Beware Kittens

J left Buster's ear medicine on the couch with the top unscrewed. The ENTIRE bottle saturated the couch and now the entire house smells like candy peaches.

I think this is the meanest thing he has ever done to me.

Clearly unintentional, he doen't usually read here so I am sure he had no idea that the smell makes me want to hack up kittens with an axe.

God, it is like living in an ear mite medicine SWAMP.

Who Could Blame Him?

For the most part I feel really good. Tired and headachey. And I HAVE to eat or the world will spin the wrong way and people will die and the sun will turn purple but overall I don't feel so bad.

Which freaks me out constantly. Maybe something is wrong. Why don't I feel sick? And then I will lie there and think about gross things until I am ready to puke and then I almost puke and can't make it stop and start whining OH WOE TO ME.

I wish I were kidding.

Certain smells, which used to be maybe not my favorites but not repulsive are now Unacceptable. Just the slightest whiff of them make me want to fry up some human eyeballs. RAGE.

1. Buster's ear medicine (which smells like candy peaches which what is wrong with that?)
2. J's breath after a bean burrito.
3. Dog food.
4. Beer
5. Coconut hand lotion

These scents are Day Ruiners and should be avoided by EVERYONE IN THE WORLD until they stop bothering me. Do not make me ring vengence upon you all.

Certain foods have become Essential. Cereal. Frozen waffles. CHEESEBURGERS. My god. Pretty much those three and lemon candies are all I want to eat anymore.

I am pretty sure J wants to hold my head under water.

Crimes Against Kittens

This is the only good thing that happened to me today. Which is a good sign that I truly belong in Hell because DAMN enjoying the humiliations of your cat is clearly wrong.

And so fucking fun.

Rooster done got herself hooked into a plastic bag and with a crash that made my heart jump into my throat she knocked over two chairs and scared the dogs. She went and hit behind the bathtub--something that she can only do because we have a clawfoot. I couldn't coax her out, not with cooing, not with treats. So I did what anyone would do.

I got my camera.

The flash pissed her off and she bolted for under the guest room bed where I took this picture (notice the kitty death stare--I am pretty sure my heart will stop at exactly two am tomorrow morning). I did free her from the stupid bag (while she tried desperately to be seem disinterested all, "YAWN, well free me from whatever this thing is I barely noticed it, I don't care at all, but HURRY").

And then I posted it on the internet.

I expect my Hell bus any moment.

Grand Plan Failure

I was stuck at home all day today. At one point I had worked myself into such a guilt-induced hissy that I was about to get dressed and just GO even if it was a dumb idea. But I didn't go and instead spent the rest of the day on the couch.

I had grand plans, my house is an absolute pig sty and I have not been able to get it together to get it clean, why not take advantage of a non-sick day off of work when I cannot do a damn thing and clean the house?

I didn't do any of it y'all. All I did was eat and sleep and then eat some more. I don't want food ever again at this point and yet I have to slop the hogs in my stomach every couple of hours. I am embarrassed by myself at this point but I am a big giant cliche. All I did was sleep today and yet here it is 8:30 and I am totally ready for bed.

It is supposed to fucking snow again. Delightful.

I Hate The Goddamn Snow

Oh for FUCK'S SAKE.

Snowed in.

I really needed to be at work today and it isn't like I could even go back to sleep so I am just chilling on the couch. Watching my neighbors attempt to get out. If they are struggling to get off the street, then how the hell would I get 20 miles south into the city?

More than six inches and everything is iced down (yeah I hear the laughing from the east coast but we don't have snow removal equipment and everything is so hilly here). So I guess it is me and the dogs and my sweatpants eating frozen waffles today.

That sounds more fun than it actually will be.

I Hate The Fucking Snow

Well shit.

I sort of chuckled when I talked to my mother this morning and she was surprised that we didn't have snow. Bah! It's not that cold so of COURSE it won't snow.

I came out of the mall and DAYAM.

Six inches of snow. We actually had a small tree buckled under the weight and be pulled up out of the ground by the roots.

