And We Still Got Home Late And Y'all Know I Hate That

When I was eighteen I lived with a man that I would like to forget. He was not good to me, not a particularly good person and had a belly that threatened to smother me during uh intimate moments (moments that I did a lot to avoid because UGH). The reasons I was in this relationship are lost in history and sometimes I just want to go back in time and smack the holy shit out of myself.

He was also a pot smoker, like a lot of people my age. The drugs didn't make him more pleasant, I mean weed doesn't make you mean. It just makes you thoughtless and shitty and just kind of a fucktard. Or at least it did him. And he mixed it with various other WHATEVER and whatnot and dude became a tool of the worst order.

At any rate I can't be around drugs. Beyond the illegal nature of that shit I just can't handle it. And the smell of weed brings about a physical reaction that I am sure is at least three parts psychological. I get migraines and I vomit. Fun huh?

So we went to a Kings of Leon concert last night and after enduring a fairly shitty opening band (note to the bassist, you are not the female Flea and you were not rocking so quit acting like you did something) the show started. It was awesome. They were great live and we were having a good time (except assholes were standing at a seated concert goddamn I am a hundred years old). And then some dick starts smoking out behind us.

Around what had to be the third bowl I had a headache (excellent at a loud ass concert) and I started to feel sick.

I had to fucking puke before we left. So embarrassing and I felt so bad ruining our night. But what could I do?

Damn you pesky kids and your damn enjoyment of recreational drugs!

And We Still Got Home Late And Y'all Know I Hate That

When I was eighteen I lived with a man that I would like to forget. He was not good to me, not a particularly good person and had a belly that threatened to smother me during uh intimate moments (moments that I did a lot to avoid because UGH). The reasons I was in this relationship are lost in history and sometimes I just want to go back in time and smack the holy shit out of myself.

He was also a pot smoker, like a lot of people my age. The drugs didn't make him more pleasant, I mean weed doesn't make you mean. It just makes you thoughtless and shitty and just kind of a fucktard. Or at least it did him. And he mixed it with various other WHATEVER and whatnot and dude became a tool of the worst order.

At any rate I can't be around drugs. Beyond the illegal nature of that shit I just can't handle it. And the smell of weed brings about a physical reaction that I am sure is at least three parts psychological. I get migraines and I vomit. Fun huh?

So we went to a Kings of Leon concert last night and after enduring a fairly shitty opening band (note to the bassist, you are not the female Flea and you were not rocking so quit acting like you did something) the show started. It was awesome. They were great live and we were having a good time (except assholes were standing at a seated concert goddamn I am a hundred years old). And then some dick starts smoking out behind us.

Around what had to be the third bowl I had a headache (excellent at a loud ass concert) and I started to feel sick.

I had to fucking puke before we left. So embarrassing and I felt so bad ruining our night. But what could I do?

Damn you pesky kids and your damn enjoyment of recreational drugs!

I'm Much Too Young To Feel This Damn Old

I did take enough science to know that Mammoths don't exist anymore (of course kids in a lot of states don't learn about that anymore) but this guy looked real enough to me. Not real enough to scare me but real enough to make me think about all those commercials for Night at the Museum. And then the lights flashed and thunder music played and I squealed like a little girl.

I even did the Joey Lawrence "Whoa."

I'm not proud y'all.

J and I spent the morning Saturday and the Royal Museum and then goofed off around the city. We bought legal narcotics at the pharmacy and took a nap. And then we met our friends for the evening.

It started out nicely enough, a fun dinner at an Irish pub, a couple of vodka gimlets. Then J had to take care of something for work so we decided to wait for him at this trashy bar in our hotel. It's deliberately trashy but fun in a goofy way and once the bartender figured out the gimlet (gimlet count at this point four) we were good to go. Until a guy named Kevin plunked his ass down next to me.

Kevin was trashed (and we were headed that way) and despite my protests that I was married (he was married too and showed me his ring eagerly--they always do that and then they try to grab your tits) settled in. But things weren't going his way so he decided to call us all war mongers and baby killers. A DELIGHT THAT KEVIN.

So we skipped out once J arrived. That bar wasn't that fun that night anyway and who needs to be called a baby killer by a smell Canadian in a hillbilly bar? Not me.

We ended up at this other bar and it was fabulous. We had a cute waitress who was so nice, kept the gimlets coming and convinced the DJ to play cheesy eighties music for the old people.

This is where it gets fuzzy. I know that somehow our friends convinced the DJ to play Def Leopard and Journey. That the entire bar sang along to Journey but somehow the dance floor cleared during Kiss. Except for us. I know that I spent a lot of time talking to our waitress (after she was off) about massage therapy (she is studying) and what to do when a client gets a boner (happens a LOT). I know that I had to do a lot of fast talking when J tried to take a call in the ladies room (the bouncer was not amused). And I know it was a bitching time. We even drunk dialed DelSelva who apparently couldn't hear a damn thing. Which is too damn bad because we had the waitress squealing "I WANT ON HIM" into the phone. We even got her replacement (nicknamed Sparkly Whitney) to do it.

When I say we I mean me. I charm the ladies apparently.

We were all a little out of control. J and I had done Jaeger shots (I am not officially a frat boy and yes I FEEL SHAMED) and one of our pals was doing Goldschlauger. Nothing good comes from Goldschlauger. So we were headed back to the hotel. They were at a different one so we split up.

We get back to our room and we having shall we say . . . marital moments (and oh lord, are hotel is such the hookup hotel, five bars in the building the rooms are cheap and most feature a whole lot of mirrors you know what I mean) and one of our friends calls J. Repeatedly. Seems his girlfriend and him had an argument on how to get back to the hotel and she bolted on him in the wrong direction and now he can't find her.

Glad it wasn't me getting my pants back on to go look for her.

By the time he got back we were even more trashed, I am not sure how that happened since we hadn't drunk anymore so we . . uh ended the evening? and passed out.

Only to be awoke at four in the fucking morning by fire alarms.

SHIT. Must find clothes. Must find birth certificate (note to those thinking bitches should bolt the door wasn't hot it was just smokey). Must evacuate.

We trudge down the stairs onto the street and stand out in the cold and NOTHING.

The fire department is already there but no one is talking to the guests, it's all old ladies and foreigners in the cold out there. Finally J asks if we can go back in and is told it's safe so go ahead. So we go back inside to sleep in smokey rooms (which are excellent for those of us with sinus issues).

I found out later (when I called to bitch yesterday) that the fire was out and a guest pulled the smoke alarm when the smoke came up the elevator shaft. We probably didn't need to evacuate in the first place. GOOD INFORMATION TO PASS ON TO THOSE STANDING ON THE STREETS ASSHOLES.

See. This is why we don't go out and party. I am too old to handle Mammoths and fires and Journey all in one damn night.

Back From BC

You might have noticed that J and I are not exactly the partying kind. This is from a combination of working and habits from when we were broke and the fact that we are not exactly college kids anymore. We like to have a good time but it's pretty rare that we go out and act like drunken fools.

So we did it for a whole damn weekend.

J had a business trip last week and I joined him for a little fun in Victoria, BC.

I am so worn out y'all. I acted like a grown up and rode up there with (GASP) a stranger and did NOT die (shocks me too). I re-discovered the vodka gimlet (I re-discovered it again and again actually, I believe the vodka gimlet and I are BFF and also possibly married in some more forgiving countries). A very fake woolly mammoth scared the shit out of me. I got picked up and then called a baby killer by the same obnoxious guy.

Oh the hits just kept on coming.

Due to some shenanigans on Saturday we didn't sleep pretty much at all. And then we got home last last night. So for now I will sleep in.

But tomorrow . . .pictures of the MAMMOTH!

Melodramatic?

Oh poor L. I spent at least half of her day whining about my damn hair. I am not adjusting to the length or professional coloring well (actually I like the color but I am not adjusting to not being able to do it at my own damn convenience very well, I don't have an appointment until the 12th--that is like next year). And I was like FIND ME A HAIR CUT WOMAN.

I just bitched and whined at her for hours via email. I don't even know why it was bugging me so much today. Well I do. It isn't so cute and I am bored with long hair but I promised J I would keep it long a little while longer (since I am never growing it out again) so I am toughing it out. I guess it isn't toughing if you whine the entire time.

But it made me think about all the shit that L and I talk about all day. Hair and makeup, clothes, vacuum cleaners. The best way to clean the dishwasher. We talk about her kids and lightly on politics, our parents, our junior high school, thongs and what to eat for lunch.

