I Just Want To Know Who Picked More Than Five Years Because They Owe Me A Slurpy Or Something Today

It is the tomorrow already on the east coast so I am going to post this now.

Five years ago today I made the dumbest decision I have ever made. There was no good reason for two twenty-two year olds with no money and no idea what they were doing to get married that day but we did.

And I have felt grateful for that every day since.

It seems sometimes that other people often get the breaks when it comes to money or their careers while J and I just paddle along. There are moments when this seems unfair until I realize that I got to marry the perfect person for me almost by accident. And then I feel lie I owe the world an apology. I have gotten to grow up with my husband, to break him in slowly. I do not have undo another woman's bad habits and believe me I know what a gift that can be.

I feel truly lucky every single day. That is what love and marriage can be--that is how you know that even though there is undoubtedly a pool going at your wedding and you can barely afford to go out to dinner on your wedding night let alone a honeymoon that you should marry him anyway. Because waking up every day and feeling so fortunate is something that logic cannot replace.

I never wanted to be married. And I was an idiot. I know that I spent all my lucky chips in one fell swoop five years ago. And I would do it all again.

Happy five years, Baby.

Suck My GBD

Y'all, the circumstances of this** are so very sad. And if the facts are how they appear to be then words cannot express my sympathy to this family. But the contract. Oh the CONTRACT. Is possibly the most fucked up thing I have ever read in my life. Go read it. I'll wait.

And what makes me laugh (in a fucked up, morbid way) is that I can totally imagine the guy that would write such a thing. That is every goddamn douche you ever dated. What every Chipper in high school thought his marriage would be like. The difference is that most grew out of that shit or are at least smart enough not to put it in writing.

I mean I can imagine that once you put highly specific pubic hair shaving instructions in front of your wife it is kind of hard to take it back.

Also hard to take back: the requirement that she pose for nude photos with sex toys each month. And that she only wear thong underwear--though she is allowed to own five pairs of regular underwear for use during her menstrual cycle. Quite a thoughtful guy you caught there.

If you are a fucked up couple like J and myself you will spend tonight the way we spent last night. "Baby, your underwear selection is up to par but you complained when I tried to do you in the ass while you were sleeping. I am deducting 27,000 GBDs."

"Well, I deserve about 50,000 GBDs per minute I stay married to you so I think we are doing ok."

"FUCK. I don't think you are allowed to disagree with me, pull up that contract again."

I mean really. I know that people have S&M contracts (which is what this looks like) and relationships all the time and if that works for them then FABULOUS but I don't think that would work for a married couple with small children. Especially since one partner isn't really so gung ho on it.

Meanwhile in my house J is threatening to measure my pubic hair on Saturdays and I am suggesting he track this shit on a chart with gold star stickers.

We are just that fucked up.

**Of course his lawyer is basically claiming that none of this can be tied to him, which is about all they can do. It occurs to me that the only way I am going to buy that she downloaded all that crap to frame him (because he would have to do something pretty bad to inspire that much hate in his wife who supposedly loves him and he is the father of her children etc) is to admit that he tried to force this contract on her. Of course that opens him up to the kidnapping charge which is plenty bad but . . .

In Other Words Shut Up Fucking Gumbel

Today I celebrated our country's Presidency (well except we in the AB household do not celebrate either Bushes, Reagan, Nixon--actually it is just easier to say we are celebrating the day off) by eating macaroni and cheese and watching the Olympics.

And I am just done done done with the American media coverage of the Olympics. Now I am a sentimental fool I know. But for me the pleasure in the games is in the weird sports. In watching curling and moguls and screaming HOLY SHIT during the snowboard cross. I cheer for the Americans of course, but I especially love the sports that we are not really even in. I must confess to crying a little bit during the men's biatholon. As some one who is not an athlete I am stunned by all the things people are able to do. And our media just sneers at anything but gold medals. They make fun of sports they don't like. They complain about the lack of diversity without thinking about how the WORLD IS HERE THAT IS PRETTY FUCKING DIVERSE but if you just want to see black athletes they are here too. They bitch about how poorly the Americans are doing even though they are doing amazingly well.

But I am not missing it.

Especially when I have the day off.

It shouldn't shock me that we as a country get it wrong. It is like so many things. We focus so much on the result we miss out on the amazing pieces that make it up.

Results

The past couple of days are ones I would just rather forget. I managed to dump olive oil mixed with garlic into my favorite purse (and now my scarf, leather gloves and everything else smells like it which you would think is nice but is hell on earth). I dropped my cell phone into the toilet while trying to answer it after I vomited. I thought I had left my wallet in the bathroom (but found it later THANK GOD so I am just an idiot but not an idiot who has to cancel all of her cards). I spilled most of a coke into another purse (FUCK and a waste of coke).

There is nothing like a period of time like that to convince you that you are too stupid to live.

But, I survived it and nothing bad better happen to me.

The internet voted and chose, this as their favorite and I listened to the internet (because I know what happens when you don't--woodpeckers swarm your car and force you off the freeway so they can bash in your windshield) when I got my haircut this morning. I like the result, a long shag that looks nothing like the Rachel. It isn't quite that cut, because my hair was still shorter in the back than in the front so I didn't have quite enough length yet. But it is on it's way and I am glad I listened to internet. Not just because of my woodpeckerless drive home either.

Of course J was like, "Did you even get it cut?" so I don't know why I fucking bother with him.

Missing It

A year ago I was losing my mind. I was in shock and feeling lost and out of control. I feel the same way today. Less raw, a little more together, but a lot of days I forget she is gone and try to shoot her an email.

Linda made me cry with this. The luncheon was my idea. I just wanted to mark the occasion because I felt like people were forgetting her. And because I needed to have something, not closure (because I don't feel like I will have that ever really) but something to tie up some loose ends emotionally. And I felt terribly guilty because when Linda and I talked about it I could tell she felt like she didn't want to do it. And I felt selfish.

So I am glad that she enjoyed it. Today wasn't how I expected it to be. I was sad, as I knew I would be, but I felt more raw today. I think because I feel like I should be farther along in the grief process, everyone else (except Linda) seems to be. But I suppose I am learning that everyone grieves differently and maybe I am just not going to get to that place for a long time.

