Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Dancing With The AB's

When I was single I didn't watch TV. I owned one, one that I took out of spite from an ex-boyfriend I knew wanted it. But I really didn't watch it or even turn it on other than to watch a movie on the VCR. I have never seen an episode of ER, even though that show was in it's heyday then. I just didn't watch or think about TV much since I didn't have cable.

Then I met J, who had every channel imaginable. So, when we were at his house we watched TV. The things he liked. Like Sportscenter (which I liked) and WWE (then WWF) Wrestling (which I didn't but wasn't I a kick-ass girlfriend?).

After we got married I stopped humoring him (and they say that oral sex is the first thing to go in marriage PFFT) and we found a couple of shows that we both liked. We made a point to watch them together and enjoyed them. CSI and West Wing were our shows. We watched them together every week and it was just really fun to have that to talk about.

And then a couple of years ago our tastes diverged and we stopped watching anything in common at all. Which is fine. But it does make your pop culture references a little different. It is a little like being married to guy from another country.

So this is how I talked him into watch Dancing With The Stars with me this season. First, that show is just fucking awesome. Second, JERRY RICE is on it. And third, the most important selling point for him, their are lots of half-naked chicks on it.

I don't think I was supposed to tell anyone that. But I outed him inadvertently the other day. And let me tell you he likes it. We get to cheer for Jerry Rice and the scary redhead that orders his ass around. He sits up very straight every time Lisa Rhinna's boobs are on screen. And we are watching it on DVR so we can fast forward through the boring shit (which means the Friday results show takes about ten minutes instead of the HOUR it is on).

We watch it on Saturday usually, and often a week behind. So I avoid websites to keep from getting spoiled. Last week (remember a week behind) we were OUTRAGE when Giselle was outed. To the point where there may have been angry vows to stop watching it if Master P didn't get the fuck off the next episode. And we watched the next one immediately.

And I am going to say that my dear husband squealed like a little girl during Drew Lachey's Thriller. And made me rewind and rewatch. There might have been zombie dancing on the couch. MAYBE. And I confess that four hands shot over two heads when Master P got the fuck off our TV.

Especially since we fast forwarded through his album shill.

Monday, January 30, 2006

Let Me Consult The Oracle

I just tried to take Darla down into the cellar with J and she took one look at the HAIL STORM going on outside and was like OH HELL NO and dug her fucking claws into my feet.

So she is next to me, enjoying my very nutritious dinner of frozen waffles and tater tots. My GOD I am tired of being sick and the accompanying VERY specific appetite requirements. I would just like my face (no longer melting thank you) to stop throbbing and to be able to breath and eat without consulting an almanac of some sort.

Darla, however, would like me to stay sick forever because she just licked my syrup plate and had a tater tot.

Thursday, January 26, 2006

Explains A Lot

I woke up yesterday morning with my face a misshapen nightmare. It throbbed and was swollen and I looked entirely too Elephant Woman. There was a CREASE under my eyes that looked entirely too much like a butt crack.

Turns out that my sinus headache was not stress or my posture (though I had an ergonomic evaluation at work and according to the expert my desk is all wrong and we will have to rip it all to shreds and start anew--also my freaky all-torso, shorty-leg build qualifies me for the fancy-pants more expensive than a used car chair) but a raging sinus infection. One that I have probably had since I was sick in November.

Well that explains my face melting off. And why I am such a tired sack of nothing. I wanted to make her write that out so I could pin it to my chest in this defiant "See I am not a pathetic lazy asshole or a raging bitch I have just been sick FOREVER" gesture. Of course my face still hurts and my eyes still burn and I am still so tired I can barely get through the day. But supposedly, this will get better.

Either that or I can be a mask model for Halloween monster creations.

Oh but the worst? J was all "What? I can't tell that you loo different," somehow implying that I am always hideous AND seeming uncaring. In one roll. Well played. MORON.

I do want to thank everyone who commented or emailed about Rocky. I know that there are a few of you that come here every day and your comments really mean a lot.