And we are supposed to get six more inches tonight. If there is a foot of fucking snow on the ground tomorrow I am not getting to work unless some one brings a hovercraft to my door.

Which somehow I doubt they will do.

DAMN IT.

I Am Sure Buster Will Assist Me With The Napping

Every year my mom and I go shopping on the Friday after Thanksgiving. We have an elaborate strategy--early start downtown, while the parade is happening, and then lunch when the parade ends. If we do it properly we are pretty much ready to go after lunch.

We were pretty wildly successful today, even though I wiped out beyond belief.

I need a nap.

Happy Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving y'all.

The past year has been so amazing and I have so much to be thankful for: my beautiful home, being married to my best friend, the incredible directions both of our careers have gone, that my sister has fallen in love and gotten married--I can barely even list them all.

Of course I am most grateful for the chickpea that is making me feel so fucking sick today--a sure sign that he/she has stuck around another day. I had a crazy hormone driven sinus meltdown headache at my mom and dad's house today. I really missed being able to medicate that because DAYAM. Some of the pressure has been lifted now thanks to ice packs, hot rags and a shower but gross. And horrifying that nothing can be done.

But I am pretty sure the chickpea is still around.

So definitely a happy Thanksgiving.

I Fucking Hate Google

A friend of mine had a miscarriage yesterday.

She was twelve weeks, had pretty much told the entire world. She was supposed to be in the "safe" zone.

Of course you are never safe.

This was an oops baby, her first isn't even a year old. But she and her husband were thrilled, they wanted a big family.

I have nothing to say to that.

And because I am selfish and horrible I cannot help obsessing about myself. I read a horrfying thing--that 15% of known pregnancies end in miscarriage. And there is nothing to do but wait until you find out if you drew the short straw.

I do not know what would happen to me if I lost this baby. I only know that I feel as though I hit the jackpot playing with my last nickel--only to be told now that I have what I wanted all along I have to keep playing for nine more months.

I Mean What Do You Follow That Up With

I have nothing to follow that up with.

I guess what no one tells you is that after you find out and freak out and start being really paranoid there isn't much to do. I mean the little freeloader is in there growing but it's not like he/she needs me to toss a hammer in there to help with construction. All there is to do is wait and worry and sleep.

GOD THE SLEEPING.

Well I did go to the doctor today, because they require that you take a test at their office (even though FUCK that noise since I already took two) and I had a mini-panic attack. What if I made this whole thing up? WHAT IF I AM TOO DUMB TO TAKE A PREGNANCY TEST?

It didn't help that J kept asking me if I had studied.

Not surprisingly (says the girl who put off returning the nurse's call for an hour) I am totally still pregnant. Now I just have to sit around some more.

Take A Moment and Say It With Me--HOLY SHIT

Two weeks ago I started noticing some strangeness.

I have been sleeping a lot. Going to bed at like 9pm. Napping through a lot of the 49ers (huge upset!) win yesterday. I felt like I was getting some sort of weird flu that I couldn't shake.

My breasts starting getting huge. For a small-breasted gal, popping out of C-cups (especially when you were just measured last month) is alarming. My nipples have been hard for three weeks straight. And they are the size of dinner plates (are you blushing? sorry to be so graphic y'all).

Most people would see where this was going but J and I have been total fucking failures in the reproductive department and we had no real reason to see this changing. The denial is strong with me yes. But since my breasts were starting to look like they had been carved out of marble (SO HARD, they don't even move anymore--like I got the fakes implants ever) and I could sniff out an orange from seven miles away my pal Linda (who is still on a break so why link her) bullied me into testing.

The second line appeared instantly. And I went screeching (I would like to pretend that I did this with calm dignity but I am pretty sure I sounded like a hysterical hyena) into our bedroom to wake up J who stared at me all stoned-looking and shocked. He thought I was lying or making shit up.

But y'all I done got myself all knocked up.

It took two and half years and a whole shitload of unprotected marital activity but the AB's are having a baby.