I don't really miss her physical presence anymore--well that isn't exactly true I miss her laugh, her smile and her fucking sarcastic emails--now I miss more of what she is missing. What we are missing together. Linda brought Baby E today and I had this vision of how things might have been. Had the lunch been for something else and Ang brought her daughter along. I am not angry she is dead anymore, I have progressed that much, it just seems wrong though. She is missing it. Maybe that is why today was hard, it is hard to know what we are all missing.

Maybe I Shouldn't Ever Skip Class And Inflict This Crap On You

In honor of our Wednesday night class, which we are skipping so J can study for an exam he is taking Friday (so he better pass) I have been thinking a lot about Judaism and religion in general.

My family is Christian. All different sects (my parents are one, one set of grandparents another, the other set of grandparents yet another and my sister something else entirely) but related enough that it doesn't cause serious issues. There is no doubt that I grew up in a home that looked at the world from a distinctively Christian point of view.

And I thought our view was "normal" and was totally ignorant to the variety of viewpoints out there. Even within the Christian community the experience is pretty diverse.

But in my experience it is almost impossible to explain to a Christian how Judaism differs from their religion. Most Americans today think of Judaism as being like Christianity but without Jesus, after all they are closely related and that is a simple distinction.

However, when I talk to my mother or friends or my sister it becomes pretty clear that they do not understand how different the two are in practice and philosophy. This is not to say that Christianity is wrong or that my Judaic experience is universal, but it is frustrating to me that people want to turn Hanukkah into Christmas and Passover into Easter.

Now I am saying all of this as some one who is becoming a Reform Jew and is still forming my form of belief but, well I guess that is a great place to start, Judaism is highly individualized. It is highly encouraged for people to analyze meaning from scripture and to find meaning in ritual and prayer. If it has no meaning than you shouldn't do it. That is why there are Jews that don't go to temple but keep Kosher and there are Jews who would eat a ham sandwich but attend services every day. There are millions of Jews in the world and the beliefs of each one are highly specific. Now I know Christians have their individual beliefs but in my experience it is heavy on teachings and there are certain tenents that you pretty much have to believe. Judaism just doesn't work that way--in fact there are several people in our community that identify as Jews but do not believe in God (something that my sister and I got into an argument about and I am still a little mad over but am working to get over because We Are All Different).

Most Americans know that the Jewish Sabbath is on a different day from the Christian one. But many do not know why and if asked would assume that temple services look like church services. But in our community services are more like study sessions in a group but with wine. The Sabbath is less about worship and more about celebrating and resting the mind and body. So when my mother is worried because we don't go to services I am frustrated because I can't get her to see that we can do Shabbat at home and it counts the same. Because we don't believe God is counting.

Passover is not our Easter. Hanukkah really is a minor holiday. Yeah, there are a crapload of Jewish holidays. No, I couldn't even name them all. But many involve parties and liquor and that cannot be bad. If we skip services for a year we are not going to Hell because we don't believe in Hell or a particularly vengeful God. We (as in J and I because this is controversial) don't believe in a messiah, not a literal one. Nor the devil. Nor the Holy Trinity. And again, I am not saying those things are wrong (because really prove any of this) but they are just not for me.

The interesting thing about this whole experience for me is how much more big picture I can look at my religious upbringing now. How I can see elements from all of the sects that my family believes in that are meaningful. I can see why those people find comfort in their faiths.

The hard part is accepting that because my experience is so different a lot of people will never feel that way about mine.

Valentine's Day

My head is intact by still crabby and I am home sick today. Watching my dogs freak the fuck out about snow and the construction crew across the street.

Today is obviously Valentine's Day. I am not disgusted by it the way I think you are supposed to be if you want to be a hipster (which clearly I can't pull that shit off anyway) nor am do I love it the way I would if I were the kind of woman who wears pink angora sweaters and the heart charm bracelet from Tiffany's. Both of those responses to the day seem pretty valid to me, but like so many things Valentine's Day just doesn't illicit much of a response from me.

I miss the grade school version of this holiday--making a construction paper mailbox to sit on your desk, getting cards from everyone in class, the cupcakes. Wouldn't that be refreshing for the corporate world? Seriously, if you had to give your co-workers little notes and candies. Now that is a holiday of love.

J and I don't really celebrate it so much. Our anniversary is in about a week and of course that is more important to us. This year, because of some financial shenanigans and pay day being tomorrow, we didn't even exchange cards. That feels about right to me. I love me some love notes and flowers and dinners out. But I don't really need it on a specific day (not that I would be outraged or anything).

In fact, I can remember only one Valentine's Day that was a great one for me. My freshman year in college I was away from home. I kept trying to break up with my boyfriend who I didn't even like anymore but was (shamefully) not ballsy enough to break it off clean. We were on a break (sigh, I was eighteen y'all, that is my only excuse) and I was sort of dating some one else. And had slept with some one else the week before. I bitched and bitched to a friend of mine in a manner that only a student at a women's college (where a holiday like Valentine's Day is practically an OLYMPIC competition) that I hated the holiday, that I wished we could all skip it.

The next day I woke up and my friend had covered my door with hearts with messages about how glad she was that I was there, how happy she was to be my friend, how much she loved me. Again, I know this was a women's college so y'all are imagining that this ended with us in a pillow fight in our underwear and an orgy in the shower and I am tempted to lie (IMAGINE THE HITS) but I shall resist the urge to Jame Frey it and really that was just my best holiday because what an expression of love from a friend.

Heh. I also got flowers from the ex-ish boyfriend, the date and the guy I slept with so I was the GOLD MEDALIST. And honestly a legend for that one, well deserved I think.

So I hope all of you have a lovely day, celebrated in the manner which you desire and that if you need it some one pastes valentines to your door.

No Explosion

Unfortunately, my face did not melt off today. I say unfortunately because I would have done anything to have my head explode. It felt like it was splitting in two slowly so why not have it pop in a blaze of glory and possibly land on the front page?

The infection is not better.

I barely made it through the day.