Monday, January 23, 2006

The Legend

I remember the first day they brought him home. He was the little brother I always imagined--blonde with big eyes and a big waggling tail. Our family dog, Saint Sargie (my parents are Lutherans and I am a Jew and I totally feel comfortable naming that dog as a saint), was thirteen and my parents were looking down the barrel at having to put him down and they just could not face an empty house and so they got a puppy. A puppy that was adopted into the roughest circumstances possible--a family that had an old dog, one that had always been remarkably well-behaved and was many many years removed from his puppy behavior, a family that really just wanted their old dog to live forever. He was a puppy with a big personality, even bigger neurosis and even bigger than frame. And our family was never the same.

This dog ran us all ragged. He didn't do anything that we thought he would. He grew into a giant, fearful, aggressive animal--the kind that many people would advocate putting down immediately. He made my mother cry with his barking . He drug my father into a pond because he wanted to go swimming.

We don't talk about a certain in my family. The years when my dad was laid off. My dad had a lot of his self-image wrapped up in his job. His success there and the money he made equaled his value and his contribution. To have that taken from him for several years and to go through the financial repercussions of that took it's toll. We don't talk about how depressed he was, how he refused to admit it. But it almost cost my parents their marriage and I think it almost cost my dad his life. Fortunately, for once his stubbornness was a good thing and I think he stayed alive because he was going to bend this fucking crazy ass dog to his will. Make him obey.

I will always love Rocky. I will love him because he turned Sargie back into a puppy for a couple of months before he died. I will love him because he let Buster worship him like a God and only kicks his ass when it is really necessary. I will love him because he and Darla were the coolest odd couple ever--imposing their wills on the other dogs. I will love him because he proves that dogs have a memory (my sister spent three weeks of her winter vacation when he was a puppy feeding him two pieces of cereal at breakfast and ten years later GOD HELP the soul who tried to not give him his two pieces). I will always love him because I really believe he saved my daddy. My father came out of those years a better man and a better father and Rocky came out a better dog.

Rocky died at 5:00 tonight. My parents decided to put him down after he had a particularly bad day this weekend. My dad found him in a closet, which for this particular dog is a hiding place. I can only imagine that he was hiding from the monster seizures that he was having every night. We think he had a brain tumor. But no one wanted to put him through the tests necessary to confirm it. He lasted six more months than we expected. He was ten years old. And I think we all feel a little broken.

I don't exactly believe in Heaven for people. But I believe in it for dogs. And with any luck he is already up there doing the tour with Sarge. It suits my morbid sense of humor to imagine the two of them up there chuckling--arguing over who is missed the most. I hope that the meals are endless, the walks go on for days and some body will always through that goddamn log for him. Sargie is the Sainted one, but to me Rocky will be the Legend.

He was the giant dog who grew to way over 100 pounds. Who liked to carry a ten pound log on his walks. Who ate more pounds of butter than any of us want to think about.

I don't understand people who don't like dogs. People talk about how they became a family when they had a baby. Well our house became a home when we got a dog. Your dog is your best friend. You say things to a dog you wouldn't even say to your spouse because really unchecked communication between married people is a bad idea. A dog loves you no matter what--they ask only for a place to sleep and enough food to stuff themselves with. They deserve so much more. My dogs deserve a better owner than me, but no one could ever love them more.

There was a time when I would have laughed at some one who suggested we would all miss Rocky this much. Goddamn that dog was an asshole. But he was our asshole. And we miss him.

Sunday, January 22, 2006

Need Some Hot Sauce Terrell Davis?


We're going to Detroit!

With any luck we will never have to hear about the unstoppable Steve Smith, who's only big play was a gift from the refs, and the "perfect" Jake Delhome, who at one point had a 1.9 quarterback rating, again. The entire crew of Fox Sports can suck it.

Not the most exciting game if you were not a Seattle fan. If you like the Chickens than it was the best possible scenario. Smith had about seven tantrums on the sidelines and Delhome looked like he was going to cry. Those two talked a whole lot of shit this whole week, bragging about how they could control any offense and no one could stop their passing game. They should be tied up and made to watch clips of that shit for the entire off season.

I don't want to hear anything from anyone about Paul Allen, yes he is a rich son of a bitch but he saved football in Seattle. I don't care if he wants to build more personal museums this shit is just fun.

Now if J would stop flipping so we can watch the postgame, some fuckers have some crow to eat.

Keep It Up

Can't. Stop. Screaming.

