WHOOO!! (Seriously, anybody want a kitty?)

Well, HI!

Jef is in the valley, visiting his family. I'm at home, watching the remake of Sabrina and discovering the joys of spiced rum on the rocks.

For a while now, I thought all I wanted was the house to myself for a little bit. Weeeelll, now I have it and it kind of sucks. Don't get me wrong, it's nice being able to pee with the door open and wander around, in search of pajama pants, in nothing but a wife beater and a smile. But it's so quiet. I've watched a lot of episodes of Voyager (which I hated when it came out and now I love) and a lot of Food Network and I've opened the fridge and the pantry in search of something to relieve the boredom and I've smoked all but one of an entire pack of cigarettes.

It turns out that I don't know what to do with myself anymore, and this comes as a huge shock to me. (HUUUUUUUUUUUGE) See, I was that kid who would disappear, only to be found an hour later, when the grown-ups finally noticed my absence, coloring in my room or reading a book or somehow entertaining myself in some totally benign way.

(Holy awkward comma splices and split infinitives, Batman!!!!)

In other words, I (usually) do well by myself.

I wish Jef's and my families lived in the same town. Or even the same state. Ok, well, in Texas, the same state doesn't mean much. I wish they lived within 100 miles of each other. I think 100 miles is a good, healthy distance to put between yourself and your parents once you reach a certain age.

(Not you, mom - you and I could live next door to each other and it wouldn't be a problem.*)

**(just go look)

(Dude, what the fuck?? Sigourney Weaver is doing Lifetime movies now?? We are living in an Era of Wrong.)

Fuck, where was I?

Oh, yes, family. Everybody seems to get along. Husbands, wives, in-laws...it's just..well..it's fucking great. So yeah, I wish we all lived within a reasonable distance of each other instead of 300 miles from his family and 500 miles from mine. Seriously, pick a point on a map. Draw a line 300 miles in one direction. Now draw another line 500 miles the other directions. Yeah, it's a lot like that. It makes holiday travel challenging, to say the least.

Hang on - out of rum.

Ok, all better.

Would it be sacrilege to say that I like the 1995 version of Sabrina better than the original? Because I do. I love me some Bogie and some Audrey, but I also love me some Harrison Ford and Greg Kinnear and Julie Ormond.

And I wish I could carry off the haircut that she gets in the movie. She looks sophisticated with a touch of gamine. I would look like a rat with a shag.

(What the hell ever happened to Lauren Holly?? She's so cute and she was adorable on..um..that show she was on and then she married/dated Jim Carrey and just kind of disappeared. What the hell?)

("We were up to our elbows in your underwear drawer - it was like touching the Shroud of Turin." HA!! My favorite line.)

OK, so - I'll leave you with one interesting little tidbit about me and Jef. Jef grew up in the valley (those of you unfamiliar with Texas, just Google "Rio Grande Valley." See?? Texas has a valley. Shut up.) Fuck...lost my train again.

OH, OK, so...Jef grew up in a primarily Spanish-speaking area. He speaks Spanish, but it's kind of rusty since he lived in Dallas for 9 years. However, my big, blue-eyed Scot curses in Spanish when he stubs his toe or somebody cuts him off. It's pretty fucking funny.

AnyHOO....my Spanish pronunciation?? Is the suck. "oo-no, dose, traysss" Hola, yo soy un gringa. *** My French pronunciation is not great, but it's...OK. I can at least get close due to taking a few (incredibly useless) courses in French.

Jef's French pronunciation? Sackray blue!!

Would anybody like a long-haired black kitty? Very sweet, needs to be fixed, possibly incredibly stupid, answers to Smoal. No? Fine.

fuckers

(Movie's over, time for "How It's Made" (dude, I love this show) and one of the items is pineapples. Um...they're made...by a pineapple tree? Bush? Vine? Ok, fine, maybe I should watch the show.)

Ok, look...rum apparently hits harder than beer or wine (who knew?) and I started this entry sober and have ended...dude? Have you been reading? So I'm going to drink some water and smoke that last cigarette and then go to bed. Y'all behave.



*No, really - I'm not just sucking up to my mom because she reads this. We probably couldn't share a house. Well, we definitely couldn't now that we're both married and have assorted kids of our own. But we could live much closer than the average mom/daughter combo. Without getting into a big explanation of our family dynamics (that would take way too long and involve charts and mnemonic devices and possibly hypnosis) let's just say we've both learned enough to be able to deal with each other pretty well.