I probably should not have even driven home from the bus station, since I was dizzy enough to almost crash the car and had to stop and throw up. J rubbed my head (while I cried and after I had emptied about ten gallons of snot out of my face in the shower) and made me canned spaghetti and I feel a little more able to deal with living.

I actually have fun and interesting things to write about (no really! I mean to me but still!) if I ever stop feeling hungover--I didn't even get to get smashed to earn this sucker.

My Face Is Still Melting

So.

My fucking sinus infection is still with me. My face hurts. It is swollen. My head feels clogged, my eyes keep watering and I have creases under my eyes. It is taking a lot of effort for me to hold my head up. I barely have the energy to get annoyed with the Olympic commentators--leave Michelle Kwan alone VIPERS, stop trash talking about female hockey players CANADA.

So today has passed in a fog.

And then the washing machine broke. It started smoking and stopped working and SIGH. We decided that we were spending my bonus on a vacation. The first vacation ever for us. Somewhere warm and sunny. Somewhere we could relax. I have a sinking feeling that we will be buying a new washer instead.

Sometimes I really fucking hate being an adult.

Cry Baby

I am a crier.

I am sure those of you that have been reading along for a while now are nodding your heads and saying something like, "No shit, Mistress of the Obvious," but I just like to earn my keep around here letting y'all know what is going on.

And I cry. I cry at commercials (God, the one with the Grandma and the baby and the Cheerios? KILL ME). I cry during movies. I cannot listen to country radio anymore, in part because of songs like this. I am sure everyone can imagine how I am during the Olympics.

I love the Olympics. More than is probably healthy. I especially love the obscure sports--it feels like those competitors are more excited about the Olympics than anyone else. I am amazed by how hard they work. I even like some of the human interest stories--I mean some of them are ridiculous but if you cannot root for a guy who broke his back than you have no heart. I know that NBC plays up the angles a little too much, to the point that you wonder if people have to go out and shoot their dog to get on camera but seriously, people are amazing.

What is even more amazing is watching all this stuff on Ti-faux so that I don't have to listen to Bob Costas drone on.

I only have two votes for haircuts so far, please tell me what you think--ask your husband/wife/girlfriend/boyfriend what they think because I mean obviously this is the most important thing happening on the internet today. I'll just be sitting on my couch watching the Luge and waiting for you to chime in (side note, the only thing I hate about Blogger is that I don't get the email addresses to reply to comments so just know that I appreciate people who comment so much) and bawling every time some one wins a medal.

Help Me Internet, You're My Only Help

I have tried to post this something like five million times--I think Blogger is trying to make me rip my hair out so I can't talk about it anymore. If this fucking thing actually publishes than I will have PREVAILED.

Since Frank tells me he loves the hair posts here is another one. Help me choose a style because I have looked at so many pictures I do not even know what I like anymore. Just remember I have a giant head and thick medium length hair. Try not to pick something that will make me look like cheese.

Also. Don't judge me because one of the photos is Ashley Simpson. I am desperate internet.

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Vote in the comments--even if you have never commented before. I need help.

I Mean Other People Ask For World Peace. . .I Guess I Want That Too But GOOD HAIR PLEASE

Y'all I am just fucking obsessed with my hair.

I cannot stop looking for that "perfect" haircut. Something that will look fun and different but not make my head look like a block of cheese. Something that is sexy but not whorey. Something that will not look eighties which with big Dynasty-prone hair like mine is a tall order.

I haven't had a haircut in thirteen weeks and I am through the withdrawal symptoms but DEAR GOD do I miss good hair. To others my hair probably seems fine, to those who like plainness it is probably lovely. To me it is an abomination that is trying to make me lose my shit.

How much shit do I possibly have to lose at this point one might very well ask?

One is kind of shirty bitch isn't one?

My main problem that for all my smug talk about how I like to look cute--I don't have anything to wear. I love dressing other people up--my mom looks like she belongs in a magazine y'all (unless she deviates from AB prescribed outfits then she looks like one of the women from the back page of US Weekly--Bad Fashion to Good People)--but I don't dress myself up. I am black pants, black shirts, jackets. And so my hair is an accessory. My nod to the very fashiony place I work in while wearing my very not fashiony clothes (don't get me wrong my all black clothes are modern and not at all highwaisted tapered legged monstrosity but I am not working a Sienna Miller thing).

Right now my hair is boring and it is making me feel frumpy. And also fat. Or it could be that all the queso dip I ate during the football playoffs has done that. Another thing to hate the NFL for.

You might recall that I was a little mental when I got home from my last haircut. I think that the whole mess happened for a couple of reasons. My reliance on my hair as my main fashion statement. My stylist's vision of my hair. My total inability to confront anyone and say something that might upset them even if I am PAYING that person. Different expectations of what a stylist does.

And I am at a loss. And Linda is so fucking tired of me on this one. She has been trying to get me to go to her gal--and I probably will. But I just love the guy I have been going to. I go round and around about it making both arguments. I am making her nuts. I also made at least one terrible Brokeback Mountain joke so you now I sunk LOW. Of course when J went to get his haircut he told him that I thought he was MEAN. Dear god, it is like he is TRYING to make me sound more ridiculous than I am which I would have previously thought impossible. For the record my stylist is not mean. He just maybe doesn't get me. But cuts my hair so nicely (when you have thick wavy hair many many people will make you look like a poodle so you treasure those who don't).

I just want to be pretty. And to not look like too much like a block of cheese.

That must be too much too ask.

It Is A Damn Good Thing It Is Almost The Olympics And Then Spring Training Because I Am Upset About This Shit

I am not the only one.

See, I am not arguing that the Seahawks should have won that game. I am saying that the refs should have let them play that game. The Steelers played like shit. And Seattle couldn't get anything going when the refs penalized every significant play they had. Yes, Stevens dropped SO MANY PASSES. Yes, Hasselbeck threw an interception. But take away eleven points from any team and they are going to struggle.

I could have handled losing.

I am a CUBS FAN.

But this felt like I was watching pro-wrestling, like the NFL wanted to have a special JEROME BETTIS gets the ring moment. Which is fine, I mean league has to do marketing and all but I don't know. This is my second season as a real football fan. I will never feel the same about the game. I will probably watch next year, probably get caught up in it, because I just love sports. But I won't ever be as starry-eyed. The NFL has all but admitted that the "Immaculate Reception" was a bad call made out of fear of the city of Pittsburgh ripping the place apart. Judging by the officiating it is hard to believe that an admission of that nature might come out thirty years from now.