Worst Wife Ever

J bullied me into going golfing with him since it is the last decent weather of the year. And he totally got schooled by the thirteen year old. The poor kid, I felt sorry for him paired with us (and we were behind the most obnoxious slow-assed drunks) and we did attempt to set a good example.

We failed miserably.

But J did get stomped by a child which was AWESOME. I probably shouldn't enjoy that so much.

BUT I DO.

A Little Scary

We went to a hockey game tonight which is always good for mullet spotting. It is also a way to become really fucking pissed off at the stupid bitch next to me--the one who couldn't keep her damn legs closed (they had to be spread WIDE open, no wider than that, so that she was shoving me with her damn fat knees--J kindly pointed out that obviously she had never kept her legs closed given the HERD of children she had with her) and kept screaching at her kids to keep quiet WHILE HANDING THEM NOISEMAKERS AND COWBELLS GEE LADY WHY WOULD THEY BE LOUD?

It was a fun night though and we got to see friends of ours for the first time in quite a while. It was scary though, because the wife (who has a chronic illness) has clearly lost a lot of weight, her hair has thinned, something is obviously wrong. She has been ill her whole life and is not one to talk about it, so it wasn't something we could ask about. But it was startling to see her like that.

At least she ate a pizza--she can't be that ill.

The Season

J is back from Montana (after a harrowing threat of being stuck there and then having to fly halfway around the damn country to get here--one would think that it wouldn't be so damn hard to get home from somewhere so close to here), not that I am enjoying his company. Dude's working late AGAIN.

I was talking to this woman I know about the upcoming holidays and how crazy they can be. And I know that being Jewish means that Christmas is a whole hell of a lot less stressful than for those who celebrate it and since my family is small Thanksgiving is actually relaxing (especially since my mother actually likes cooking the meal!). But she told me that she spends about ten thousand dollars on Christmas.

TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS.

Where do people get ten thousand dollars? And why would they spend it on a holiday and not on a trip to Hawaii in January? She buys her kids everything on their lists and elaborate gifts for every member of her family. Plus they have huge family meals.

Now I can understand wanting to make the holidays special for your children. And wanting them to have beautiful memories is a noble goal. But I don't know, maybe I am naive but I don't think you need to spend ten thousand dollars to do it. I was stressed out just talking to her, no wonder she was so freaked out.

What I really didn't understand was her assertion that she "had" to do the holidays this way. No one has to do Christmas any particular way. Even if you have always done elaborate celebrations you can change that at any time. The point is to enjoy the holidays (religiously, secularly, as family occasions, however) in a way that works for your family. And anyone who gets bent because they are used to cashmere throws as gifts and got a fruit cake instead because you are trying to work within a budget can fuck themselves.

Though possibly you could word Grandma's card differently.

I sympathized with her so much but at the same time just lost patience. Suck it up and admit that you like blowing that much money and you enjoy it (which ok) or change it. But complaining about it or wondering aloud if you are raising spoiled children (because yes you are, though I am sure they are lovely--but seven year olds who own 200 dollar jeans are generally spoiled) is pointless.

I can't even think of a way to spend ten thousand dollars on toys for my kids (even if I had them). DAYAM. Maybe she'll adopt me--I do want a KitchenAide mixer.

I Don't Enjoy Being A Girl

I just ate a dinner of onion rings and watched NFL Replay--what's next? Scratching my balls on the couch and practicing my belching?

I did buy these (but on SALE) today so I am not a complete man. I really love them even though I know they are on the hootchy side. When I tried them on I am was just skipping around all happy which is exactly how new boots should make you feel. Of course now I need to pick out an outfit so I can wear them tomorrow. WHAT? Like you don't do that? You have to wear them the first day or it means you don't really like them. My mom taught me that.

In other news my boobs are still larger than normal and now they hurt. Sometimes being a girl sucks.

SELFISH

J is off being all fancy businessman in Montana (where he had a long discussion with the rental car company about not giving him a BIG GIANT RENTAL CAR--I thought Texas was where everything is bigger) and I am kicking it single girl style. Sadly, no male strippers just too many pizza rolls and cans of Diet Dr. Pepper (am living the wild life).

