended these daily facial peels. They are obscenely expensive but she got me a sample and after two uses even J saw a difference. So I bought them, having middle class bullshit guilt all the way and after less than two weeks my god. My skin. Is clear. It is not ruddy and spotty. Today, I woke up really late and put on bronzer and ran, something I never would have done two weeks ago. And even though I know that it is an idulgence that I should probably use the money elsewhere. But FUCK. I'm a good person. I donate to the United Way and Planned Parenthood and the ACLU! I never kick puppies. And um, I got nothing.

For the first time in a long time I feel pretty good. I am skinny for me (we are all about relativity here), my hair isn't horrible and my skin is fantastic.

Now if I could just get my stupid hillbilly tooth fixed that would be great.

I suppose I shouldn't be so greedy.

Just Saying

A surprisingly delightful way to spend the evening even if you have a headache and sore tooth?

Eating cinnamon vanilla raisin toast and watching the baseball game.

This, of course, will all go in the toilet if the fucking Astros don't win.

No pressure guys, but I did get TWO CROWNS today.

It Just Isn't Healthy To Feel All Woozy

Today it took me two and a half hours to get to the dentist, where I was an hour late for my appointment and almost vomited in the examination chair (I made it to the ladies room THANK GOD, the list of humiliating places I have vomited is long enough thank you). So I came home. Something about the novacaine and the stress of traffic and something else made me so anxious and queasy and UNABLE TO FACE WORK.

Of course I came home and went to the grocery store, washed my sheets and started cleaning the house which seriously is often what I do when I am sick. Which is sick I know. It is like I can't be properly sick unless my whole house smells of Febreaze.

So I am propped up on the couch with a dog on each side studying me. They are concerned, not that I am sick, but that one of them might get a better spot, an extra cookie, more attention, etc if they do not watch every fucking breath I take. Obviously, I AM A HORRIBLE PUPPY MOTHER CALL THE HUMANE SOCIETY.

Yup, still feeling anxious.

Pantless Porthole

At work today one of the toilets was broken and just kept up with the flushing.

It wouldn't have been so stressful if it had just been like repetitive flushing (it reminded me of this time I took a red-eye into Denver and this woman had her four year old twin boys in the bathroom, the two little boys just ran up and down in front of the stalls making the auto-toilets flush in this very fucked up round) (as a total side note their poor mom was like passed out asleep because it was like three in the morning and I was smashed drunk because I had been drinking Bloody Marys on the plane with this guy named Ed who wore a pink polo shirt and I feel deeply ashamed because PINK? and also I am old because I am pretty sure those boys are in junior high now).

But no, this was one long continuous flush, loud like a sonic boom. It was oddly unsettling, like a black hole was in the poo stall at work and it just might be a porthole to a very scary place.

Custodial had posted a very helpful OUT OF ORDER sign on the door. Because the loud sucking noise and spurting water would not have been enough of a hint and some one just might sit down to take a shit and OOPS into another dimension. Not wearing pants.

Which could be really embarrassing when you think about it.

LALALALA Not Happening

The fucking ASTROS just blew the lead in the ninth.

So go distract yourself with my new blog. Don't worry, the agenda here at Tantrum Warehouse will continue--we are all about boobs and shoes and haircuts here. But, in the spirit of the bookclub Monica and I are talking about starting, I have a lot of books that I need to talk about.

Let us just pretend that the nonsense is not happening in Houston.

God, Don't Tell My Mom The Math Teacher I Need A Tutor

Whoever decided that men are better at math than women just never met my dearly beloved wacko down in the basement. He who cannot buy one pair of shoes only two or three. And only the most expensive ones he tries on. Somehow I think he does not exactly understand that shoes come in pairs so buying two means you are really getting four and oh my I bet I just made his adorable little brain hurt.

I can't really complain because I am always the one that just tells him to buy both pairs and get on with it because shoes are the only things that I bring him along to buy. Everything else I pick out and just have him try on at home but he is so fussy about how shoes fit that it really is better for me to just veto anything that is too horrifying.