What did people do at work before the internet? And what would I do if she wasn't on her email all day?

Die of loneliness.

Pre-Death Cleaning

J is getting smashed on his business trip. I came home to the dogs having shit all over the basement.

Then I smashed the fuck out of our old microwave cart with a mini sledge hammer. Buster and Darla were all wild eyed like I have this history of hitting them with sledge hammers. Which is not true except that one time when they barked at imaginary bugs for seven hours straight but you understand.

Then I cleaned the kitchen and floors because when your husband goes away the best thing to do is start acting like a repressed housewife. Actually, I just wanted it to be reasonably clean in case we died in like a ferry accident or something. So my mother wouldn't know we live like animals.

How Many Times Can I Use The Word Fuck In One Entry

I am so frustrated with the fucking Cubs I can barely stand it. It isn't just that Lou is mis-managing the games, or players or wasting at-bats or that they lost to the CARDINALS at WRIGLEY (though those things are certainly causing some screaminess here) but that they could be, SHOULD BE so much better.

It's just annoying as hell and they are killing my grandpa. He is probably clutching his heart right this second because of your stupid bench management issues LOU PINELLA SO FUCK YOU.

Ok I feel better now.

I have wee case of the fuck this's. My (internal) answer to everything that happens right now is FUCK THIS. Traffic? Fuck this! Seriously bullshitty drama at work about sitting on desks (apparently this is unprofessional and all of ye who participate shall be stoned in the square)? FUCK THIS!

J is leaving town on business tomorrow (fuck this) which will lead to doggy drama (fuck this harder) and he will have fun while I continue to deal with all the desk sitting fall out (fuck this like a goddamn porn star).

I suspect that my case of the Fuck This's will end Friday when I join him in Canada for a little weekend away (and forgive me, a little Fuck This).

Jowls

Further proof that J and I are an excellent match? We were in bed last night watching Gene Simmon's Family Jewels (I know) and Shannon Tweed reveled the results from her face lift. She got the fat under her chin sucked out. And it looks damn good. I looked over at him and said, "that is what we are getting each other for our fiftieth birthday's dude." To which he replied, "Fuck that, who do you think you are married to? Fortieth birthday."

We are jowly people. We might be fat-assed middle Americans working the beer bellies at that age but damn it we will not have the giant jowls.

On another note have you ever bought a lip gloss that you think is just perfect? It's that corally pink that you have been looking for, with a little shine but not glitter? It's the kind of shade that makes you look healthy and polished, not too teen, not matronly. But then you see it in another light and realize that you look like you had S&M sex with a My Little Pony and maybe you shouldn't rock that for day? And then ten minutes later than that you love it again?

Just me? DAMN

The Cubs Lost Today So I Am Skipping Baseball Tonight Anyway

Dirty confession time:

I want to like the Yankees. My team is in the National League and god knows I expect J to cheer for the Cubs (and WOE to him if he fails to do so enthusiastically). I should cheer for his team right? There is much to admire about the Yankees, they play all business baseball, do the right things at the right time. I love so many of the players (Jorge, Mo, Giambi).

But I can't do it. I really can't.

It's Red Sox v. Yankees weekend and the Yankees were just leading game 1 in the 8th with a three run lead. They brought Mo in and he coughed up the lead. That isn't fair, exactly. He has long been vulnerable to bloop shots (he jams hitters) and with runners on base the infield played in and got caught with their pants down. And I started clapping and screaming and cheering.

I guess 2007 isn't the year that I become a Yankee fan.

In other news, Art from Everclear is getting married. Again. I don't actually care about him being married--I'm married and I will still having baking dreams about him--but does the dude ever learn? Hope it works out for him this time. I don't know, on what marriage do you start thinking "hmmm, maybe I am not just picking the wrong person . . ."

At any rate, I think Art may be soon replaced by Robert from Dinner Impossible. There is something impossible hot about that geeky head on the buff body with the accent. And the dude can cook. Maybe in these dreams he will bake for me.

Accidents May Happen

J just dumped ten gallons of hot water on our kitchen floor (and the wood floors in the hall) by breaking our humidifier (savior of allergy season) and turned our house into a swamp.

Then I dumped Kool Aid on my brand new briefcase.

As he put it, no laptops were harmed during these incidents so we should be grateful. And not touch any liquids for a while.

Back To The Petty

I know that L linked me (welcome y'all!) but I am just exhausted from being so fucking angry. The past couple of days have just been this vat of rage and disappointment. I cannot believe what assholes people are (pundits saying that victims should have fought back because he only had handguns GOD) and the racism and the threats of more violence. Damn y'all. It is 2007.

I thought we were better than this.

Actually I didn't. I want us to be though.

At any rate, it's back to normal petty nonsense which is what this site is really about. This past weekend I bought some new earbuds for my I-Pod (really AB? RIVETING) and I wanted this set that were twenty five dollars because I am cheap and that seems like a lot to me so I really didn't want anything that was 50-80 bucks which is what most of them were. We get to the checkout stand and these were really 40 dollars (fucking Best Buy always has their shit mislabeled and no price tags and BULLSHIT). J gave me all kinds of shit about being so cheap and how these would sound so amazing and I should live a little.

So I bought them. Because apparently I cave when my husband makes fun of me (this is also how I got the I-Pod to begin with, also every single nice thing I own I think). And they really do sound amazing. I mean I almost missed my stop on the bus because the are noise cancelling and I didn't hear the driver (must be attentive DAMN) but the quality is fantastic.

And then I lost them.

After ONE DAY.

My ten dollar ones I have had for way over a year. Making them about .003 cents per use. But the new fancy nice ones are forty dollars per use because I am an idiot.

I did find them today. On the ground. Under my car. Where I had run them over and let them get rained on. They seem to still work (I admit I was a little concerned plugging them in because electricity is like magic to me and maybe the little wizard in my I-Pod would be angry about the earphones?).

I just can't have nice things.

Enough

So. Virginia Tech.

I feel a little bullshitty first world, middle class problemy posting about my angst yesterday during the aftermath of the shooting. I have to say I really couldn't process what was happening yesterday and in some ways I still can't.

There are no words for how horrible this situation is--I was watching CNN and the reporter said that as they brought out the bodies cell phones kept ringing and buzzing as families members frantically tried to reach the deceased.

I don't know how people recover from that.

What is overshadowing what should be a country mourning a tragedy is the blatant racism coming out of this.

Let us get this straight, this man did not shoot those people because he is Korean. It has nothing to do with his immigration status, this is not Angry Asian Man Syndrome. This is a sick person with a motive that we do not know yet.

My friend L and I talked about this a lot today. She was worried how people would percieve her family after this. If they would be treated like Muslims after 9/11? Being part of a minority means that you get to wince when some one from your group is accused of a crime. Especially if that crime re-enforces stereotypes. I just hated when Jack Abrahoff was in the news because I knew that the money-grubbing Jew jokes would start.

Ever notice that despite the fact that most shootings of this nature are committed by white men their race isn't discussed. If a white man did this we would be talking about how this is from heavy metal music or some other bullshit. If he were white white students would not be concerned about violence against them and leaving campus. If he were a Russian immigrant RUSSIA WOULD NOT APOLOGIZE FOR HIS ACTIONS.

Do we see the bullshit here?

Since converting to Judaism I now see the white privilege that I have lived (and still do) in. I am a nice average looking white woman with blond hair. No one checks their locks when I walk by, no one reflexively holds their handbag tighter, people do not assume I am really great at math. This is how it should be for everyone. But we all know that it isn't. We all have prejudices built into our behaviors. And the challenge for us all, individually and collectively, is to admit that and call ourselves on it. To try to change our behavior.

This is not about political correctness, which I believe is a myth (seriously, people always talk about how people aren't short but vertically challenged but have you EVER heard some one really demand you use that term). This is about using words that are respectful. This is about not making assumptions about some one's character based on their appearance. We have taken care of the outward institutionalized stuff in this country--we are desegregated, we have laws against discrimination--but we need to embrace the attitudes that the country was built on. "I'm not politically correct" is the siren call of the asshole. It is an excuse to be rude, to hurt people, to offend and it blames the victim. And I am tired of it. It is the exaggerated equivalent of calling a guy named James "Jimmy" even though you know he hates it. It infantilizes him, it makes him feel powerless and it makes you a piece of shit. Humiliating those who cannot defend themselves is easy.

I have not spoken up when people say these things in front of me. I didn't want to appear too sensitive or be accused of being politically correct and BULLSHIT. I shouldn't care about that. And I won't. It's not censorship to explain to people they are offensive, it's not wrong to do what you can to make it stop.