The NFL needs to take a long look in the mirror. It is the number one sport in the country. But maybe they need to decide if they really want to go the WWE route.

Just because Seattle won't burn their city down doesn't mean that you should fuck with us. We do control your email, your coffee and your access to large vats of olive oil.

DAMN

They are just trying to fucking steal the game from us aren't they?

We had a touch down.

They took it away.

They didn't have one.

They gave it to them anyway.

I am a little drunk.

For Once

J and I have been taking a class on Wednesday nights as part of our on-going conversion process. It is a catch-all class about history and religious practice. There are people in it who want to convert, those who have always been Jewish and some that just want to learn. The sort of mish-mash of purposes lend the class a fluid feel--the rabbis that teach tend to let the class go in whatever direction it wants to--present me with one of my greatest challenges with the course. Oddly enough, my challenge isn't with mastering the material, but with trying not to master the material. My A-student self always wants to ace the test and try for extra credit but in this course does not have a test and the objective is not to learn a list of facts, but (for me) to immerse myself more fully into a Jewish life.

And it is hard y'all. There is a part of me that craves homework and for the rabbis to follow the damn syllabus. The woman this week had us divide up in groups to talk about the stress of our week and even though I knew what the purpose was (we were studying Shabbat practices, which is celebrated in a different way than the Christian Sabbath) I just wanted to move on. It is hard for me to live in the moment but I bite my tongue and try to go with the flow.

Weirdly enough, for me, part of that is not really participating in the class. I am listening and answering any questions that I have to, but I am trying not to answer or raise my hand. I think it is important for me to not concentrate on getting the right answer but on getting the right answer for me. Just so you know though, I TOTALLY know the right answers.

One of my ugliest traits, which I fight and try to rise above, is that I am a fucking snob about people who might not be as smart (see! the SNOBBINESS) or learn as quickly as I am and do. I try to not be this way, because really it does not matter, we are not taking a time test (though man, I miss those timed times table tests and I just ruled at those), and people have the right to learn in their own way. But GODDAMN people are slow and stupid sometimes. There are these two women in our class, who are both ESL so they get miles and miles of slack on this to me because I cannot imagine taking a course in a second language (though both have been in this country and have spoken English for years), who are very literal about things. I don't know if it is a language thing or if they are both just literal people but they cannot follow along. They don't really want to think about concepts in a personalized way. And they want the instructor to explain every single joke or innuendo to them. They cannot let anything go. It is just so maddening and then I feel like a big bitch and no one likes that.

It is a growth experience but obviously I have a lot to do.

Of course it is Shabbat and some Jews don't even turn on their lights and I am blogging. But maybe this is how I bring peace to the day and honor it? Well, I mean at least I am not talking about my tits or shit. For once.

Dancing With The AB's

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Especially since we fast forwarded through his album shill.

Let Me Consult The Oracle

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

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

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

Explains A Lot

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Legend

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Need Some Hot Sauce Terrell Davis?

HOLY SHIT!

We're going to Detroit!

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

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

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

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

Keep It Up

Can't. Stop. Screaming.

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

Make The Right Calls

FUCKING BULLSHIT CALL!

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

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

Did You Parents Name You For The Apple Juice?

Holy shit! Did you see Seneca Wallace?

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

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

Maybe we all need a drink?

Keep It Loud Qwest

Finally.

Kick off.

EEEEEEEK!

Here Is Hoping

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

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

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

Finally

DAMN.

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

Just make it a game for crying outloud.

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

Just A Question

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

Blogging The Games

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

Countdown

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

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

Only three and half hours to go!

I Was Reading

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

You Win

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

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

BLH was such a long long time ago.

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

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

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

Just leave me the hell alone.

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

Here is hoping my head gets the message.

Hermitting (Yes, That Is A Word)

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

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

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

Cheerfully bought I might add.

Though that may explain her breath.

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

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

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

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

You know where to find me.

The Optimist

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They Cannot Make Me Wear Pleats

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You Would, I Would Buy The Universe A Coke

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

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

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

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

And I hear a crash.

Y'all see where this is going yes?

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

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

She was still talking on the goddamn phone.

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

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

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

Backwards

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

She was facing the wrong way.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe that will help me too.

So Far So Good

Eeeeeeeeek!

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

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

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

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

Ten Things I KNOW

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

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

But no.

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

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

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

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

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

5. Yeah I said it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I should probably stop staring at her though huh?

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

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

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

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

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

It is called BEING A MAN, Southern California.

Put a cork in it please.

H O L Y S H I T

Holy shit.

That was a great game.

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

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

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

It was my best Saturday night in a while.

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

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

Holy shit.

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

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

well . . .used.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trapped in an HMO would make an excellent song really.

How Did Coke Become The Enemy

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

HOW COULD I HURT MY PRECIOUS PRECIOUS LAPTOP?!?!?!

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

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

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

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

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

Lucky

I had lunch with a group of friends today. A gal was in from out of town for the holidays so it was like a mini-reunion.

Being with those girls makes me realize how much I miss them, how lonely my new job can be sometimes. And how lucky I was to be with them for as long as I was.

Bittersweet I guess.

No Need To Check In

Poor J is passed out cold in our bed. And has been since before I got home. I woke him up (I shouldn't do that but I can't sleep it night if I sleep during the day so I end up doing that and it is WRONG WRONG WRONG but . . .) and he moaned something about a headache.

Must be some headache.

My shoulder popped out of joint today. It has never done that before and it better not do that again or it is totally grounded young man. That pain is what I imagine being shot is like--burning and shooting and the whole can't believe this is happening thing. It numbed out after a while but is still so stiff and sore.

So basically we are just a couple of octogenarians here, just passing time until bingo and the early bird special.

Lotto

In the midst of my pity party last night I failed to mention the most exciting thing that happened yesterday.

J won five hundred bucks!