Hell I picked out the really expensive ones he bought. In my defense they are really cute.

Come to think of it his math really is excellent, he ended up with four shoes and I ended up with zero. Perhaps I need a tutor.

Don't Sniff It Freak

I have had a rather bizarre obsession with Wet-Naps, those little moist towelettes that you used to get at KFC and the like to rid yourself of the greasy mess. I use to savor mine in a way that had to scare the fuck out of my parents. I would wipe my hands with it over and over and smell the lemony goodness. I would not want to throw it away until it was completely dry. I would stockpile more of them every time I was left with an opportunity.

I still don't understand it, but I still feel that way a bit. It is somehow more satisfying than just washing your hands. And it cannot be replicated with baby wipes even though everyone will tell you it is the same damn thing.

Perhaps I am a bizarre kind of OCD?

All I know is that I hate half a bag of cheetos at lunch today, pulled out a Wet-Nap to clean myself up and started sniffing it. Uh no wonder my cubemate thinks I am odd.

Sadly, there does not seem to be Wet-Nap aversion therapy.

Pretty Soon I Will Pass Go And Collect $200

There are a lot of things spinning in my head lately. I am trying to learn how to be a good wife and a good employee and how to do everything that I want and need to without making myself crazy.

And I am failing.

I am terrible at failing. Instead of learning from my mistakes and growing I always end up just being determined not to make any. Which, not only prevents me from learning, but also makes me feel like Mt. About To Lose Her Shit all steaming at her breaking point.

My parents did a beautiful thing when I was a kid, they always told me that they would never be mad about my grades if I always did my best. If I brought home an F and had worked my ass off for it than that was fun, but a B was unacceptable if I hadn't done everything I could. This paid off huge in many ways, I always had great grades and I never fought with my parents about it.

The problem is that my parents were unprepared for their neurotic child. Their neurotic child who worries too much about being Her Best all of the time.

I have a terrible history with stress. Lost a bunch of weight and look like a very tired Skeletor for much of my senior year in high school because of stress. I cry, I get too sensitive, I just cannot keep it together when I cannot do My Best.

I have been trying it to cope with it for all my life. Obviously, I am not that successful. I worry about our house being clean and not doing things for J that in my head I know he can do his own damn self and will happily but I still feel like I need to do to be a good wife. I am trying to deal with my expectations which are too high and oddly contradictory to what I hold in value. Everything feels overwhelming, and as much as I hate that word it applies to me here.

I am trying to learn to let go. To not always push so hard. To enjoy my home and family more. And somehow I am getting ambitious about that too. Which is, of course, so very beside the point I could be in another country away from the point right now.

I think a lot, probably way too much, about what kind of person I want to be and whether it is something different than I am today. I think about how my life needs to look and feel for it to feel like my own. I am trying to learn to be able to accept things and to feel more at peace with myself.

And all this zen-shit is kicking my ass.

I am too tired and too spun up in my head to even unravel it all. But someday, someday soon, I will figure it out and feel good in my skin.

And stop having to go to bed at 8:30 because my head is going to burst.

I will take the non-bursting as a start.

I AM Worth It

An ugly surprise greeted me at the dentist this morning, as if rushing out of the house before six am to go to the dentist isn't ugly enough, instead of fixing my hillbilly front tooth and replacing the temporary crown that has been killing me for the past three weeks as promised, they bait and switched me into get my teeth scaled. If you haven't had this horrifying procedure it is when they clean your gums with ultrasonic water and air (which totally sounds like baby dolphins being tortured) until your teeth feel loose and your gums feel like you flossed with razor blades. It doesn't so much hurt as it irritates you until you have a migraine.

Than I fought traffic to get to work, worked all day with a headache and then fought traffic to get home way to late. And then J ditched me with the damn dogs because apparently they DISTRACT him while he plays video games.

It was kind of a shit day.

I want my hillbilly tooth fixed. And more cheese for my chili. And a very long nap. But sadly I feel like I won't even get a good sleep because you know have to get up early every damn day.