This man did a horrible thing and irreparable damage. He destroyed families and a university and our sense of security. Hold him responsible. And honor those who died by not blaming his race but in remembering the victims.

I Don't Drive A Mini-Van So FUCK OFF

It comes as no secret to anyone reading this that I have issues.

J and I got married pretty young and for some reason to a lot of people this translates into I forced him into getting married and have destroyed his life. Because of course married people never have sex, or fun, or enjoy their lives. And I am a tad (have you noticed?) shall we say defensive about it. In fact, I totally become that humorless shrew that sitcoms portray wives to be (how to network execs go home to their wives after approving that shit) on the subject. I fucking hate it.

I am going to say this one time into the universe and then attempt (ATTEMPT) to let it go. J asked me to marry him. At no time have I put a gun to his head. Believe it or not, sometimes men want to get married. I KNOW. It is shocking since obviously women have been programmed since birth to trap themselves a husband who they can suck the joy from and destroy his spirit!

I love my life. Love my husband, love the city I live in, love my job--my life fucking rules. And I am fairly certain that J loves his life too (unless he is a secret agent that is just toiling in this marriage as some elaborate IT related cover which um OK I guess is possible). The big difference between his life as a single man and life as a married man is that he doesn't live in a dump, the food is better and he isn't really allowed to pork hot chicks anymore (except me, naturally). Contrary to sitcoms and the editors of Details Magazine married people do the things that single people do--they go to concerts and out to dinner, they have SEX (shocking, I know, don't tell my mom), they have FUN. Or maybe they don't. I know a lot of boring-ass single people too. We don't party much, you won't find us doing keg-stands, at least not on school-nights, but I am pretty sure that I wouldn't even if I were single. Drinking like that isn't really fun for me anymore. But being married is a good thing for me.

I don't judge anyone for not being married. I think a lot of those people have a great life happening. They might travel more than us (which is at all basically), or have less family-friendly careers. I don't think anyone has to be married or have kids to be happy (though I continue to maintain that if you constantly regale me of tales of your wild and crazy life that it is probably isn't that wild and crazy and reeks of desperation).

I'm going to (TRY to) stop caring about what these people think of me. I am tired of being out with a bunch of men and having to prove that I am a cool wife (though I totally fucking am so bite me) or having them silently look at me like I have ruined J's life. Yes, he cares about wood flooring now--we all GROW AND CHANGE. From now on anyone who gives me a shit about it will get a shrug.

Or a kick in the balls.

I'm just growing and changing here.

Weekend Wrap Up

Uncle Chris was here this weekend and he wanted to see the best that Everett had to offer in evening entertainment.

Somehow we ended up at a frightening dive Chinese restaurant at 2am with me consulting a bunch of strange men about my haircut and trying to get a cab home.

This seemed like a fine idea until we had to play a double header in softball today.

Was a gorgeous day. Sunny and warm. Since I am just subbing on this team I just wanted to not make an ass of myself and be better than nothing. High standards.

But I got a couple of hits and even had a good running play. YES RUNNING PLAY. I know. ESPN filmed it, I am sure it will be on Sportscenter tonight.

We saw The Pathfinder yesterday. I think we have the front runner for next year's Razzies. Some seriously terrible acting, gratuitous violence that wasn't particularly interesting and somehow their costume designer failed to realize that Native American is not the same thing as a Hawaiian HULA DANCER.

Feel free to skip. I mean, I liked the new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie.

An Indication Of Health

I had to go into the lab today for some blood work (for those familiar with fertility workups the Day 22 blood work with a thyroid chaser). I felt incredibly sorry for the people in the waiting room of the walk-in clinic where the wait was already at two hours.

The lab tech who worked with me looked exactly like Katie Holmes. Not in a mildly similar way, but in a damn, I knew her career was in the toilet but this is ridiculous way. Also, not like I want some one who has had a lobotomy to jam a needle in my arm.

I am possibly the easiest person ever to draw blood from but she managed to bruise the hell out of me anyway. I suppose that is a talent.

The kid waiting next to me was coughing in such an ugly manner and getting a chest x-ray that I am sure I will have the plague or pneumonia any second now. Of course I don't think he was dying because he ogled my boobs rather obviously.

Do dying boys look at breasts?

He was like fifteen so probably.

She Would Be So Proud

My mother taught me that people who were brought up right wear new clothes and accessories that they buy immediately. Her theory is that if you love something you will want to use it right away and that if you don't then you probably shouldn't have bought it.

This theory has served me well. I tend to make few shopping mistakes.

Which is why I spent my afternoon plotting my outfit around my new shiny (in turquoise). I still haven't figured out what I am going to wear tomorrow but I think the skipping I did after buying that is a good sign of happiness to come.

Even better? Through various deals and earning of my advanced shopping badge I even got it for much less than that price.

I can feel my mother beaming at me from here.

Skeletons Best Kept In the Closet Not Making Out On A Desk Where People Can See You

Have you ever wanted to unlearn something you know?

I rode in on the bus this morning with a friend. She works in another part of Workplace but we know a lot of the same people. And she told me a bit of information about some coworkers that I don't want to know.

Turns out that this person cheated on his girlfriend, that works at Workplace, with another woman at Workplace. And this woman is his current girlfriend. Apparently, everyone knows about it and the two carried on in the office and in public until the original girlfriend found out and left him (they lived together).

This is so out of the realm of my business it is ridiculous.

But I can't help it. It bothers me. To me cheating on your spouse (which in this case, you are living together so I mean that is close enough) is a cruel thing. But to do it at work (how professional!) especially when all three of you work in the same place (which DEAR GOD PEOPLE DON'T FUCK OTHERS AT WORK THIS IS NOT HARD) just seems vindictive and mean.

He is such a nice man. But I cannot help but feel differently about him now.

He'll never notice. It's none of my business. But I am still feeling a little WTF about it you know? I guess we all have our skeletons.

Letters to Everyone

Dear People in the Elevator At Work,
I know! It's crazy that you have to like wait for everyone on the elevator to like get out of the elevator. That like requires patience and shit. It's just a bummer how we are all bound by the laws of physics and no matter how much you shove you just won't fucking fit in here until we all get out. WHO KNEW?
Love,
Girl Who Will Totally Fucking Shove You Back Bitches

Dear Self,
Stop coveting white handbags. You cannot even keep your pale blue trench coat clean--have you seen the cuffs lately? You would get ink on it, dump a diet coke inside of it and have a red lipstick smear all over the place on the very first day. You are a disaster. Get over it.
Love,
Self, I am totally not kidding stop with the wanting WHITE no matter how fresh and springy you think they are.

Dear Weather,
Fuck you. I was wearing spring shit today and it is COLD AS HAM here.
Love,
The United States (I shouldn't bitch, at least it isn't snowing here. YET)

Dear Fast Food Chinese Lunch Place,
I didn't actually want you. But I figured your spicy beef would be a solution to my belly um NEEDS. I had my hungry beer goggles on and you were good enough. And then you went and had a broken credit card machine. You are the cock tease of the food court.
Damn you and your hot pepper flakes,
The blond girl who had to stop herself from having a tantrum at your counter, I know PMS much?

Dear Bob Howry and Cliff Floyd,
Get the stick out boys. This is supposed to be the season y'all don't break my heart. I know it's early but a disturbing trend. And Lou? Start playing Murton. None of this pinch hitter nonsense. Put that adorable little redhead in the game.
Thanks,
I Can't Screech When I Am Watching The Score Tracker At Work But I Can NOW

Silver Linings

I guess in the big scheme of things I should just be thankful that when Darla barfed in the bed that I was no longer in it.

Happy Pesach

As with all marriages we have a division of labor in the AB household. I would say it is roughly 50-50, with both of us taking up the slack of the other when needs warrant it. Yes, we have mysteriously divided it up along traditional sex-roles a little more often than I would have pictured in my women's college days but you know what? I hate mowing the lawn. And he dusts terribly. But part of the division of labor that I loathe is that I seem to be in charge of home life. I doubt that will change but I don't want to Mommy the man so I have very carefully (and sometimes resentfully) resisted being in charge of our spiritual life.