If this keeps up, we are EAGERLY awaiting the post-game show where all the analysts who annoited Delhome the messiah have to eat shit.

Make The Right Calls


Lets Carolina get a touchdown. Then another bullshit call against Seattle to push them back practically out of the stadium.

Goddamn zebras. Apparently they got the memo from ESPN that Carolina is the coming of the messiah.

Did You Parents Name You For The Apple Juice?

Holy shit! Did you see Seneca Wallace?

The vaunted Carolina defense just watched Stevens coast into the end zone.

J is getting drunk. We are all flushed and freaked out.

Maybe we all need a drink?

Keep It Loud Qwest


Kick off.


Here Is Hoping

We gave up on the AFC game to just to flip over and listen to the sportscasters suck Carolinas' cocks. I don't know how the hell they can claim Steve Smith and Jake Delhome are unheralded stars when ESPN has spent the entire week wrenching the MVP title from Alexander and shoving it to Smith. All week long about those two and their tractors and their kids and how they were undrafted . . . blah blah blah.

I would just like to point out that they haven't won anything yet.

Let's hope that they don't and that somebody, please ANYONE, just creams Smith one the first drive.



I'll give them that. Rod Smith making that catch while WEARING a Steeler was amazing.

Just make it a game for crying outloud.

I don't even like the Broncos and I cheered.

Just A Question

So are the Broncos even going to try to win the game or they just going to lay down for another half?

Blogging The Games

I accept that sometimes as the only girl my opinion will be ignored during football. I don't like it but whatever. But how is it that I am the only one actually watching the game? One is making burgers (cooking like a good man should) and the other is playing video games. I think I am the only one that saw the damn play.


Football was supposed to start a minute ago but instead we are watching Deacon Jones being all crazy. Fuckers start the game!

I have wished away this weekend (which is a damn shame) because I really want to see the Seachickens!

Only three and half hours to go!

Friday, January 20, 2006

I Was Reading

When it rains it pours over at the book blog, as I try to make up for the last month all at once.

You Win

My sinuses (sinii?) and I have always had a good relationship. Professional, naturally, and perhaps a little distant but we are old school and how would one hug a sinus anyway. They have served me well. Only becoming slightly drippy during cold and flu season and really that could happen to anyone. Then came November, and my first sinus infection. I did all the right things, took the medicines, got lots of rest, kept everything clean as a whistle.

And it seemed to be better. The infection was gone at any rate. But since then, my sinuses have gotten a little more sensitive. I don’t want to throw the word diva out there because I think it is greatly over used (seriously, US Weekly calls Lindsay Lohan a diva in one issue, I am sorry don’t you have to do something of value to become that?) but I mean it may be the right word as I expect them to start demanding M&Ms with the greens sorted out for their dressing room (because they don’t like anything with connotations of horny even NEAR them) any day now. I know remember that blissful time before the infection (lovingly named Before Living Hell) as a time when I could blow my nose without being ginger. A time when my face did not swell for no reason. A time when cool fresh air was not the enemy.

BLH was such a long long time ago.

I have had a sinus headache all week. The kind where my eyes just burned and staring at a computer was just a nightmare. I haven’t really been able to move because my head just feels HEAVY. And yesterday when I woke up the right side of my face was so swollen I looked like a Sharpei. Seriously, I almost lost my foundation brush in the crevices while I was doing my make up.

This morning it has progressed into a full-on migraine. One with auras and nausea. I puked in the bathroom so it is just time to surrender.

You win sinuses. YOU WIN. Whatever it is that you want, whatever your demands, I cave. God knows I have done it for other body parts (I mean that bitch the skin won’t even let me eat tomatoes more than a couple of times a week). I will do it for you. Send me a note, shoot me an email, send suggestions through Web MD. Anything you want, I can get for you.

Just leave me the hell alone.

So my plans to break my rut of do-nothing weekends are totally out of the works now. It is all about pillows and naps and being a big baby. At least for Saturday. By Sunday this better all be over because I have a lot of screaming to do at the TV for football.

Here is hoping my head gets the message.

Monday, January 16, 2006

Hermitting (Yes, That Is A Word)

Darla's breath smells so bad that I am fairly certain her saliva could be a new and undiscovered kind of acid. When she licks my face I fear that my skin will break out in horrible sores.