I hate commuting. I really do.

I also hate the dentist and working with a headache and the fact that it is only Wednesday and I am just saying that America's Next Top Model better be good tonight.

I deserve it.

Can You Snort Birth Control Pills?

Last night I was avoiding the Yankee game and all it's conflicted emotions and also the bellowing man in my basement and practiced parented some scary teenagers on the Degrassi Next Generation episodes on my Ti-Faux.

Oh. My. God.

Seriously. Sometimes there is no good answer and if you have bad PMS and conflicted emotions on baseball and have had a long day maybe you shouldn't think too hard about what would you do if your sixteen year old daughter tried to get breast implants behind your back and then got drunk after you threw her out (but you wouldn't have!) and took off her top in a video made by a boy in her class. Which got shown around the school. Which made you throw her out
permanently?

Oh how I wanted to slap that girl! Even my mother, so clueless about many things, warned me many times never to let any man ever take naked pictures of me. They will always turn up. What made my mom say that to me when I was twelve I have no idea (maybe she had some I Posed For Playboy issues that I do not want to know about?) but it was excellent advice then and is even better today. Especially since that was before the internet. My mom is a visionary.

I mean MANNY LEAVE YOUR TOP ON! This was worse for TV screaming and looking like a maniac through my windows that really need drapes than when Emma started giving blow jobs by the river for bracelets and got VD! Keep your top on, don't whore around! Come on girls, get it together!

The boys are no better with the bullying and getting shot in the spine and being diagnosed as bi-polar but refusing to take meds and running away to live in the school gym. It is exhausting!
And to all of them! Stop getting semi-mullet mophead haircuts you look ridiculous, you used to be adorable!

Having a baby sounds lovely and all but the whole sixteen years later finding out your daughter is a cutter and is sleeping with the student teacher is just Not Right.
I need to go mainline some birth control.

But They Really Do SUCK

Something sick and sinister has happened to me.

I keep finding myself rooting for the Yankees. I mean, not when they are playing a team I like, GOOD GOD no. But just in general. And I cannot work myself up into a rage over them either. I mean natural I still loathe Alex Rodriguez, I mean when I stop being able to make fun of his ass then I need to stop being a baseball fan because that is just no way to live.

But for the most part Yankee players I like.

HELP ME. What kind of fucking YES Network propaganda is J pumping into my vulnerable brain at night? I mean I don't love them or anything, but I respect what they are doing.

I don't want them to win the World Series but they are not even close to the team that would horrifying me the most. And that just alarms me.

My husband thinks that I am coming around to the Right Way Of Thinking but clearly I am chemically imbalanced. Depression could not chase me into therapy but I think Yankee sympathy could do it. I mean my entire marriage is based on fighting about baseball! What will we fight about?

I must have a fever. Or PMS. OR MALARIA.

Anything but Yankee sympathy.

I Will Cheer For Anyone To Beat St. Louis And The White Sox--Even The Yankees

I watched almost three hours of that Houston/Atlanta game today and still saw barely half of it. J had to drag me out of the house during the fifteenth because we were meeting friends for dinner. Good thing too, because it was not just "one more hitter" like I thought it would be.

Thank GOD that Houston finished them off, because I am counting on them to kick the shit out of the Cardinals for me.

Total side note, but does anyone else think that Robinson Cano looks like the lovechild of Whoopi Goldberg, Ted Danson and Diana Ross? You can't tell in that photo but the boy has lips that make Angelina Jolie look like she needs collagen. Are amazing really. Bet he will rival Jeter with the chicks in New York one day.

It Would Clash With My Couch

Since I was such a big baseball fan when we met I think J thought I loved all sports. Which was sort of true. I love the Olympics in a cheesy and embarrassing way and can lose a Saturday afternoon just flipping around ESPN. I watch way too much Sportscenter. I liked baseball and hockey but had no use for basketball or boxing or football.