Part of converting is figuring out what you need from your religion. Judaism isn't just going to temple or reading the Torah, it is being part of a community and living your life a certain way. And it looks different for every person. So while I was the driver behind meeting with the rabbi and going to class and I certainly do more to study and learn than he does I do not want to be in charge of his Jewish life. So with Passover this week I asked idly what he wanted to do and he didn't really answer. For me, I can be Jewish without ever attending temple (honestly, the most compelling things in Judaism happen outside of temple), even though I like going, so I wasn't going to worry about it. So color me fucking annoyed when he was a little bratty about not having a Seder to attend at the last minute.

BUT. I toughed it out and found us one (because if I waited for him well . . .this is how I was looking the day that Passover began) for last night. I hate calling strangers and meeting with strangers and have about eighty kinds of social anxiety and this hit every one of those buttons.

I am so glad we did it.

It was a community Seder. Attended by J's old boss (who's wife needs to pull the stick out because there is NO NEED to be so passive aggressive Missy) and no one else we knew. And it ruled.

We sat at a table with a bunch of old Christian ladies. They were curious about the holiday and had the most cheerful attitude. They were really trying to learn and experience. They ate all the food (one even begged me to find out what kind of horseradish we were eating and I think she ate most of a jar). They got drunk on the wine and asked lots of questions (Jesus really didn't have a Seder? I thought that was the Last Supper?). They were a delight.

Best part? We weren't the new Jews. To them we were experts. The only annoying part is I am pretty sure they thought I was a shiksa and gave J credit for being born Jewish. Damn him and his dark hair! He claims that even I dyed mine I wouldn't pass but SIGH.

They said they were going to come next year and want to sit at our table.

Passover is the holiday most celebrated by Jews around the world. And it is not celebrated in the temple but in the home. That is really the essence of Judaism (though the woman leading the Seder last night claimed it was the wine which good point). This is part of what makes it hard to convert--you have no one to learn these traditions from, no one to celebrate them with. But this is what makes it special. One of the most important times of the year is celebrated in the home, with your family (or the family you have created). I feel lucky that we got to share it with everyone last night.

It's Only Opening Day

And I have already told Joe Morgan to SHUT THE FUCK UP eleventy-thousand times. I know he is a Hall of Famer and all but could he not suck David Eckstein's dick the entire broadcast?

Since MLB still hasn't gotten their thumbs out of their asses and got the damn cable deal done I am facing a season of no Extra Innings. They have until midnight but could we get this deal done so I can watch some baseball.

I have to work tomorrow and so does J, so we can't gorge ourselves on baseball even if the package does get done. So even though it's Mets v. Cardinals tonight I am having to enjoy this. So many people my age don't like baseball and I guess I understand why. Being a baseball fan takes time, it takes effort. It's a game that is best if you follow the game, pay attention, love a team, love the players. It isn't a drop-in game. And I find that a lot of people just don't want to be active fans--they want the game to just unfold in front of them and entertain them. But baseball is at it's best when you are screaming at the TV (because Joe Morgan is an annoying ass) and disagreeing with the manager and even in the stands you are bitching with the other fans. That is why I am so heartbroken y'all--I AM GOING TO MISS SWEET LOU'S FIRST CUBBIE MELTDOWN IF THEY DON'T GET THIS DEAL DONE.

That might kill me.

So all y'all who don't like baseball, I feel sorry for you. There is nothing like Opening Day. There is nothing like loving a sport so much that you know entirely too much about it. I hate Cardinal fans, HATE THEM, but I love them at the same time. Because at least they love baseball. Even if their manager is a drunken cocksucker and they inexplicably just gave him a standing ovation.

Assholes.

Hockey Night

I am not allowed to use self-tanner. My addiction and subsequent orangeness led J to encourage me towards skin cancer rather than look at THAT anymore.

But even at my worst moments I never approached the tangerine shade of the damn Oompa Loompa girl seated next to us at the hockey game last night. She may have been a lovely girl, I couldn't tell you because remember those tell all books about the Patridge Family and the girl that only ate carrots? This girl was kicking the shit out of that color. And she and her little boyfriend didn't watch a moment of the game they were too busy talking on their cell phones. WTF is that? I don't get going to an event and spending the whole time on the phone.

After the game we went to a bar with some of J's friends from work. One of the new gentlemen he works with, who is like fifty and British, spent the whole time staring at my tits and calling me "love"--normally I would find that charming but meh. Not so much YO. STOP LOOKING AT MY BREASTS OLD MAN.

Occasionally I would look over pleadingly at J who was engrossed with other people and for some reason they were feeling each other's underwear lines? Maybe I don't want to know actually.

It is a testament to how uptight I am that I would never go out like that with people from my office. Sure, I've gone out for drinks but I would never get drunk. Even though it was rather refreshing to see their bookish accountant start head banging her head to Guns and Roses. You can take the girl out of Bellingham but you can't take the Bellingham out of the girl.

Exhaling Slowly

I finally went the infertility specialist today. Something I have been dreading for about two years. I can't explain why I was so afraid to go some place where some one might actually help us. I suppose it is about shame and a fear that something is more wrong than we know.

It helped that the same doctor that did my D&C, who was so kind and funny, is the specialist. But I still ended up crying in her office for no damn reason.

Nothing unexpected happened during the visit. But just getting through it was an exhale of a lot of bullshit.

Plus the day was gorgeous and I didn't go to work.

Worrying About A Lot Of Things

The world is spinning. Well I suppose it always spins, at least according to science and all, but the sinuses are just fucking with me and I feel all light headed.

I suppose teenagers everywhere are stealing good pharmaceuticals and huffing all sorts of glues in order to get this feeling and I should just roll with it.

Of course I have been dealing with a massive project that has huge financial impacts for my job all week so being dizzy and out of it is just really excellent timing. Let me spend millions of dollars when I really shouldn't even be driving a car.

On the other hand, it is sort of awesome to feel drunk at work.

My performance review at work is coming up (what a segue! and awesome timing with the drunken feeling!). I'm a little panicked. I never once worried about my report card growing up but somehow the grown up version always makes my stomach drop straight past my knees, bounce off of the ground and whacks me in the nose. I am always semi-convinced that I am going to get fired even if I am doing a good job (long time readers will remember that this actually happened to me so I mean my nerves are not totally insane) and honestly sometimes it is hard to know how good of a job you are doing. So yes. PLEASE LET ME NOT GET FIRED AND ALSO A RAISE WOULD BE GOOD.

Tomorrow is my infertility appointment where I go and beg and plead and say please just help me I promise I will not let my baby drown in the toilet. Think that tactic will work? I'm worried that the doctor won't help me because obviously I can get pregnant or that something will be terribly wrong. I am just working myself up over the unknown of it all and even though I know that is pointless I am still doing it.

With all this working you would think I would break a sweat and wear leg warmers.

Why Are There No Snarky Old Ladies On The Muppet Show?

You know those old crabby men muppets? The ones that make snide comments about what is happens to Kermit and Piggy and all that foolishness? Well besides the fact that those men are my soul mates they have huge wrinkly crevices in their faces. So deep that I am sure the crumbs from their daily Twinkies get all stuck and nasty in them. At least they have a fucking excuse being old and made of foam and all.

So why do I have those same damn crevices in my face? My sinuses are SWOLLEN y'all. And J has a sore throat and we are the most pitiful couple in America. In fact he is chomping at the bit to go to bed right now.

It is eight thirty.

I need to go clean the crumbs out of my wrinkles before I go to bed. Girl has to take care of her complexion.

Where My Housewifery Bores The Internet

The one casualty in our move a year and a half ago was our microwave cart. All things considered I didn't care at all, since the damn thing was free to begin with, and I didn't have to carry one box during The Move That Ate My Brain, Spat Me Out And Made Me Swear With God As My Witness That I Shall Die In This House. By the time that move was over I was happy to prop up my now busted microwave cart with a roll of painter's tape and call it good.

But I really hated that microwave cart.

It was innocuous enough. Plain blond wood. Knife block on one side. But it wasn't very functional and the thing just bugged me for some reason.

In my tee tiny kitchen there are about five cabinets. You think I am kidding but then you probably are not crazy enough to live in a house from 1916 with the original kitchen. I mean we have new appliances and floors and countertops but the cabinets are original. And for some reason we cook differently then the Warehouser executives that used to stay in this home. I am far from a gourmet cook but even my pots and pans could not be housed easily in the cabinets with our food and other dishes.

You would think in a solid marriage that where to store pots and pans would be a minor thing.

You would be wrong. SO WRONG.

I will not go into details except to say that J was unreasonable on the subject just as he is unreasonable on the subject of french toast (I know most people were brought up as SAVAGES and savages put syrup on their french toast but one would think that once you see the light of sugar and cinnamon that savages would become civilized but NOOOOOOO) and we just threw the damn things around and crammed everything where it would fit.