I used to love to live alone but now I feel like a big giant cliche because not so much. It is just sort of creepily quiet plus the dogs are being pissy about having to accept their medicinal cheese from me. The also both decided to have diarrhea in the cellar today which made that smell . . . delicious?

Why does Buster's ear medicine smell EXACTLY like peach candy? It is totally ruining peach candy for me.

In other news my boobs are . . .looking odd.

Just prior to my ladytime the girls tend to swell up a bit. This month they have swollen a lot--enough that I am thinking that maybe J has been using them for a kick boxing workout--and are pointing just slightly uh outward? Like my nipples are two lazy eyes? I don't know, it is freaking me out. It took me entirely too long this morning to jam my breasts into a bra.

And sadly, the one person I could legitimately make discuss my breasts with me is in Montana. Damn selfish man.

Positive or Negative?

We have a Sunday routine now. There is usually an early football game we want to see, one that is unavailable on our cable network because somehow the schedulers think that even people who live on the West Coast don't give a shit about teams on the West Coast and award us the fucking Eagles/Redskins game, and so we head to our bar around the corner.

We fucking love this bar.

It is a total dive. It has improved as the season has progressed because they got a second toilet in the ladies' room and there used to just be a rusty hole.

But the people are nice, we have our designated TV, they are generous with the booze in drinks (and they are value priced) and the breakfast is pretty good for a bar. And cheap to boot.

I still like watching the game better at home. Usually the audio is for a game on another TV and I miss the commentary (well sometimes because sometimes football commentary is worse than baseball commentary and that seems fucking impossible). I like curling up under a blanket at home and asking dumb questions (I am trying to learn all the penalty hand signals this year because it annoys me that J can guess the penalties first). At the bar it usually takes me a couple of bloody marys (fortunately the double is only four dollars on Sunday!) to loosen up enough to not feel self-conscious to scream FUMBLE FUMBLE FUMBLE at every opportunity (I mean, I still do it, even though it makes me self-conscious I can't help myself).

But it is sort of interesting to have your bar. We've carved a little spot in there for ourselves. We know most of the regulars, at least by sight, and the bartender and cook. They through us off today though, the regular bartender was sick and they had their weekday gal in there. I missed the regular one, she was much faster and looser with the drinks. But you can't have everything.

Two years ago I had watched maybe one NFL game all together. Today I walked into a bar and was greeted by "HEEEEEEEEEEEEY, the fucking 49ers fans are here! Change the corner TV."

I'm not sure what kind of accomplishment that is exactly.

DIFFERENT AND DIFFICULT

One of the big issues in my marriage is food.

Well, I mean sort of. I guess food is just where some of this comes out at is--in big ugly messes that lead to weird judgments of each other--the truth is the big issue is more of he didn't grow up the same as me and I didn't grow up the same as him and so together we are weird.

We are busy people. I like to cook but don't really have time for extensive meal planning. I think I am a good enough cook--I could be better but again these things take time which is one damn thing I do not have the episodes of Ellen on my Ti-Faux aren't going to watch themselves you know. So to me, when I take time and make something special that is like a statement. Not to get to melodramatic and oh my GOD like those girls who squeal at work, but you know it is part of taking care of my husband (fuck, I sound like such a tool but whatever notice I don't do it every day--he is grown adult he can feed himself). Unfortunately, J doesn't take it that way. He just shrugs it off as dinner and will gleefully eat leftovers right before because he's "hungry NOW" and doesn't want to wait. I mean he is just snacking, he'll still eat dinner, but to me it is like he just doesn't fucking care about me and my efforts and to him it is just eating.

Yes, I am aware that I am a giant fucking cliche.

The truth is that neither of us are wrong, which is sadly usually the case. We are just different and even when we explain our sides to each other there is some heading shaking on both of our parts and how SILLY the other is. He thinks dinner is just dinner and not a metaphor for our entire MARRIAGE?! And he has already moved on to thinking about gravy or something.