He doesn't care about boxing. Kobe Bryant's bratty behavior caused him to give up the NBA and he has managed to lure me into the wonder of March Madness. But my indifference towards football really bugged J.

I didn't really understand football when we got married. I mean I understood how you scored and some of the basic foundations but the rules seemed needlessly complicated and the games go so slow. But, in the spirit of marital harmony, I become a 49ers fan and started watching games with him most Sundays.

Of course now I get most of the rules and will make fun of the announcers with him and have my favorite players (I know he is with Tampa Bay but I have just LOVED Cadillac Williams since this great feature on him in ESPN the Magazine a couple of years ago). It is fun for us to be on the same side since we spend all of baseball season torturing each other.

But even I was a little surprised when I woke up this morning and practically skipped to the TV. And was PISSED because we had overslept and missed the first part of the Seahawks game (our second favorite team and they were playing the Rams who WE HATE).

J just grinned like a loon, apparently delighted he has managed to turn me into a football fan.

I am still not letting him put a 49ers fireplace screen in the living room though. There are limits to being a fan.

The One Where AB Loses Her Shit

When I was a little kid I used to smash my fists into my closed eyes before I would go to sleep at night. It would make me see swirls of color and stars and was just generally a terrible idea eyesight wise. Sometimes this would stress me out and make it hard for me to sleep and sometimes it was just what I needed to be soothed and sleepy. It always made me feel disoriented though and made it hard for me to get my shit together for a long time after whether I went to sleep or not.

I have felt like that all week. Just dizzy and out of control. With stars in my eyes and swirls in my brain and just sort of all over the place. Sometimes I just felt sleepy and wanted to spend all day in bed. Sometimes I would feel so stressed out and weepy that it was all I could do to not have a meltdown every ten minutes.

There are just all kinds of things up in the air right now. Nothing major, no, we have made all the big life altering changes already this year with new jobs and a new house and friends dying and such. Just little things. Maybe it is that I cannot seem to wind-down from the big stuff. Or maybe my hold on the family drama queen gene is much more iron-fisted than I thought.

My period is late, really late, not that this is so unusual, and that could be part of it. I am hoping it is part of the rock hard lump of stomach that keeps hanging over my pants. It must be water because that shit was not there last week and I would think it would be hard to get a potbelly in a week. Especially one that is made of something more firm than my car. PMS would be a handy excuse for my weepiness last night when I started to cry about mostly nothing all over J while screeching at him to go downstairs because he will get mad at me if I cry.

Such a lovely thing to say to your husband, I mean I made him sound like a puppy-kicker didn’t I.?

Last night the cat was HOWLING at the backdoor for what felt like hours so I was going to let her out. And then stand there, count to ten and let her back in because I know she hates being outside. But when I look out the door there was a rather BRAZEN raccoon sitting in our flowerbed. He did not run when I yelled, frantically scooping up the kitty so she didn’t become kitty-jerky and he actually started coming towards the door.

Those are some gold plated raccoon balls.

J heard the ruckus and came out to yell too, and had to bar the dogs in the cellar or there would have been much bloodshed.

So the whole family was all worked into a lather and now there is a GANG of raccoons invading our yard. And I could feel something snapping in me. I was either going to cry or I was going to take a knife and stab me some ugly ugly vermin.

But I would have probably gotten blood on my velour sweat suit so I shut the door and bawled and bawled.
I am hoping this is just a phase. That I will stop feeling like a crazy person any second now. Perhaps if I shove my fists into my eye sockets right now I can reverse the effect. And instead of being so confused I will feel like my head swing around to face the front.
Or I might just pass out. It really isn’t a foolproof method.

Imagine How Many Showers I Wasted In The Cold

When I was a kid I was afraid of hot water. Not afraid like, Its Going To Eat Me afraid, but I really really did not want to get burned and was hyper-sensitive about it. I didn't like hot chocolate because it would burn my tongue and I wanted to take the coldest showers possible.