We needed storage. And also a life because seriously, this bothered us entirely too much.

But I solved everything by putting up industrial metal shelving (assembled by my OH SO CAPABLE two hands) yesterday. Now there is a place to put the microwave and sodas and the crock pot and all the pots and pans and cooking utensils. It is like the heavens opened up and little angels came down to brush the tangles out of my snarly-ass hair (pain free!). Places to put things.

Until Buster started barking at it.

He did it a little bit last night but when I got home from work today Buster just started barking and barking at that wall. There is nothing else there so apparently it is a chrome alien sent to suck out our souls.

Which is fine with me honestly, as long as my soul continues to have a place to put my pots and pans.

Fine Internet, You Win

Please ignore the weird scab under my lip. That was a crusty thing that exploded on my mirror yesterday.

It is blended nicely now but notice the VERY BRIGHT and almost golden top vs the beige ends? If the whole caboodle was the end color I would be delighted but well. . .

FUCK YOU GARNIER.

Of Art and Awkward Moments

I know that there is nothing more boring than some one writing about their dreams on the internet but I am totally going to fucking write about my dreams on the internet.

I have a lot of dreams about Art Alexakis (for those of you not clicking he is the lead singer of Everclear). Many of them are wildy inappropriate and several are not exactly rated PG-13. I am not sure when I became such a freaking groupie but at least these are sex dreams about some one I find attractive (unlike the alarming number I have about Pavarotti, most of which I am struggling underneath his fat ass but not oddly not screaming NO as I should be). But two days ago I had the delightful dream that Art came over and baked cookies with me (he enjoys my butterscotch and cinnamon oatmeal cookies as WELL HE SHOULD). After we had made several dozen and drank a bunch of wine he leans over to me and whispered to me, "I really love your blog."

That's hot people.
***
We got free tickets to the beginning of the WHL playoffs tonight. And I had one of the most excruciatingly awkward moments possible. The other two people with J's company tickets were a couple that I spent a lot of time with at his company holiday party. Well actually just with the wife, and since J had told the world that I was pregnant she and I talked quite a bit about it. And I could tell she was a little puzzled that I am obviously no longer pregnant.

And I had to tell her. And she felt bad. And she kept saying over and over how sorry she was. And my urge was to tell her I was fine. I mean I am. I am certainly not happy about it, and it isn't really ok but I guess I am ok. But I just felt bad because I made her feel bad about making me feel bad and damn that is just a stupid situation.

It's not her fault. She wasn't trying to hurt my feelings. There is no right thing to say.

But somehow we just ended up sitting there, not really looking at each other for a long time afterwards.

Better Than Hair

Y'all are relentless. I didn't take photos of the damn tragic hair but maybe I will take a picture of the end result. And maybe you can reassure me. Since I made my pal L sprint down the stairs before my meeting in order to check it out.

I will say that he told me that it would look better as it grew out a bit and the colors blended with washing. So far that seems to be true (I washed it tonight) but I have to admit I am a little sensitive about it. One, I hate being the kind of vain-assed person who cares about her hair this much. Two, I spent a bunch of money on getting it fixed and even though it is immeasurably better (and FUCK dude he made miracles happen) it bugs me a bit that it doesn't look that great. And since I have been in a meeting for two days (including a late night nonsense thing last night) I am worn OUT. Which I think is making me obsess about this a little more than is healthy.

Moving on. MAYBE.
***
I was watching Clean House (which I mainline like it is some sort of home organization drug--or it will inoculate me from becoming my mother) and I feel guilty but there was this little girl on there, she's maybe eight and just DARLING. But girl had a unibrow. Is it appropriate to teach a child of that age to pluck? I mean my women's college self wants to teach kids to fuck the patriarchy and screw those who cannot understand our diverse appearance. But the larger part of me is like get that little thing some tweezers before she is scarred for life.
***
Why is it, since I work for the chickiest company ever and none of these women actually eat, that when we have these multi-day meetings we have nothing but tables and tables of food? And yet I am still eating some Nutter Butters. It has been a long goddamn week.
***
I am not sure I can make fun of J's cousin with the hardwood floors in his trailer anymore (well he doesn't live in that trailer anymore which hurts that), because we have our old washer and dryer hanging out on the front porch. I hope my friend that is buying them comes this weekend. It is a little Sanford & Sons is what I am saying.
***
Do you know what I hate? I hate picking out what to fucking wear every day. I just hate it. Even though I have some nice clothes it is just a chore to try to figure out the weather/fashion/what won't make me feel like a frumpy fat ass problem. I mean I need like an excel spreadsheet and a macro for that shit.
***
I promise to come up with something better than hair for later.

In Response To Comments

I cannot believe y'all think I took a photo of my hair. You think I want to remember that nonsense and foolishness?

Oh hell no.

Restored!

Y'all I fucking LOVE my hairdresser. Well actually his daddy. Who took one look at me and was like, "Girl, you are a challenge for me today."

Why yes. Yes I am. He counted more than six colors in my hair. All different tones. He buttered me up and then drove in the knife, "now sweetie, I don't judge anyone for coloring their hair at home but please tell me we are not doing this shit again."

We will not be.

It took more than four hours, a whole lot of color and I think he may have made some sort of deal with the devil. But somehow it made it work and bless him for it.

My hair looks like hair again. And it even still feels soft (in hairdresserspeak it has "integrity" which I love, my hair would NEVER LIE IN COURT) and doesn't look like straw. That is a fucking miracle.

I gave the man a giant tip and if he swung that way I would have flashed him my boobs.

In fact, I pretty much had a restrain myself from doing that.

If My Hair Was This Color And I Was Sixty I Would Be Rocking

I'm ready to confess.

Long time readers know that I color my hair at home. I have naturally light blond hair but I like to tweak it--with highlights or adding a little ash or a little gold to it as I go. I have certain colors that work for me and I am loyal to those brands and colors. I have it down to a science.

Except they keep discontinuing my colors.

I am guessing that colors that work for me don't work for people who are trying to radically change their color. And those lovely, very functional colors are pulled from the shelves. Bastards.

This just happened again and I was in search of another product. I decided to try Garnier. BIG MISTAKE. It dried the hell out of my hair and turned the ends a strange blue/purple grey. I followed the directions carefully, even though they seemed ridiculous and counter intuitive. If you do not want blonds to use your colors then label them appropriately GARNIER. Bizarrely enough, the color actually made my hair a darker blond. Even though it should have been lighter. Just a fucking mess.

So I left a pleading message on my hairdresser's machine last night. I called in sick to work and am hankering down waiting to fix this mess. I feel ridiculous being so damn vain about my hair but seriously, I work in the kind of company that I will be working thirty years from now and some one would make a comment about it.

I guess I will need to stop tweaking my color. BASTARDS

At least our new washer and dryer were delivered today. They are GORGEOUS. As a result of the damn dog food recall (those cocksuckers trying to kill puppies!) we had to rush out and get an emergency replacement. The replacement caused the dogs to have some . . .er . . . issues on some towels downstairs. So I am trying out the sanitation cycle on the new washer.

There is a silver lining joke in there somewhere but I am a little too raw to enjoy it.

Hitting Fast Forward

Since protesters were hitting downtown Seattle this afternoon I took an early bus. Somehow I ended up sitting behind a guy holding a rock and stroking it lovingly. And he was somehow wearing both a crew cut and a mullet with some ALARMING rat tail action in the back. He was wearing a leather jacket under a canvas coat.

I am just having a fucking day. I can't explain why. But damn. Today sucked. Tomorrow is going to be worse.

And pet rock man tried to grab my ass on the standing room only bus. He is lucky to still have fingers.

March Madness

I don't actually know anything about basketball. I don't care about it much either. But I get sucked in by the tournament.

I think it is one part office-sanctioned gambling, one part liking to competing at anything and another part liking the opportunity to beat J at anything. Actually beating J at something that he has skill in and I do not is an irresistible opportunity. I cannot be held accountable.

Whatever it is, I was screaming FUCK THOSE MORMONS during the BYU game last night and was way too excited to see Duke go down. I am doing pitifully at my work bracket (I even lost a Sweet Sixteen team today) but kicking ass at J's bracket (which is the most important one even though it is worth less money).

I drove home from work with no coat on and the windows down. This has nothing to do with March Madness--or DOES IT?