The doggie breath mints do nothing. What happened to truth in advertising? She refuses to fucking gargle with too. SELFISH DAMN DOG.

We are a sex-segregated house right now. Darla and Rooster are up here watching NFL Network with me and Buster is down in the cellar with J doing whatever the hell it is that they do. This arrangement works for me. Mainly because the only witnesses to my carbohydrate laden with no nutritional value dinner can be bought with Doritos.

Cheerfully bought I might add.

Though that may explain her breath.

I don't much feel like leaving the house lately. It isn't just football, though what a handy excuse and diversion, but I just feel hermitty. I don't really want to put in the effort to deal with people. I also don't want to wash my hair. Modern society is a little difficult to live in. I mean, sure our ancestors had to deal with inhumane working conditions, savage disease, inadequate housing and no indoor plumbing--but did anyone expect them to have good hair every day?

This could have something to do with our 29,000 or whatever days in a row of rain (which GOD BLESS the sportscasters of this great nation for repeating that over and over because I hate it when they show our climate in a positive light on television, I swear every time they show a sunny day in February 212 people from Michigan move here and we are FULL people). I do love the rain, it makes the city smell so clean, but it doesn't encourage the outdoorsiness so much. Well. Maybe it does to those sort of people. Hikers and such. But for lazy asses like myself it is like a big sign from the universe to sit at home and eat macaroni and cheese out of a plastic bin.

I am also unreasonably thirsty. Not that this has anything to do with my anti-social behavior (or does it? shall I consult Dr. Google? No, undoubtedly I will find something to say that some study found serial killers are VERY THIRSTY right before they snap and kill 84 people). But I can just chug bottle after bottle of water and I still want more.

So really, rain and football and the need to be near liquids and a bathroom have all added up to me curling up on my couch and being a slug.

You know where to find me.

Sunday, January 15, 2006

The Optimist

My god. I cannot take another weekend like this. We were all football all the time in the AB household the past couple of days. We ate pounds and pounds of junkfood. In fact, I think I ruined an entire layer of my tongue with Hot Tamales.

To my horror, J was actually rooting for the fucking BRONCOS. Which feels wrong. But the Seahawks game nearly killed us both. Seriously. SO MANY SCREAMS of horror and fear when Sean Alexander fumbled and then was out of the game. And I will never again watch a fucking punt without white knuckling it. I mean. The Seahawks are notorious for not being able to catch a damn pass but FUCK IT ALL CALL FOR A GODDAMN FAIR CATCH.

Phew. I am sorry. I guess I am still a little upset.

That Steelers/Colts game finished us off today. I believe I yelled the phrase, "RUN YOU COCKSUCKER RUN" at least three times. I actually liked both teams (but really wanted Peyton Manning to win because aren't we all tired of the whole "he can't win a big game" bullshit?) so that was just an emotional ringer.

I am now glued to the NFL Network yelling at whoever the schmuck is who is whining that the NFC shouldn't get to be in the Superbowl and that Steve Smith should have been the MVP. Oh FUCK OFF.

This is what happens when you turn me into a fan. J is so proud of himself he cannot help strutting. Two years ago I struggled to watch a full game. Today I was screaming about bad calls and I believe I might have flung something at the TV. Oh just maybe.

My heart can take this shit. How on earth am I going to decompress after all this nonsense in time for baseball season? I guess at least this gives me until at least August until the fucking Cubs break my heart.

That is my version of optimism.

Friday, January 13, 2006

They Cannot Make Me Wear Pleats

There are so many types of clothing that look like utter shit on me it is much faster and easier to list the things that don't. Skirts that hit below the knee (a-line is best), flat front straight-leg or wide-leg trousers, fine knits that are fitted, jackets that are fitted at the waist, button down shirts that are fitted (noticing a trend) . . I have broad shoulders and hips, if I wear anything boxy I look enormous.

So a few things that aren't on the list. Pleats, tapered pants, crop pants, leggings.

All things that are fucking in stores right now. Some one bring me the goddamn HEAD of whoever brought back the legging because that shit looks like ass on everyone and I saw them in PAISLEY today. I have actually been fearing this season since I saw some of the things that were being brought out. The colors are washed out. The knits are bulky. The jackets are boxy. God help me if any of this shit sells at all because they will do again for fall and I will have to go like a year between buying things.