This would disgust my dad and he would nag me about it. On hot days he would tell me that a hot shower would make me feel cooler (which is true but don't tell that to a five year old). He would force me to take hot showers with a sunburn to take the sting out (which also works but HURTS and do not try to tell me different). I just hated the hot water and it became A Thing.

I still don't really like hot beverages and when I drank coffee I would usually wait for it to cool off. Even know when I make tea I put in a crap load of milk which takes the edge off.

But hot showers no longer scare me. My showers now are scalding hot, hot enough that pathetic low blood-pressure me gets a little woozy sometimes from the heat. I know that such hot water is terrible for my skin and hair. My hair dresser nags me all the time about it, saying that it is too drying. But tell that to a girl with a warmer house. My hot shower at the end of the day is how I wind down, how I warm up, how I relax, where I think. It is like therapy only with great shampoo.

Strangely enough, J doesn't like showers. I mean he takes them naturally. But he likes baths. And takes them several times a week. I don't understand it. Baths make me sleepy, bored and even more dizzy. Sometimes I like them but a shower has that white noise where you can sing or talk or cry and it just doesn't matter at all. Scream in the bathtub and some one is going to come running.

Tonight I was in the shower just letting water pour over my head. I could have stood there all night because I could feel my shoulders just easing down. It was the best moment of the day.

Who Am I Kidding? I Am ALWAYS embarrassed In The Morning

If there was ever proof that America's Next Top Model isn't rigged tonight was it. Because DUDE. Cutting a girl that could have gotten you a lesbian sex scene? That is reality TV gold. I should have known Tyra was all about the integrity.

Either that they were worried about Kim's girlfriend was going to storm onto the set and start a fire. Though tell me that wouldn't bring gangbuster ratings.

I bought a dress for a wedding that is coming up later this month, seriously two new dresses this year for weddings for other people--together they cost more than my wedding dress which makes them sound expensive but really my wedding dress was CHEAP--and now I just don't know. Either I look really hot and it is perfect. Or I look ridiculous and fat and slutty. This changes about every ten seconds because my self-esteem is, you know, STABLE.

J really likes it so I am thinking slutty.

I hate it when this happens. When you find something that is either perfect for you or so wrong it is just sick but those two things are close enough you are not objective enough to tell. Am I the only what that this happens to? I think it is like that fine line between love and hate. Where either the guy you fight with on your first date is the one or just a giant tool that takes the band Korn way to goddamn seriously.

Of course tomorrow I will feel differently. Hopefully, which ever personality attends the wedding will love the dress and feel great in it. Sadly, it is so hard to tell who that will be.

Of course this could all be the PMS talking and I am just a cliche who will be embarrassed in the morning.

Fall All The Time

Baseball playoffs are here and sadly the Padres were not able to pull out a comeback against St. Louis and Boston just screwed the pooch today. The whole thing is interesting because there are a couple of scenarios that I could live with and MANY that could send me into a rage. Naturally, I would like for Boston to win again, barring that Houston. I love me some Jeff Bagwell and that whole Clemens/Petite/Oswalt rotation is INSANE. But there are several teams I just loathe. I hate NY, St. Louis and the White Sox. Just the thought of any of them winning fills me with white hot pebbles of RAGE.

We have already split up for baseball viewing. J is downstairs doing shots and moaning even though his team is still winning. After last year you can understand how he will never be able to breathe during a game again. Which is excellent. As much as I suffer HE CAN SUFFER TOO.

Loving, isn't it.

This really is the best time of the year. I freestyle made some Hungarian goulash in the crockpot for dinner, it is cold enough to wear boots but not so cold you need a scarf, playoff baseball is on and I have a down comforter around my feet while I watch TV. I love how the air smells and how my hair doesn't want to frizz quite yet.

If only it could be early October forever.

Two Hours Of Yelling At Your Mother Is Not OK

Ok I just now watched the episode of Amazing Race I Ti-Fauxed from last week and the two little boys who got eliminated? The most adorable boys ever! And their parents handled that perfectly, because it cannot be easy to be eliminated first when your kids wanted so badly to be in the race.