I don't know why I get so sucked into these things. Fantasy Baseball doesn't hit me quite as hard because the season is so long. And I avoid Fantasy Football like the plague since I know eventually y'all would find me weeping into the rug about my sack category. It is just too easy to get obsessive compulsive about this stuff.

I saw a guy wearing fucking JAMS today. This has nothing to do with March Madness--or DOES IT?!?!?!

I should stop that.

It's Friday night and I am rocking jeans and a Ramones' t-shirt, in bed with scores flashing on the lap top and flipping between channels on TV (which, side note, CBS's feed just blows). THIS IS NOT NORMAL.

Some one check on me tomorrow. If I lose another Sweet Sixteen team I might found wandering the streets of Everett whimpering WHY DID I PICK ILLINOIS?!

Behavior Modification

J does some computer work on the side. People we know, or who know people we know, have him work on their machines and occasionally he gets an OH SHIT MY COMPUTER IS MELTING call. And a couple we know made such a call a couple of weeks ago. They just wanted their data back, they knew the machine was toast.

Which was pretty funny when J posed this ethical dilemma to me last night. It seems that the husband in this couple has an extensive file of porn (nothing freaky just normal free or cheap internet porn). And J wasn't sure if he should restore it or not. Since some women frown on their husbands looking at porn.

The husband was pretty glad that J checked with him first, just to avoid the discussion.

I don't care about porn. And am always surprised when I find out women I know do. If J started in on me about getting breast implants or if he never wanted to have sex because he masturbated all the time then we would have a problem. But if he just likes porn I don't see the problem.

But what I find more fascinating about it, is this idea that you can stop your husband from doing anything. I would like that power. Honestly. Women who are scary enough that they can just look at their husband and they snap to attention? TEACH ME. Because I am not scary. And I can't figure out what I could do to him that he would even care about. I mean, I wouldn't waste the look on porn but leaving tin cans on the countertops? That is worth some laser beam eyeballs my friend.

Short of a cattle prod I don't think I could do much to change J's behavior. I guess that is a positive thing. I trust him. I wouldn't be married to him if I had a smidgen of doubt about him. And it is a relief. I would think it would be exhausting to wonder about my husband, to worry about what he was doing at his computer late at night or in the bathroom for so long.

Just don't leave the nudie mags where my mom will find them.

Or the laser beams come out.

Pissed For No Real Reason

Ugh. Migraine. Pissed at husband (probably 50% him being a little assy and 50% me being an asshole). Dreading work event tomorrow that is supposed to be a treat but will just be annoying and a waste of time and money.

God. Am just unreasonably angry right now. ARGH

Shower of TERROR

I find showers (as in gift parties, usually for brides or moms-to-be) terrifying.

All of those women. In one place. Judging the guest of honor. Making things with crepe paper. FRIGHTENING.

And after my miscarriage I do great around little kids and pregnant ladies, but the idea of being trapped in a room with a ton of women and their kids and about half of them are pregnant? It was a bit much for me. But one of my friends moved to California a couple of years ago and was just coming back for a shower and I couldn't miss the chance to see her.

So I drove and drove and drove (note to southenders, I don't want to hear SHIT about where I live ever again, I live much closer than y'all do and there isn't traffic up here like that nonsense so fuck y'all). And once I was practically in OREGON there was this house, packed to the gills with women and their kids and their very pregnant bellies.

Fortunately, my pal L brought her little ones O and E and I held O for most of the shower. She wouldn't let me steal him (SELFISH) but just having him there helped a lot. I don't want people to not invite me to things because of kids, I appreciate that they trust me enough to know that I can handle it, but it's hard I am not going to lie.

Besides, they did all the horrible shower games. With melting baby ice cubes and cutesy necklace game. Someday I am going to have a baby (I AM WE ARE ABOUT BEING POSITIVE) and whoever throws me a shower (which I hate them but dude I will deserve it) will not plan those kinds of fucking games. Damn I hate them. I would just want a party, with food like fried chicken and nachos and about three people since I don't have a lot of girlfriends and somehow men get a free pass at these things (how does that work? fuckers).

I made it. And I'm gearing up to go to a fertility specialist at the end of the month. Positive thinking and bravery in one entry? It's like I'm not me anymore.

Shower of TERROR

I find showers (as in gift parties, usually for brides or moms-to-be) terrifying.

All of those women. In one place. Judging the guest of honor. Making things with crepe paper. FRIGHTENING.

And after my miscarriage I do great around little kids and pregnant ladies, but the idea of being trapped in a room with a ton of women and their kids and about half of them are pregnant? It was a bit much for me. But one of my friends moved to California a couple of years ago and was just coming back for a shower and I couldn't miss the chance to see her.

So I drove and drove and drove (note to southenders, I don't want to hear SHIT about where I live ever again, I live much closer than y'all do and there isn't traffic up here like that nonsense so fuck y'all). And once I was practically in OREGON there was this house, packed to the gills with women and their kids and their very pregnant bellies.

Fortunately, my pal L brought her little ones O and E and I held O for most of the shower. She wouldn't let me steal him (SELFISH) but just having him there helped a lot. I don't want people to not invite me to things because of kids, I appreciate that they trust me enough to know that I can handle it, but it's hard I am not going to lie.

Besides, they did all the horrible shower games. With melting baby ice cubes and cutesy necklace game. Someday I am going to have a baby (I AM WE ARE ABOUT BEING POSITIVE) and whoever throws me a shower (which I hate them but dude I will deserve it) will not plan those kinds of fucking games. Damn I hate them. I would just want a party, with food like fried chicken and nachos and about three people since I don't have a lot of girlfriends and somehow men get a free pass at these things (how does that work? fuckers).

I made it. And I'm gearing up to go to a fertility specialist at the end of the month. Positive thinking and bravery in one entry? It's like I'm not me anymore.

Commuter

Notes to people I commute with:

All men within the range of my nose: those body spray commercials are not true. Women are NOT going to rip their clothes off if you coat yourself in that shit.

Lady in the large and ugly hat: your stupid, flower covered bag is not more important than people. A full commuter bus means that you hold that fucking thing in your lap. Giving me the stink eye just makes me want to punch you in the face. I hope you put your bag in gum.

Young men in the back of the bus: I DO NOT WANT TO SMOKE A DOOBIE. Goddamn, do drugs somewhere besides public transportation.

Bus driver: STOP STARING AT MY BREASTS.

FREE

We saw 300 tonight. Our friend works for a local radio station and got us press passes. Yay for freeness.

I am not sure I could say I enjoyed it. It was amazing looking, and a great story. The violence was upsetting and yet not too horrifying. I cannot believe that it was only an R rating though. Anyone who takes a child to that movie deserves something ugly to happen to them. It was so violent and porny and so much blood and nudity. One of the sex scenes was hilarious (unintentionally) and incredibly graphic the other one. . .well the director almost lost me with that one.

Not to movie directors. Rape is not a plot device. Stop including rape in movies just to make people uncomfortable.

I am not sure that I will ever watch it again but it is highly recommended. Especially for free.

What Dreams May Come

Last week (the night of the fucking snow storm) I had this vivid dream that J sat me down and told me he was deeply unhappy. In fact, he was so deeply unhappy that he could not longer live this way and was just leaving me and our life together. When we woke up the next morning I was so relieved that he was still here. But it didn't really register that it was a dream. I apologized to him for not understanding his unhappiness, for not seeing his sadness. I cried and told him how scared I was.

Dude had NO IDEA what I was talking about.

I don't dream much honestly, or at least I don't remember them if I do. And I recognize how dull it is to hear about some one else's dreams. But that was the most disorienting thing I think has ever happened to me. It was like having the wind knocked out of me. J and I, for the most part, just cruise along in married life. It feels like we have always been married and it is easy to leap ahead and assume we will be always married. It is almost impossible to imagine otherwise. But my subconscious did imagine it. And then had a meltdown while J was trying to figure out why the fuck I was so upset about a tree that didn't hit anything.

Anyone wondering why a great girl like me is with a schmuck like him should have the thought that it might be because I am difficult dawning on them right about now.

Bring On Spring

Since it was a blizzarding outside I felt safe last night thinking that I would not be heading into the office this morning. J and I were watching Monday's episode of How I Met Your Mother on Ti-Faux when the power went out and we heard a sickening crash. After a ridiculous, practically Three Stooges, run around to get boots we bolted outside to find half of a tree missing and through our power, cable and phone lines.