No new clothes for a year!? I think my heart just stopped.

Y'all do not buy this shit. I know in the past few years they have convinced us that cropped pants are a basic, I even bought a pair of gauchos last year (but they were cute! I mean really!). But this is going to far. Some of us like to wear long pants people. We have short legs! We hate looking stumpy! Don't do this to me! I already have pant issues as I never actually replaced all of them that were too large. Now there are no decent black pants in the stores.

I am going to be rolling the waists on my pants for a year aren't I?

Somehow, I just know that this is all Santino's fault.

Thursday, January 12, 2006

You Would, I Would Buy The Universe A Coke

I believed I have mentioned my impatience when I drive. Basically, I think very few people should be allowed to drive. Most people drive too fast, too slow, too erratically, too annoyingly or too stupidly for me. Tonight I was in front of a woman who was determined to cram her Volvo station wagon right up my ass. It was unclear why she felt comfortable bringing her three kids along with her. I was in the right lane of a city street with a speed limit of 30, I was going forty and it was dark. A left lane was available. But instead she rode my ass for miles. When I finally turned I noticed she was chatting away on her phone.

Now, everyone has talked on their cell phone while driving. Or everyone except my grandparents who do not understand cell phones and think they are remote controls that aliens have sent down to control us with. Either that, or they can't tell them apart from remote controls. I wasn't really paying attention to them when they were telling me. My point is that everyone has done it and we all know it is dumb.

However, I think most of us would agree that it is really fucking stupid to talk on your phone while trying to give a gal in a silver Hyundai a proctology exam.

I just impossibly enraged by that sort of shit and found myself wishing that the damn woman would get in a wreck and that would teach her a goddamn lesson.

And I hear a crash.

Y'all see where this is going yes?

Stupid bitch hit a light pole. One that wasn't lit, yes. But a light pole.

So I stopped. She was fine, her kids were fine.

She was still talking on the goddamn phone.

She hits a pole. Crunches the hell out of her car. Could have killed them all. Is still talking about what shoes is she going to wear with this on her fucking phone, it isn't like she had called 911 or anything.

Here is guessing she didn't learn a damn thing.

But if I was going to suddenly control the universe with my mind (which would be awesome, y'all would love the AB-verse) why did it have to happen when it could have harmed other people? Why couldn't I just levitate something or win the lottery or Tom Cruise wake up with his mouth sewn shut?

Wednesday, January 11, 2006


The tiny women's college I went to like to brag about it's high diversity and so made sure it had a large percentage of students from foreign countries. And down the hall from me lived a young woman though she was several years older than the rest of us (which SCORE she could buy beer), from Kenya named Sly. Our third or fourth week in Sly was visiting our sweet and went in to use the bathroom (we lived in groups of ten and shared large bathrooms with 3 toilets, two showers and two sinks) and when I went in I noticed something strange.

She was facing the wrong way.

I don't mean that she was standing up and peeing like a man or anything, she was sitting on the toilet, but facing the wall.

As it turned out, though the village where Sly grew up was quite modern, the plumbing (which was installed when her parents were young which means Kenya is about as modern as Iowa since my father used an outhouse for part of his childhood) was installed backwards. I don't mean improperly, but that the handle where you flush the toilet was in the middle of the room, not against the wall the way that they usually are.

Sly and the other people she knew hated using the toilet with their back's to the door since they didn't have actual doors, so they got into the habit of sitting on the toilet backwards.

She knew it was backwards, this isn't some sad and horrible commentary about silly people from Kenya (as she was beautifully educated and brilliant in science in a way that makes me regret my chemistry fearing ways). But that was just how they did it.

And she would often sit backwards on the toilets at school because she was homesick. It just reminded her of her family and made her feel connected with them.

I can't imagine traveling across the world to go to college. Her world must have just felt split at the seams. But I do know that my life feels a little crazy now. Not because of anything that is so horrible happening, but just the usual shit. A dash of work, spoon full of family stuff, a shot of crying for no reason and you have a regular gumbo of Freaking the Hell Out.

It is times like these that you look for your touchstones. Try to make yourself feel safe and at home. I have my easy ones, the husband, the dogs, my family. But the way I feel tonight I just might try going to sit on the toilet backwards for a while.