My mother always puts scratch tickets in our stockings and usually we are delighted if some one wins five bucks. Actually, we all had to check his ticket because we were certain he was either lying or just wrong.

Of course, since we are impossible, we had this moment of, "Shit. Does this mean we will never win the real lotto?" Because five hundred free dollars isn't enough for these two whiney babies. I totally had that feeling when our friend Sam started dating a guy who's parents had won 12 million in the lotto. Like what are the chances that she would know TWO couples who had won the lottery? And does that still apply since we aren't really friends with her anymore?

So it is lovely to have him win five hundred bucks. YAY!

But still, we have our house all planned out for if we win a few million. I mean, it doesn't hurt to be prepared does it?

Denial

I hope everyone had an amazing holiday. Even if you do not celebrate perhaps you had a lovely Sunday?

Our was nice, very low key. With food and fun with my parents and new comfy pajamas for all. We got to talk to everyone in our family and my aunt in particular had great news.

My cousin is pregnant.

My baby cousin, several years younger.

Naturally, I am very happy for her. And I know that she and her husband are going to be amazing parents. But I did have to give myself a stern talking to about how life is not a race and her ability to have a baby has nothing to do with mine.

I can't help but be jealous of her very quick pregnancy. I can't help but wish it were me. I suppose this was bound to happen. I was the first of my friends and family to get married but they were all bound to catch up and want to climb aboard the baby train eventually and since we are infertile they are going to pass us.

I was just hoping to avoid this particular infertility cliche.

I don't like to think of J and I as infertile. Most of the time I don't. In my head it is all a question of timing or bad luck or something, anything but infertility. I am totally in denial here and I honestly think that is best for me. It allows me to keep a grip on things. To not get too upset about things. And most of the time it works, I truly am happy for my cousin.

And I even meant that. Look at me, being a semi-adult.

Six Drunks And a Limo

Last night was J's work holiday party. There are only three people who work there so the six of us (three nerds, three wives) went on what I swear was like grown up prom night. Beginning with a limo (which I have only been in at a wedding) in which we all got drinky with wine and toasts, onto cocktails and dinner at a fancy place. We ate so much food, and drank so much liquor and I guess I was the only one working early the next morning because they all yelled at me when I stopped drinking. But FIVE AM people. SO EARLY!

We became that loud table in the restaraunt--the one with drunks who are talking just a hair too loudly and are rather . . er . . .jubliant.

Oh the people he works with are so nice, their wives are so lovely, everyone so kind of funny and interesting. I dread those sorts of things because I am by nature shy and worry too much about what I am going to wear (we both wore jeans! to a fancy place! me!? and I didn't care!) and oh we both always talk too much or not enough. But it was so lovely. J is clearly appreciated, which is always good.

And we were out on a school night! With other adults. The others have kids so they were even giddier than us.

Six drunks, cruising down the freeway in a limo.

What a lovely Tuesday.

Date Night

Gossip spreads like wildfire in my family so it should be noted that my parents almost knocked each other down trying to notify me this morning of the latest news (my dad using his cell phone, my mom with email--look at them with their multimedia selves). My sister. Has a DATE.

Now our excitement and whooping it up at this news could be misconstrued. No. We are not celebrating as if we have finally found a buyer for the fucking Edsel. Long time readers will recall that my sister is the pretty one. She is funny and interesting and owns her own home. Part of me just thinks that perhaps the men of northern Florida just woke the hell up and noticed that such a treasure was available to them.

I don't really know why my sister hasn't dated in years. I just know that she hasn't. And that would be fine, because really I have a man and it isn't THAT great, so GOD KNOWS she doesn't NEED one. But I just want her to be happy. And dating is fun.

If I was going to list out all the things that I think my sister needs a man would be pretty low on the list, below a way to teach her cats to use an automated cat box and above a Chia pet. But not WAY above the Chia pet. Know what would be very high on the list? FUN.

She has always been a serious one. Not much of a joker. Not one to just spend the day hanging out with friends (though she has always had the nicest friends). And dating is part of that. She was a serial monogamist (with questionable taste but that is a whole other story) and so the whole dating for fun and profit (not prostitution you pervs! the beer! the dinners!) was not so much for her.

I just hope she has a great time tonight. Relaxes. Laughs. Comes home happy.

Thank You, Kristin, For Saying What I Wanted To

I promise this is the last I will mention it but this post by Kristin pretty much sums up how I feel about the holidays right now. This section in particular:

"I think that the christmas season is pretty much rammed down the throats of non-Christians, and I can see that for some people it would be really, really irritating to have to live with the constant reminder, from November 1 to the middle of January, that (what appears to be) everyone in America is celebrating a holiday that you don't, and that you will be expected to go along with it regardless of your feelings. It is just stuffed down the throats of people who don't celebrate it - you can't get away from it, you can't ignore it, you are just stuck watching this veritable orgy of holidayness, and it isn't your holiday, and people who do celebrate it all seem to think that you should just suck it up and deal. You will have to play 'secret santa' at work, and get cards that wish you Merry Christmas and have people get angry with you because you aren't sending out your own 'holiday cards', and people will say it to you, and get angry if you don't say it back, and call you a grinch, and worse. And all those Christmas celebrants will just tell you that somehow you are the jerk, for not just going along with it. Or they will try to guilt you by stating that they are only celebrating the secular Christmas, not the religious one, so why dont you do the same." ***

This is the most brilliant thing I have seen written on the subject and I deeply wish I had written it. It isn't that I don't want y'all to have fun, I just don't want to join in. And I am so damn tired of people making me feel bad about that. Just enjoy your Santa Claus and eggnog and leave me out of it. Let's talk on January 2, ok?

***Edited to add that I have tried to email this poster, even registering for the board, to let her know that I have quoted her so extensively. Unfortunately, I have not been able to, if anyone is a member of ThreeWay please help!

I Guess This Makes Me Anti-Christmas

I generally avoid Fox News and Bill O'Reilly because I really like having an entire head of hear versus one that has had eat strand ripped out in fits of rage. But this WAR ON CHRISTMAS nonsense needs to stop. Because it has leaked out into mainstream media, because this bullshit needs to STOP NOW.