The best news? We had somehow gotten incredibly lucky again and the tree missed our neighbor's garage. Also, only our power and cable were out which was important because our neighbor's elderly mother lives with her and I do not need to even think about an eighty year old woman with no heat in the kind of cold that was happening last night. We sloshed around the house, gathering blankets, trying to find a phone book so we could call the power company and managed to get J's cell phone. I have to say I was massively impressed with the service of PUD and Comcast. PUD had guys out here at midnight and had our power on this morning. Comcast had the cable and phone up this evening. So other than the giant tree in the back there is no lasting harm.

Of course I didn't get to have a day at home doing work in my jammies. We had "Bring Your Wife To Work Day" and man. I don't like my office much but I love it compared to his. It's all quiet and the bathroom was in the middle (and damn it when you have Crohn's disease not shitting is not an option). And everything was working so slowly since I was connected remotely.

I don't know how we are getting so lucky not having huge damage to our property or anyone else's (or how we are so unlucky to have fucking trees dropping all over the place) but I am over winter. FUCK WINTER.

Looks Like I Won't Be Going To Work Tomorrow

Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

Yeah. That is my city.

My bus jack-knifed on the way home. But luckily everyone is fine.

I hate winter.

Everything I Know About Being Beautiful I Learned On The Internet

I am puzzled how we did certain things before the internet. If you didn't know where something was you couldn't just hit mapquest. If you couldn't figure out who the hell that one guy in that one movie was you couldn't go to IMDB. And if you wanted to try a new beauty product you were stuck either trying things out blind, or with suggestions from your immediate circle of friends.

Well the dark ages are over and I am trying all sort of things recommended on the internets.

If you are like me and ever stayed home from school or work during the nineties and flipped past QVC you saw their show about Bare Escentuals. The commercial made all sorts of wondrous promises of great makeup and better skin and perhaps handsome nude men come to your house each morning to airbrush this shit on or something. Of course I wanted to try but ordering makeup (especially expensive makeup) from QVC was sort of a hell no for me.

And I forgot all about the stuff until people starting writing about it. Sundry reviewed it and had amazing results. But BE seems to cause an internet war everytime some one reviews it. But my skin was all crazy from the hormones and my current makeup wasn't really working for me. So I got the starter kit, there are similar kits available at Sephora, Amazon and Ulta (seems like each kit offers a slightly different selection of products). I had a variety of gift card, discount, certificate thingys so I chose the Nordstrom kit. And I fucking LOVE it.

Sadly, no handsome men come over to apply it for me but other than that it is just about perfect. The foundation gives excellent coverage with no caking, the "mineral veil" is a lovely fine powder that sinks beautifully into the skin, the "warmth" (which BE's site swears is not a bronzer but I am totally using as a bronzer and also as an eyeshadow) works beautifully when layered with a peachy blush and the brushes are lovely. The "skin rever upper" is a nice light moisturizer, too light for me during winter but I am guessing that it will work nice in the summer. "Clear Radiance" is supposed to be a highlighter which seems useless to me. Maybe because I am pretty anti-shimmer.

Overall this stuff is amazing, my skin looks great, I don't look overly made up, it doesn't make me feel greasy or dry, it doesn't cake and it stays on all day. My guess from the battles on the internet about this stuff center from a couple of core issues. One, there is an ingredient bismuth oxide which some people have an allergy to. The reaction seems to be itching and dryness and redness. If you have that reaction you are just not going to like these products. Two, if you are into certain makeup applications you might not like it. It's really light, it is just a brush on product so if you are set with your sponges or liquids it just might not be for you.

If you don't love what you are using I do recommend the Bare Escentuals, but purchase it somewhere with a great return policy so if you hate it you can return it.
***
Because I am all about product reviews tonight, Burt's Bees lipbalm seems to be an internet favorite. So when I lost my Kiehl's and could only run to the drugstore I thought I would give it a try. And I thought it sucked. I could see why if you are comparing it to chapstick or Carmex how it might be an improvement. But the moisturizing effect doesn't seem to last. And the peppermint is irritating on the lips (plus I don't really want minty lips). I am trying to come up with a way to pawn it off to J so I can replace it with the Kiehl's. So the internet is not always right!
***
Lastly, the girls at Makeup Alley (which those girls are lovely but freak me OUT) recommend a aspirin mask. As a PSA, if you are allergic to aspirin this is not for you. But disolve four or five uncoated plain aspirin (pure aspirin not Excedrin) in a few drops of warm water and mix with a couple of drops of facial cleanser (they also recommended honey instead of cleanser but I haven't tried it) to make a paste. Apply as a mask and leave on for 25 minutes and rinse (and moisturize!). There is an acid in the aspirin that exfoiliates the face and gives you a lovely smooth finish. Gorgeous and for pennies!

Ah, thank God Al Gore invented the internet.

Lucky Every Day

Yesterday was our sixth wedding anniversary. We didn't celebrate it in the most romantic of ways--we went shopping for a sofa, watched a George Lucas special on the history channel and then watched Return of the Jedi on my new TV. We didn't even eat dinner but gerryrigged a meal that involved many kinds of snack foods. It is the kind of day that no bride dreams of but was the perfect day for us. It's the kind of day you spend with some one when you just enjoy their company and don't much care what you do. You just want to be with them.

The past year has been the hardest of our marriage. It had some really great moments--some AMAZING times, but it was incredibly hard on both of us. In some ways I feel like it made us closer, bound us even tighter together. I feel no need to be bound any tighter so no dead babies in 2007.

I think about the people we were that day in 2001 and in the months leading up to it. I do not know what possessed us to get married then. I know that it was illogical and unreasonable and so very fucking stupid. And I am so glad I did it. I feel lucky every day.

Getting Back

That WHOO you heard at 4:15 Pacific Standard Time? The one that sounded like it was 1989 and I was at a New Kid's concert and Jordan Knight just ripped off his shirt? That was me. In a bathroom stall at work. I got my period today.

Since most people don't cheer like that in the bathroom it was a damn good thing the gal next to me laughed and didn't call the police. It has been since October since I had a period, and while I was pregnant for a big portion of that, it was time.

I've noticed the last few weeks (when I wasn't dying of the plague) that I have been coming back a bit. I enjoy my job more (when people are not assholes which . . .). I got my eyebrows waxed (which also since October and DAYAM), I scheduled a haircut (the pyramid of doom is in full effect and I think small children are afraid of my hair). I even bought new clothes today because there is just no reason to look like shit.

I am not the same person I was before. I am not going to be a mom this summer. But I am putting one foot in front of the other, I am going out and enjoying myself, I am going to stop looking like a yeti. The alternative is to become some one I really do not want to be. That I wouldn't want J to be married to. That I wouldn't want my friends and family to know.

Of course the person they do know just had a teen idol moment over her period but they are used to that.

Our Anniversary Isn't For A Week But He Might Have Gotten A Little Early Tail

I have to give J credit. He is one sneaky motherfucker.

I hadn't seen my mother in almost two months. I usually see her weekly, but I had a miscarriage and didn't want to see anyone, then she got sick, then I went to New York and she got sick again, then I got sick and now she is sick again but it had been two months so she wanted to come up and go shopping for a new outfit for Easter.

We went shopping and the poor dear was dragging. She is obviously still sick, and I am worried. But we did find her some cute things and it was a nice day. And she perked up enough that she wanted to go our favorite burger place for lunch. I figured they would just leave after but my dad said he left some tools at my house and wanted to come back to get them.

The boys had not been cleaning up branches at my house like they said they were. I mean they did that, but the main purpose was a surprise for me. And I had NO IDEA.

J has never kept a secret from me before. He plans big surprises and then blurts them out or I find out accidentally. He just gets excited, he wants to tell me about these incredible things he plans for me. But this time he had me fooled.

My mother was sick as hell but had an important role to play. She had to get me out of the house for a couple of hours while Comcast came out and hooked up HD in my bedroom for my new flat screen television HANGING ABOVE MY DRESSER.

I imagine some women would be less than thrilled with a television--it doesn't seem so romantic. But J knows that I have missed having a tv in our room since we moved here. Especially when I was sick, I just didn't want to get out of bed. But J really didn't want one, he thinks it takes up too much space and is a focus. But he knew I wanted one, and bought me this gorgeous thing that allowed me to see every fucking pore on Harrison Ford's face when I watched The Empire Strikes Back this morning (trivia that is meaningless to everyone, this is J's favorite Star Wars movie and I have come to like it because truly it is when Harrison is at his most dreamy).

There are about eight-seven reasons this present is amazing. From him getting e something I didn't even realize I wanted. From keeping it a secret while torturing me with hints. To the logistics of it all--get my parents to conspire, scheduling Comcast, ordering the tv (which he even got a BARGAIN on). That is some serious thoughtful shit.