Maybe that will help me too.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

So Far So Good


I am so excited I can barely stop smiling. I love baby E. I love Linda. I love her husband. I can't wait for the new baby!

And she was so afraid to tell me. Which on one hand, how awesome is my friend that she was so worried about upsetting me that she didn't complain about feeling like shit for like two weeks (I mean she complained because that is how we roll yo but she didn't tell me why)? That is LOVE people.

On the other hand, I really hate that I am such an emotional cripple that she had to worry about it.

However, I am happy beyond measure. So far, 2006 is awesome.

Monday, January 09, 2006

Ten Things I KNOW

I must admit that occasionally I get very smug and think that after five years I have this marriage thing licked. I mentally kick Dr. Phil to the curb and just invite hubris to come smack my ass because that is exactly when something comes to get us.

Not to worry, everything is lovely in the AB household. But we had one of those talks where you say the things you have been holding back for ages, that you didn't even really think, they just are and somebody cries (ok me) and somebody looks all helpless (ok him) and you think GODDAMN after five years you would think we would just say this shit earlier.

But no.

But since I am a goddamn know everything these are things I KNOW about marriage:

1. The first year blows. Not really. It is fun and you are so cute and happy. But you have this sinking suspicion that you are not as happy as you are supposed to be. I mean newlyweds are supposed to be fucking every ten minutes and so in LOVE and not having shrieking fights about towels on the bathroom floor. Except everyone does. No one has as much sex as all that. But you do in the second year so HANG ON. Year two rocks the house.

2. Your husband will shrink your favorite jeans. I mean this as a metaphor (even though this has totally fucking happened, also ruined my favorite sweater). I mean that your husband will do something incredibly stupid in a cliched (but oh so accurate) housekeeping debacle. You will feel like you are on a terrible sitcom. Not to worry. Every wife does something horrible and cliched too.

3. Everyone really will ask you when you are going to have a baby. No answer other than, "I'M PREGNANT!" will ever shut them up.

4. There is no apology that can not be made more sincere with oral sex.

5. Yeah I said it.

6. He will always want a bigger TV. Or whatever thing he swore he would never want after he got the TV he has now.

7. Someday he will understand about high thread count sheets. Or he will fake it. Whatever makes you happy or feel comfortable and special he will learn to appreciate. And you will at least PRETEND to understand why the whosit whatsit wireless thing is very important and a MUST HAVE (God. My shame over the gender roles in this is KILLING ME).

8. Wear cute underwear. Yeah, I know. It doesn't feel worth it. But it is. Because one day somebody he knows will admit that his wife wears granny panties and your husband will totally get to feel smug. The reverse? I totally get to feel smug because J does the dishes. PRIORITIES.

9. So far the fifth year has been the best. Even with all the shit went down. Because of our pretending to know what we are doing.

10. One day some one you know will get a divorce and you will stare at each other all freaked out. Then it will happen again and you know it could totally happen to you.

Thursday, January 05, 2006

I Swear, It Isn't An Oprah/Uma Thing

I have a whole PC/is this racist quandary that I have been wrestling with for quite some time and I just have no idea really.

There is this lovely woman at my office, who I don't know at all but see in the bathroom and around, who looks just like Oprah. I mean Oprah in her thin, gorgeous glowy way (but this gal is probably younger by a hair or two). She really does look like Oprah and I would certainly complimented to be told that (you know, if it could be remotely true which it can't since I am white and blond and thirty years younger but STILL I think Oprah is gorgeous). But is this one of those things that every attractive black woman gets told that she looks like Oprah? I have a friend who is a handsome black man who gets told endlessly that he looks like Denzel Washington, despite looking nothing like Denzel. That just seems to be white people code for handsome black man.

So I say nothing to her, which is undoubtedly fine, because HI we are in the bathroom and don't know each other and really she probably does not give a shit about what some honky thinks of her anyway.

I should probably stop staring at her though huh?

Sincerely, Those Of Us Who Watched The Game And Know You Are Full Of Shit

My GOD. OSC fans are the biggest whiners in the fucking world. YES. His knee was down. But he would have scored anyway. And the game is over y'all. You lost. Hoping that the coaches' poll would vote for a TIE is just sad.