I do not understand what crawled up the asses of some people about Christmas this year. Because they are not protesting the removal of religious items from stores or public venues--the are angry because retailers are using Happy Holiday signage instead of Merry Christmas, because communities are calling their trees Holiday Trees. They are protesting the non-denominational expressions of commercial aspects of Christmas as being anti-Christian.

WHAT THE FUCK?!

Let me explain something to people.

Stores are using Happy Holidays because there are, in fact, several holidays during this season being celebrate and like good capitalists they want to make all of their customers feel welcome while they spend their money. This is not a wave of PC nonsense this is good business and O'Reilly should know this, in fact I suspect he does know this.

Communities are trying to keep religion out of their holiday displays because well the entire community is not Christian. Now I know that this simply STUNS many people in this country. Just makes them gasp with horror because how could this have happened as our forefathers fought for a Christian nation? Except they totally didn't. Most of them were not Christian. And a big sector of this country isn't either. O'Reilly has been floating this stat that 90% of Americans celebrate Christmas so he doesn't want to hear the diversity argument but well that is simple of him isn't it? Because there are a lot of people of different religions that celebrate the secular holiday of Christmas. And there are people who are inter-married. And there are those of us who don't celebrate it at home because we are big Jews but we celebrate it with our mothers because really who wants to make their mama cry because she cannot do a stocking for them? NO ONE.

The thing that makes me most crazy about this whole scenerio is that people are losing sight of what is really wrong with having Christmas programs in public schools or asking every child you see about their visit with Santa. Imagine how exclusionary that is for a kid who doesn't celebrate it. Imagine how hard it is to be different. Not because they or their family did anything wrong but because they believe something different. And because people are too caught up in their own shit about wanting to see little Timmy be in the nativity scene at school instead of church where it fucking belongs to think about how crappy that it. How WRONG it is.

I remember growing up I had this Jewish friend and every year before Winter Break teachers would have us do sing-alongs or something equally stupid (yay for public schools) and I would always ask if there were Hanukkah songs we could sing. This was a well intentioned question--even if I now know that I was a goddamn tool--but I missed the point. How depressing for that guy to have to sit through this shit every year. To be a freak. To miss out on it. And to have people get all in his business about why his family didn't celebrate (NOT EVEN A TREE?!).

I am not Christian anymore. But I do recall that some of the ethics of the religion involved kindness to others. Wishing peace and love to everyone. And screaming into the TV about how the Jews and the Muslims and Buddhists and the atheists and everyone else should shut the hell up because it is Merry FUCKING Christmas people and don't you forget it is not bringing Peace on Earth. It seems to me that this portion of the Christian community has lost sight of what is important (though in no way do I think they are the majority).

Since y'all are celebrating the birth of your savior and all, how about you be nice to the world for the rest of the month.

Just give it a shot.

A Moment

J was out working until almost three this morning. This pissed me off (not at him, at the world) because I worried about him--it was icy--and because the fucking dogs kept waking me up every twenty minutes to go and check to see if he was home yet.

I hate those goddamn dogs.

He slept in until 11 today and was quite chipper. I got up at my usually 5 and feel like some one hit me over the head with a bat.

I made it through the day. I just wanted to get to my reward of a hot shower with deep conditioning treatment and an early bedtime after watching last night's Project Runway. The perfect night right?

Except on my machine there was a message from my father-in-law. He is here.

SHIT.

My house isn't clean. I can never sleep when he is here (the smell of smoke gives me headaches and he always reeks of smoke). And it just makes me CRAZY that he pulled this crap.

I am going to go have a moment.

Hate Might Not Be Strong Enough

We have reached that point in winter where my skin starts screeching "OH HELL NO!" It begins slowly, so that I can pretend that I am not going to look like the Cryptkeeper before January. Little flakes form under my nose and between my eyes--which makes me look like I have dandruff of the eyebrows which is sexxxxy. Then I get small bumps on the temples. And last week the whole thing went to hell when sheets of my skin came peeling off my cheeks.

I know. Try not to crash your servers searching for my address so you can come gaze upon my hotness. Self-control please.

It is time to dig out the big guns, thick moisturizing creams, a whole crapload of lotion.

I am not stopping with my love for hot showers, I do not care if I need to coat myself in oil in order to survive them.

Of course I did have a moment when I was layering J with moisturizing (since he is a bit scaly too) and I was telling him how this stuff was great because it wouldn't make you break out and he looked at me and laughed. He said, "oh baby I haven't worried about that since eighth grade."

You hate him too don't you?

One Reason I Am Not A Lesbian

Almost every marriage shares certain hot button issues that cause nuclear meltdown fights with door slamming and towel throwing--money, family, money--these issues cause some of the most horrifying nights in the marriage. But eventually you sort it out, not that this issues solve themselves or even get settled, but they evolve into the sort of discussions that you can have with just strained faces and tense words.

My in-laws are such a topic.

Well, specifically my father-in-law.

I think I have written a bit about this before (but am too lazy to search) but my husband does not have much a relationship with his dad. J was brought up in a weird way (that I cannot think about too carefully or I will either cry or scream) and as a result just feels distanced from his dad. They do not have a lot in common. His father also has some mental health issues and no social skills at all. So usually when he comes to visit they sit and stare at each other, totally uncomfortable. His father will ask him pathetic questions that he should know the answers to like "how old are you?" and "what is your middle name?" and J feels frustrated by the whole thing.

And I am just tired of it. I am tired of dreading it. We have been here for three months and I have been dreading this visit since the day we moved in. I dread it not just because of the ugly time when he is here (which I often miss because my attempts at small talk just make it worse) but because J gets in a foul mood for days before hand.

He was already pissy this weekend--some mess with a computer he was building--and this has just made it worse. And I know as the wife I am supposed to just cope with it because my god that man actually talked to my crazy grandma with the photo album full of dead body pictures and sometimes he brings me cokes while I blog in bed and don't I owe him something?

No internet I do not.

I am tired of this. But I am at a loss as to what to do. I admire his unwillingness to just let go of his dad and not talk to him anymore since it causes so much tension for everyone. But at the same time their current solution is just maddening. Do I have relatives that make me want to rip my eyeballs out? SURE DO. But either I find a way to deal with it or I call them on it. Or both.