As a side note, I nearly passed out watching Iron Chef America Battle Chocolate today. Goddamn.

He is a dreamboat that husband of mine.

Train Damaged

I fell off the train today.

I should end this post right there. That has real drama and potential. I could have been shoved off the train by a hit man. I could have been fleeing a maniac terrorizing me with those flavored Oreos (like the minty ones) I feel very strongly that Oreos come in regular and double stuffed and that is that.

Sadly (well I suppose there was no Orea terrorist and that is a good thing) it was nothing so interesting. My heel got caught on the step and I crashed onto the steps flat on my damn face. My legs had just healed from being all mangled the night I got smashed on limoncello martinis and fell on my bathtub. My knees are all jacked up now and I am all swollen and limpy. DAMN ME TO HELL. At least my pants didn't rip. I think I would have walked (ok hobbled) up the stairs and got on a bus home.

Instead I self-medicated with a cheesy egg and bacon croissant.

Since I am sure y'all find my tales of commuting fascinating in every way, on the way home these kids get on (which is unusual, it's all boring commuters normally) and they are punked out in a very Hot Topic kind of way. I sort of chuckled because these kids are so suburban it just steams off of them but I also admired that they were freaking out all of the commuters. There were so many looks amongst the passengers about the hooligans on the train. But then they just kept running around and being loud and I don't know acting like teenagers and I found myself all "You damn kids, stay off my LAWN and keep it down!"

I'm an old lady.

But then one of them tried to look down my shirt which in a weird way cheered me up. I shouldn't analyze this too much.

But three day weekend! Free hockey tickets, shopping with my mom and a day to sleep on Monday. Most excellent indeed.

Most Boring Couple EVER

I really want to leave y'all with the impression I didn't post last night because J and I were having wild married Valentine's Day sex (because if you are reading here you already know we were not being crazy romantic) but sadly no (oh well, I mean at least not the wild part heh). I was working. I have been working late for weeks now, and that being coupled with being sick has made me the dullest person imaginable.

As you might as imagine, J and I are not really Valentine's Day people. It is just ten days before our anniversary, which is a more personal day to celebrate. We give each other cards, which is plenty (as an aside, does anyone else feel like they are signing a yearbook when they write a card, I never want to just sign it so I have to write a little something and next thing you know I am practically dragging out the "have a great summer! stay sweet!" like it is seventh grade). In fact the one thing that J could do to disappoint me is bring home a dozen roses.

I know some women just love roses and practically demand them, but to me it screams impersonal and a total cop-out. If that is your favorite flower that is one thing but to me if you want to send flowers you find out the what the person really loves and get that. If that is carnations then that is romantic, roses as a default selection is just sort of lame. I am sure the tradition began when roses were rare and special but I swear, a token of love that can be purchased at QFC for 9.99 is nothing I care to receive (wow that sounds snobby). BUT EVERYONE IS DIFFERENT. Let me say that J getting me flowers would be a "shut up" gesture, not a sign of undying devotion. I am sure there are men that are just driven to buy these flowers and that is great.

J made dinner last night, I doubt really as a gesture but more because I was late as fuck and the poor dear just wanted to eat.

Who said married life isn't WILD?

He has been taunting me with hints about my anniversary gift--which is his first successful (so far!) surprise for me ever. I found a great gift for him too but he is not searching for hints. DAMN HIM and his patience!

Pop Quiz

1. If you were in a meeting at work with some one who is not exactly your boss but could definitely mow your ass down should she choose to decides to share that she is internet dating as her New Year's Resolution and put that she is overweight in her profile because she "is tired of all the fucking bullshit about being fat," do you:
a. Insist that she isn't overweight at all and murmur something about how men are so shallow.
b. Holla "YOU GO GIRL!" at the top of your lungs.
c. Make wide eyes of FEAR at her assistant and consider crawling under the table.

2. You see a woman riding on a bicycle on a busy road with a toddler riding on the handle bars, neither of them are wearing a helmet. You:
a. Sing to yourself, "We're all different . . . " and try not to judge.
b. Grab your cellphone and call 911--this is a helmetless baby emergency!
c. Judge that woman so harshly that you bust a vein in your eyeball and now you look deranged.

3. Your boss brings by your yearly bonus figure, you:
a. Calmly thank her, you appreciate their acknowledgement of your hard work.
b. Start mentally spending the money, you hadn't given a thought to the figure.
c. Note the figure is the high one on your estimate which you have obsessed over for a couple of weeks, actually squeal "WHEEEEE" aloud and send your husband an email with eighty-seven exclamation points.

4. Your nose is running and you are trapped on the bus, you:
a. Blow it quietly and gently into the kleenex you always keep in your purse for just this occasion.
b. Hock it into a plastic baggie.
c. Tilt your head back until you cannot sniff the snot back into your face, and once it starts dripping just say fuck it and wipe it on your sleeve.

5. You didn't get anything out for dinner this morning and must scrounge together something for a meal, you:
a. Eat leftover stirfry with vegetables and rice.
b. Make a nice salad with cheese and tater tots--you like variety.
c. You make a meal of marshmallows, diet coke and cheese puffs.

If you answered mostly a's you are the kind of mature, professional person I should strive to become, if you answered mostly b's then you are the kind of free spirited person who doesn't over-think things too much I want to be and if you answered mostly c's you are totally fucking me and are headed to bed before 7 AGAIN.

When I Cough I Sound Like One Of Marge's Sisters From The Simpsons

Somewhere in NY or here at home I caught the Black Plague. This whole week has been spent hanging onto my shit just long enough to get home and have a meltdown for J. Three nights this week I went to bed at a time starting with 7, maybe once at :45 and maybe once at :30 and MAYBE JUST MAYBE at :15 one day. MAYBE. Wednesday I somehow found myself face down on the bathroom floor begging J to just let me sleep there as he tried to drag me off to bed. Just in case you were imagining that I was somehow spiraling into hysterics here.

This morning a new and DELIGHTFUL symptom emerged--explosive diarhea. I had to go to work, my business trip a couple of weeks ago led into a whole lot of stuff that needs to get done by next week, so I invented a new "please do not let me shit my pants" prayer (I'm not sure that God cares about pants shitting but just in case) with a whole lot of not really Hebrew but I am sure HE UNDERSTANDS. I don't know about your office but mine would never stop talking about that girl who shit her pants. I would be a legend.

Fortunately, I am not a legend.

I made it through the day, just barely. Got shit DONE. Which thank god because I am not doing anything this weekend except lying on the coach and moaning. I live a rock star life I know.

I am enjoying all the personal space I am getting on public transportation--if you sound like you are inches from death then no one wants to sit next to you. Cannot imagine why. I feel a little guilty, being out and about, because I get so pissed when sick people go to work. But sometimes things can't be helped--the things I need to do I can't do from home. So I used like a boxed of Kleenex and a giant tub of Clorox wipes. Every hard surface I looked at got wiped down multiple times today.

Hopefully I won't pass this shit on.

Bitchy. Sorry

I stayed up a little later than I should have last night and was one pissed off missy this morning. I just woke up angry and it just downward spiraled from there. My hair was greasy (gee, maybe I should wash it more often), work shit just got messy, my train was delayed several times and I still haven't had dinner.

WOW. That was a long bitch.

So, all I have today is just of all the personal things that you could do on a bus (short of pulling out your tampon and handing it to the old lady next to you) CLIPPING YOUR TOENAILS IS UNACCEPTABLE.

Goddamn.

He Was Made Up Like A Seventh Grade Hussy

The Super Bowl was really fucking fun. Lots of opportunities to heckle Rex Grossman (a serious conversation about calling my sister and singing "Rocky Top" to celebrate the fall of the Gator and rise of Peyton Manning). We were having a blast with the Colts win.

And Tony Dungy, who I really like, ruined it a bit for me. He said something after the game about people should admire him and Lovie Smith because they were "Christian coaches."

I understand what he meant, sort of, but I think after all the religious scandals and hypocrisy and ugliness of the last few years that we can all agree that Christian does not equal good. It doesn't equal bad, that isn't what I am saying, but there is something sanctimonious and rude about saying that you deserve to win the Superbowl because you are Christian (so other coaches are not good people? Muslims and Buddhists shouldn't win?).

GOD DOESN'T CARE ABOUT THE SUPERBOWL.

I'm sure you are a lovely man Tony Dungy. BUT SHUT UP.

And also, please Steve Young, a little less eyeliner next year.