**You have no idea how hard that period, asterisk, paren combo was for me to put together.

***Yes, I know I probably conjugated that incorrectly.

Turns out pineapples grown on some kind of bush type thing and frogs like to lay their eggs in the crown. Fascinating

Damn...I just spell-checked this and I spelled mnemonic correctly. What the hell?

brief

My boobs have been through a lot today. First, they were rudely thrust into a bra without the courtesy of a shower. Then, they were cruelly ripped from the nice, warm bra in which they had just become comfortable and put in an extremely unflattering front-tie hospital gown meant for someone a good 3 sizes larger. THEN, they were manipulated and moved around by a very nice radiology tech and squished between 2 large plates and exposed to radiation. Twice for each one!

They lost consciousness after this, only to awaken and find themselves strapped into a jog bra, bouncing in a most un-lady-like fashion down the hike and bike trail. I'm afraid I'll wake up tomorrow with a note pinned to my recently vacated breastbone, which reads "Left you for a less paranoid, less active sternum."

So yes, mammogram, work, run, now home. Am lying on the floor, digesting a kidney bean and couscous concoction, drinking a nice glass of red wine and half listening the the Hubble telescope program that Jef is watching.

The stupid cat came home yesterday. Kids* and Jef got home from a gift card-enable Starbuck's spree and thought they heard a cat outside. Sure enough, it was asshole Miles, wandering down the breezeway, yowling to be let in. Little fucker's gonna get us evicted.

So yes - my boobs have been very busy (and are quite possibly planning a revolution) and the cat came back. That about sums up my day.

I got nothing but more wine and a dirty kitchen - y'all have fun.

*Almost forgot the footnote! Kids do not equal Kiddo and Stepson - it equals Kiddo, Stifler (one of kiddo's friends) and boyfriend. Good kids, if perhaps a little....ever-fucking-present. Sigh.

Have you seen this kitty?

I have added one more thing to my chump Happy, Optimistic List of Stuff I'm Totally Going to do in 2009, WhOOOO!!

#100 - learn to parallel park

Yes, ladies and germs, that's right - I do not know how to parallel park. If I do anything downtown, I leave 30 minutes early because I know I will spend 20 minutes driving in ever-widening circles around my destination, 3 seconds in a highly illegal and blood-curdling Steve McQueen manuever when I find a free spot that I can nose into, 2 minutes hunting for change before I realize that duh, it's Saturday, the meters are free and the next 7 minutes, 59 seconds walking 6 blocks to my destination. People wonder why I do all my drinking at home.

Well, that and the extreme effort it takes me to put on shoes and a bra. Let us not speak of makeup.

So yes, my list does not end on a 9 anymore, but that's OK. According to Nikol's Uberlist rules, I have until the 8th the formalize it, so something may get dropped. Or more may get added (that breathing thing is getting more and more difficult) so I may end up with 109 after all.

And no, mom, I couldn't just do 9. I sat down to write the list and came up with 38 pretty quickly. No good can come of a list that stops at 38 - it's a weird number. I just don't like the way it looks. Of course, it's also how old I'll be this year. I may have to lie about my age for the first time in my entire life, just so I don't have to write such an unsettling number.

I've already managed to deal with one of the things on The HOLOSITGTOI'09W! (henceforth called the Holy Sit Go) as you may have noticed if you tuned in Wednesday. That's right - I scheduled my mammogram.

I am petrified.

No, I'm not scared they'll find something. If they do, they do, I'll deal with it (which is my way of saying "lallallalaa no lumps here, lalallaaa".) I'm scared of the actual test. I'm a tall woman with big boobs, so I have this very clear mental picture of me, crouched down, left breast mostly wedged into the machine when some tech decides it's too low and wwhhhhiiirrrr - I'm lifted up off the floor by my tit.

I don't care if it's realistic, I don't care if they actually have George Clooney look-a-likes in there, feeding me pina coladas to calm me down. I am freaked out. Jef is going with me - here's hoping he'll work like a big, blue-eyed, tattooed valium.

I started this on Friday and now it's Sunday night and one of our kitties has gone missing. He has a habit of darting out the door if we leave it open a millisecond longer than absolutely necessary, but since we know about this, we try to keep an eye out for him. We turned this place upside down and can't find him. Sigh. Stupid cat.

Now I'm off to drink a big glass of water and get my stuff together for tomorrow (not a resolution, I just hate standing naked and pre-caffeine in my closet, trying to figure out a work outfit that doesn't involve the jammie pants I just took off.)

Y'all be good.