And I don't bitch at my wife about it either.

That is why I have a HUSBAND.

The Benevolent Dictator

Oh Darla.

How I hope you might forgive us one day.

J took the dogs to the groomers today as the clippers are lost somewhere in this house since the move and I was just not up to cutting her coat using a pair of manicure scissors. And not cutting that shaggy rug was not an option because well she smelled. I am sorry my baby but you did.

The chore probably came about three months too late because look at our before picture (left). Doesn't she look like she weighs about fifty pounds more than she should? Horrible, unimaginable things would get caught in her fur and she smelled like death.

Of course, I think that they went a little overboard. J told me that they butchered her but I didn't imagine that they cut off all of her curls. But they did. And all of her pale blond highlights (sometimes I like to pretend that I am the kind of woman that gets her dog highlights but alas I am not so rich or vain--they are natural). She looks so tiny tiny tiny and like a smooth dachshund instead of a long hair.

She is very very angry. But not so angry that she will not let me carry her around and feed her macaroni and cheese. She is benevolent like that.

How Sad Is It That The Bowling Alley Still Totally Has A Smoky Haze

This weekend was just so short y'all.

Yesterday was spent getting my mother done with her shopping for the holidays. And J stayed out to all hours of the night building a computer (he is such a wild one isn't he? am so tempted to just lie and say he was out with strippers). This morning we slept in (as he was out all late and the dogs would not BELIEVE that he was not in the basement and would not allow me to sleep--hateful beasts) and then took down some stuff to the guy who's computer he built and ate cheeseburgers and braved Toys R Us and then now the weekend is over.

How can this be?

I would like a do-over. One where we did not try to go bowling twice but could never get a lane (we were trying to celebrate Washington's new no smoking laws by going to the smokiest place in all of creation but sadly it was like busy with regular customers). One where I did not act like a big brat when I was too stupid to figure out my I-Pod. One where I have not absolutely demolished a bag of Doritos and eaten three grapefruits.

One where I do not have to go to work tomorrow.

OUCH

I am eating the highly nutritious and delicious (if gross sounding) dinner of Doritos and ruby red grapefruits. The dogs are highly uninterested in the citrus but are staring with HOT EYES at my Doritos. I think Darla wants to marry a Dorito someday. A nacho cheese one.

J is down with his friend, building him a new computer, and I am watching episodes of Degrassi Junior high on the Ti-Faux. (did you know that they play practically endless loops of Degrassi Junior High and Degrassi High on cable now?).

But. Uh. I am having a girly problem also. Because y'all my boobs hurt. As in, pain when I breathe, cough, or bounce around at all. Not that I am in the habit of bouncing around but you understand that it is uncomfortable.

So I am just going to keep eating foods that turn my fingers orange and trying not to move at all.

I Do Not Want To Drown

When I was younger I hated how my mother deferred to my father. She would not make a decision without him, she worried constantly about his opinion--even about silly things like her clothes. She cooked for him and fussed over him and let him have his way.

It would just enrage me. It just smacked of sexism and I just felt like she should stand up to herself.

As I have gotten older I see now that my mother lacked self-confidence but also had a tremendous respect for my father's opinion. They have been married for well over thirty years and part of that comes from coming to decisions together. And even though some of those decisions felt ridiculously trivial to me, I see now that whatever it takes to stay together is what it takes.

Still I hated it. And I never wanted to be that woman. I didn't want to defer to anyone and I wouldn't want any child I ever have to see me as unequal in any way. So imagine my pleasure at realizing that I do the same things that my mother has always done.

Not everything. I don't listen to him at all about clothes, other than "does my ass look hotter in this or that?" I don't worry about if I am buying the brand of corn that he prefers. And of course we talk about everything to do with our future, our money, the life that we are building.

BUT. I do this thing that I hate. I obsess about money. Part of this comes from the rather tenuous relationship we have had with money over our marriage. A couple of career changes, getting married young and a couple of layoffs will do that for a couple. I am by nature cautious anyway (I have vivid memories of my piggy banks as a child--I was such a damn miser) so I have a hard time giving myself permission to spend money.

Right now, Linda, is laughing. Because over the past few months I have bought new furniture, new clothes, stuff for my house--not exactly the behavior of some one who is worried about money. This is all true, but no one understands how much spending every dime of that fucked with my head.

I can't help it. I worry about whether it is ok to buy lunch, whether I can buy a new jacket (since I am fucking freezing), is it ok to go to the movies? I bother J all the time with this crap and I can tell it upsets him. He is used to it by now and just sort of impatiently snipes, "WHATEVER YOU WANT BABY."

I know I have talked about being afraid of turning into my mother and wow my mom has lovely qualities that I would like and this is SO NOT ONE of them. I would like her generous nature, her way with people, her capacity for love. I do not want to be the wacko lady who really wants to buy the fancy shampoo but is having a moment.

Also. I think J might hold my head under water if I don't quit it.

Racking Them Up

Look. I am still READING. Two more on the book blog.

GARSH, No One

Today was sort of all over the place. Good news (babies born early but much healthier than imagined!), bad (work stuff dull dull dull) and everything in between. It was the sort of day where I laugh outloud at my desk over nothing at all and then almost started bawling on the bus ride home.

I am not sure what is going on with me. My life-long claim that I am not a drama queen is really taking a credibility strain because just everything is such a Big Deal.

My work crap is the same story and dear GOD am I ever going to just not feel that way? I would really like to run away and join the circus and somehow I think I am too old. And really I do not think anyone wants to see my ass in a tutu. Perhaps I could be a lion tamer instead.

The holidays feel like they are happening to some one else. It is a funny thing when you throw out your old traditions, if you are me at least you find that you flounder around a bit without them. We aren't doing much, J and me, just getting through the month. Which seems a little sad but not as sad as the alternative. You know, murder-suicide.

My neighbor has this truly delightful Goofy light-up Christmas thing on her porch and oh how I envy it. I really want a light-up Goofy menorah. Something just a little awful. And fabulous.

Maybe that would snap me out of my drama queen zone. Because who can pull that shit on Goofy?