A woman I work with was talking about how she and her husband got into a fight over the game last night. He is a big USC fan and was OUTRAGED when she made a comment about how great Vince Young was. He was also not wanting to go to work today because he had been talking so much smack and now was going to have to eat it.

Oh for shit's sake. Seriously. First of all, smack that man to the curb because honestly if he can't understand a little crush on Vince well than what kind of husband is he? I am fairly sure J will let me call out "Vince" when we have sex for the next week. That is love. That is MARRIAGE.

Also, if you cannot take it, than you should not dish it out. MY GOD. What a fucking pussy. Talk trash about the Texans for weeks and then run away? I will give this to J, though he insists on rooting for the goddamn Yankees and man does he talk a lot of trash, he can take it. The day after they lose a big game, the playoffs, a game against Boston, whatever. . . he is wearing his jersey. Strangers yell at him. People at his work will give him so much shit. But he can take it.

It is called BEING A MAN, Southern California.

Put a cork in it please.

Wednesday, January 04, 2006


Holy shit.

That was a great game.

It was even better if you were like our house, where everyone but J was all for Texas (not that any of us gave a shit about Texas we were just heartily tired of the big media cocksucking of USC leading up to the game). We all fell in serious love with Mr. Vince Young who is totally going to father my children. No I am sure J will not notice.

Y'all I am starting to understand why people go crazy over college football.

We had people over and ate the better part of entire cow and the wings of a coop of chickens. We ate many many of my crack/monster cookies. We yelled at the TV. We made fun of the very stupid commercials.

It was my best Saturday night in a while.

Too bad it is a fucking Wednesday and I have to get up in the morning even though I am too amped to sleep.

Maybe I will go practice my new signature Mrs. AB Long. Mrs. Vincent Long. Ms. A. Long. over and over until I go to sleep.

Holy shit.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Help Me R. Kelly, You're My Only Hope

This weekend I finally got my act together and washed the pots and pans that my mama got me for Christmas and they were . . .

well . . .used.

USED, y'all. As in scorched and warped on the bottom and dried food in the pans used.

So those fuckers got returned. And replaced with some very shiny stainless steel ones. I have never had anything but cheap and crappy non-stick which apparently causes cancer and even though I have had to rush to the internet for reassurance that I am going to be ok without Teflon I am pretty stoked about it.

If I can get visions of nasty pans scoured out of my brain.

I also realized this weekend that though my husband is a eighth degree nerd belt he is sadly behind on his trashy pop culture. He spends all that time on video games and misses out on Tori Spelling's affair and new marriage. He had no idea that Playboy had a reality show. And he had never seen TRAPPED IN A CLOSET.

Let us all have a moment of silence in awe for the cultural achievement that R. Kelly brought us this year.

Just looking at that list I feel like my IQ has plummeted and I might need to take an SAT course or something.

Or possibly reading comprehension. Because our company health plan changes came in the mail today and JEEBUS. I think I need to change plans because one covers infertility better than the other and something something and man it just freaks me out because I am sure that no matter what I do I am fucking screwed.

I wonder if I call R. Kelly he would read the pamphlet to me.

Trapped in an HMO would make an excellent song really.

Sunday, January 01, 2006

How Did Coke Become The Enemy

Yesterday I did something that made me make a resolution, something I just never do--I dumped Coke on my laptop.


So I resolve never to do that shit again because I almost had a stroke when it happened. I imagine I entertained the neighbors with my running around in my pajamas flapping my arms and screeching.

Other than that I am just grateful that I made it to 2006. For a while I felt like I wouldn't. 2005 blew. And I feel guilty saying that, knowing that my life is pretty damn good and some really good things have started to happen for us lately. But 2005 was a year of the AB household almost losing jobs and having money issues and worrying an awful lot about little brothers. It was a year when we found out that we can't have a baby, when my friend died, when some ugly shit just went down.

Of course, I feel like we are on the other side now. With new jobs and new opportunities and our great house. It is hard to bitch when your life is pretty good (not that I won't try).

I hope all of you had a safe and sane New Year's Eve (ours involved a crazy game of Uno Attack we are wild folks here) and your 2006 brings everything you ever wanted.

I'll just be staying over here, hugging my laptop far far away from the Coke.