DIFFERENT.

At any rate it is both frustrating and unsolvable really, unless we would like to go back in time and have the same family of origin which would create a whole NEW SET of issues and be about eighty-eleven kinds of gross. So we just try to slog through it and not kill each other. So far so good.

Not sure I will make brined porkchops with lemon pepper new potatoes again any time soon though.

Soon

I have to admit there was some boozing in the AB household last night. There were drinks because we were happy, drinks because we were nervous that we were being too optimistics, drinks because things could still go wrong and drinks because they didn't.

I gave up early, watching returns is kind of dull. But the boys were up forever obsessing about the details.

I feel like the President has set back the country a couple of decades. That civil rights and the economy and our reputation in the world is going to take a generation to recover. This doesn't fix anything it just stops the bleeding.

Of course now J is talking (ok he already was) about 2008. I'm not quite ready for that.

But more ready than I was on Monday.

Thanks Seneca

Since this town is entirely shut down by record flooding and rain and wind and the traffic from Monday Night Football I came home early.

The house is still standing, that feels good.

It is oddly warm out--am worried that we are going to get cyclones or thunder or something.

The weekend was eventful. We went to the chiropractor where various joints and bones were cracked. We took Darla and Buster to the vet. My parents' dog Madeline tried to come home with us and had to be bodily removed from our car.

I am not ready to talk about Darla yet. Let me just say she has a potentially dangerous but probably nothing condition that is going to have to be addressed. I am being a big fucking baby about it (including a kind of humiliating meltdown in the car where I wiped my nose with my HAIR) but trying to get it together.

She is going to be FINE because my dogs are IMMORTAL and CANNOT DIE ESPECIALLY RIGHT NOW.

Obviously I am rational.

Seneca Wallace is kicking the shit out of the Raiders right now. I think that is going to help my denial.

Why Is Skin So Annoying

Why is it when you get a sunburn it tans out in a day or two to a lovely brown color but when you burn your hand on the door of the oven it just turns into an angry red spot?

At least the cookies are delicious.

Damn Candy

I believe that the Milky Way Midnight Bite Size are either the most perfect food ever created or a diabolical weapon from an unknown foe. Because I CANNOT stop eating them. Except for now, because I ate them all.

Well played unknown foe. WELL PLAYED.

I Am The Only One That Misses My Meg Ryan Cut

I feel like all I talk about anymore is my hair but I am still going to do it. Since it has crossed over from medium into long (but just barely long) I am getting a lot of comments. Universally complimentary, usually of the vaguely insulting kind (ie, "it's so cute NOW). It is a little ridiculous how much the boys seem to like it--do y'all have to be cliches? But even J has become just a normal piggy guy with begging me not to cut it.

I seem to be the only one that misses the short hair. Don't get me wrong, I think it looks good and it isn't SO MUCH work. But I just really identified with the sort of spunky, messy cuts that I used to get. To me they were cute and a little sexy but could be made casual or sophisticated. I just felt really comfortable in them. Turns out I was the only one and people just love love love the new look.

So I am trying to adjust to the boredom of long hair (it just looks the SAME every day--I mean yeah sometimes I wear it wavy but I don't know, so SAME) and DAYAM am I loving the return of pony tails on the weekend. Which brings me to my major complaint.

Fucking hair accessories.

I know I was a little scarred by the eighties. I still can't do pastels or colored socks or anything with hearts involved. And those claw clips with weird shapes on them have made me shudder at anything but the most basic (black) pieces. I found this really cute one last week, round plastic with these rubber strips in the center (fuck I am not describing this well--I'm making is sound like a primevil gynelogical torture device) that holds your pony tail. Looks sleek and clean. And doesn't FUCKING FIT OVER MY REALLY THICK GODDAMN HAIR. Which is the story of my life with hair--I break clips and rubber bands all the time. Updos do not stay. My hair just wants to be big and all over the place.

SEE WHY I MISS THE SHORT STUFF?