Perhaps I Still Have Some Humanity

Six years ago I worked on commission for an electronics store. I made a lot of money at that store as I was one of the few female salespeople in the company and one of the few people in the store that wasn't a complete asshole. I learned a lot about people, and why I hate them in that job, and decided that though I made a shit-load of money in sales they just were not for me.

When the company went under in this country I moved onto other things and hardly ever think of those people anymore. Except one. Who rides my bus.

Now this guy was a real prick back then, but probably most people would have never known. He stole sales and tried to guilt people by showing them pictures of his kids. He was no serial killer or anything, but I learned that a commission guy who would steal sales intentionally would run over his own mother in a John Deere tractor for money.

We have been riding the bus at the same time for a few years now. I am pretty good with faces and I have always been sure it is him, but he never said a word. Just looked at me with recognition. I mean what is he going to say? Hi I don't remember your name but didn't I try to get you to give me a four hundred dollar sale by talking about my kid's birthday party once? I mean I couldn't remember his name either so we just sort of road the bus.

But today I must have had my friendly face on because he came up and asked me all about what I am doing, talked about how all the guys were working in this one place, how they dicked him so he left. On one hand, he was the same old asshole, but on the other, who cares. Six years ago. No idea how old he was then or now but I wouldn't want to be judged entirely on my behavior when I was twenty.

On the other it is not like I am in danger of losing income to him now either.

So we part ways quickly and I get on the bus where this very nice young man starts telling me about how he sprayed water on a city inspector today. Got yelled at five or six times and still got promoted. Because he doesn't believe in prideful things. Kept reading me sections from his Bible. Telling me that it was no problem at all to not care about TV or work because this life doesn't matter only studying the Bible until you die and go to Heaven. Or something.

I didn't have the heart to explain to him that I don't believe any of that or in Heaven and really could you just eat your jelly beans and shut up?

Where is all this niceness towards people coming from?

Still Reading

Over on the book blog, Lolita, not all that sexy.

I Really Do Not Want To Do This

Oh colon-of-mine, I have such a BONE to pick with you.

I had a lovely dinner with my family yesterday, involving lots of rare red meat which is my favorite kind, and as a woman from the midwest I am ENTITLED to eat as much red meat as I want because that is the land of COW y'all.

But you, or some other nameless ugly part of my digestive system, decided to expel that meat in what could only be called an ASSPLOSION and that is unacceptable and we need to talk about it.

I spent entirely too much time in the bathroom today. This cannot happen again. Or you shall be fired. I have googled "colon exchange program." I will move us ALL BACK TO IOWA if I have to DO NOT MAKE ME TURN THIS CAR AROUND.

I trust your future performance will be less offensive to me and my red-meat loving soul.

It better be.

Only 364 Days To Go Baby

Yesterday was J's birthday and it was spent doing very J-centric things. Watching the USC game, having his friends over, eating his favorite foods. Actually it is alarming how normal a Saturday it was--apparently he always gets his every whim catered to.

He also wouldn't stop grabbing my boobs and yelling, "But it's my BIRTHDAY!" Because the b in birthday stands for boobs you can grab whenever you want? Dunno. V. v. annoying and I am thankful that it is over for the year, hope you enjoyed the groping homie.

Our friends came over and we played a viscious round of Uno Attack and I got drunk on a new cocktail J invented to use up the lime juice that I bought for my sister while she was here. I don't have a name for the delightful concoction which is loosely based on a lemon drop but I am thinking of Lime Cordial--DELICIOUS. Catchy huh? But only said in that precocious-British-child accent.

Today I spent my time snarking on J that, "It's not your birthday!" as he kept trying to grope my boobs.

Payback's a bitch.

Really It Is Not Even Real Goulash

The other night, my parents lost their heat.

Yes, during our snowstorm. I mean they got THREE INCHES. So I don't think my mother has been truly warm for about ten years. She is freezing in the summer. She wears fleece in eighty degree weather. My father jokes that at night if he licked her ass his tongue would get stuck (yes I know that is ALARMING to hear, they are my parents you think I ENJOY THIS?).

It is because of my mother that I keep blankets in every room of the house. I have strongly considered putting an afghan in the bathroom (for those moments on the toilet where the less clothing makes you feel well a little chilled) but I haven't found a place to hang it that is not scary and just WRONG. My mother leaves her coat on in my house. Sometimes she wears a scarf. The woman is cold (I am sympathetic to this because this is my future y'all and it scares the shit out of me). So that woman being without heat is possibly the most cruel thing that could have happened.

It is like the evil minds of every secret organization in the world got together to torture her for her secret recipe for Very Not Hungarian At All Are You Kidding Me Goulash. SHE WILL GIVE YOU THE RECIPE. The repair man was able to come right away but the part he needs to fix their furnace is not going to arrive until Monday. So my mom is having to spend all of her time in front of the oven or the fireplace and with a tiny dachshund wrapped around her for a personal heater.

Good luck getting that dog out of your bed once the heat works.

She Is Not Pleased

It is snowing here.

Part of the appeal of the Seattle metro area is our temperate climate. It doesn't get overly cold or hot here very often and dare I say we like it that way? People not born here (myself included) always cackle and laugh at the spectacle we make of ourselves in this town when it snows or there is ice.

People panic, it is not unusual at all for people to refuse to leave their homes at all during a "snow storm" (meaning snow fall of more than an inch). Schools close at the slightest provocation. People stay home from work. It's pathetic and funny and a little frightening to see how the whole town shuts down.

Part of it is our topography. This is a hilly region with a lot of water, ice can be difficult to manage especially for the very inexperienced drivers that live here. The rest is just the fact that no one in this fucking city has ever grown up when it comes to snow. They pray for it, wish for it, in a way that is just fucking stupid. And they PANIC when it falls. They would just rather die than drive in it. Or they pretend it isn't there and drive like madpeople which turns out just as well as you might expect.

This is how they had to close the freeway tonight.

For an INCH OF SNOW.

The animals and I are not pleased. Darla has sworn to me that she shall not need to pee at least until this shit melts and possibly until spring. Do not bother asking in otherwords.

Rooster.

Is not pleased.

Did you make it snow? Because she will CUT YOU bitch.