And that little Carissa? I am sure some people find her annoying but I LOVE her. She just seems like the kind of little girl who gets banged up knees and busts her ass and just literally cannot wait for the next thing to happen.

I don't like the concept, because they have slowed the whole thing down a lot to accommodate children and there are some ugly things happening between families that just really should not.
But the little kids they picked are just awesome (at least for now). Too bad they couldn't show the great taste in adults.

And You Can't Jump Through It

Neither of my dogs are speaking to me. Despite the fact that I fed them a frozen waffle with butter and syrup less than an hour ago. An act that they assured me guaranteed me Queen Status for life.

They are laying on the back of the couch staring out the window and taking turns trying to bust through the glass at the kitty in the yard. The kitty. Who is not ours. Who! Has the nerve! To be in our YARD!

And I am laughing my ass off because they keep smacking into the glass, sliding down it like they are fucked up little cartoon dogs and then doing it again.

I mean I know they are dogs but Learn You Lesson Idiot.

THE WINDOW IS STILL THERE!

Tool, And Not Made By Craftsman

Just when I start to wonder, "why DO I hate Alex Rodriguez so much," he is just delightful enough to say something like this and remind me.

Because he is an entitled monstrous tool.

Just a little tip Alex, darling, Texas isn't obligated to win YOU home field advantage. If you had stopped whining and just won the game then you wouldn't have to be such a bitch in public.

This one in particular I love:

"There's a code of honor when so much is on the line," Rodriguez told the New York Daily News. "You hope people do the right thing. But you can't control what people do."

Yes, there is a code of honor. One that allows you to SLAP BRONSON ARROYO last year during a game and then GET HIS NAME WRONG the next day when giving your very insincere half-assed apology.

Honor. Rodriguez style.

Why Even Dream Up That Scenario BASTARD

This weekend J and I renewed our love via our Fall tradition of watching baseball on different floors of the house. And since New York and Boston both made the playoffs the fun shall not stop now! No! We will be scowling at each other for at least another week.

It is more challenging to yell at each other now during the game as you have to go outside to get to the cellar and it is cold out. We did not stoop to calling the house phone with a cell phone but it is early yet.

More hostility to come I am sure.

We are now watching the 49ers blow their early lead against the goddamn CARDINALS.

He did dream up a scenario where I would cheer (loudly!) for the Yankees in the World Series. If they were playing St. Louis. I confess I think I would even cheer for fucking AROD to keep Larussa from a championship. That is how much I hate that smarmy worthless piece of shit.

Damn him for even thinking of it.

Not A Good Planner

Today is the perfect example of why I should never let J plan anything. Earlier this week I was trying to talk him into buying hockey tickets since it is opening night and we didn't go to nearly enough games last year so lets a good start and he told me we can't go because Keith and Tiffany are coming for dinner.

I spend the rest of the week nagging him about what time are they coming, what do you want me to make, etc. He doesn't know because he is a man and doesn't think ahead and yet cannot remember that I will always ask him these same damn questions and couldn't he just plan ahead that much?

Anyway I stay up until midnight cleaning the house (it needed to be cleaned and I kept thinking about it and knew I couldn't sleep so I just kept going until it was clean enough I knew it could be done before they came over today no matter what time--I am mental).

And they didn't come today.

Because J didn't call and confirm (because he tells me all the time that we don't ever need to do that even though this has happened before) and Keith forgot to tell Tiffany and she made other plans.

So I ran all my errands and got everything ready and have now been sitting here bored for approximately eighty-four thousand hours. I am pissed. I don't get much free time. Hardly any at all, and when it is the weekend I want to have fun. Which for me is not playing that stupid fucking videogame until 2 this morning and then again from 11 this morning on.

So hell yeah I am a little bitter. Especially since he said that we could go out and do something fun tonight anyway and lets leave at four.

It is almost six and he is still playing the goddamn game.

I think I will be going to the movies by myself tonight.

And no more planning by him.