Thick

I'm at home tonight, making split pea soup and parmesan Irish soda bread. Can you put parmesan cheese in Irish soda bread? Since Irish soda bread is a lot like a buttermilk biscuit in loaf form, I say yes, it's just like making cheese biscuits. Hmph. Which makes this absolutely nothing like the time I started matzoh ball soup with bacon. (Yes, I know, there's a spot in culinary hell with my name on it.)

Anyway, this is how Friday nights shake out when the kid is out of town and the boyfriend has to work. I'm sitting here with the cats and a pot of soup and the internet. Woohoo. Oh, and a living room that still needs to be cleaned. It's in that final stage of cleaning - the actual Putting Things Away stage. Yeah - the fun part. Gag.

Oh look! The UT game! Go Horns. Suck it, Kansas State! HEH.

I don't talk much about money, other than the occasional "dude, I could use some advice" because, dude, I could use some advice. But the fact is I have a bit of a spending problem. Not like Imelda Marcos or that goofy savekaryn bitch or anything, but I tend to soy latte and paperback myself into a corner. My bills get paid, gas gets put in my car, and food gets put on the table, but I tend to find myself unprepared for emergencies, so when one comes up I have to raid my savings. Over the past couple of years, I've ripped through any savings I've had and I've managed to raise the minimum payment on all my credit cards. Some of it is just natural fall-out of a divorce; I did have to set up a new household, after all. However some *cough*most*cough* of it is just me acting like an asshole. HEH.

So, financially speaking, I've become just a teeny-tiny trainwreck. Admittedly, it's like one of those city park trains stopping for a dog, not like the derailing of an Amtrak. And I am NOT asking for help on my blog. Oh sweet lord, no. But I am telling you guys that on Friday I sold plasma.

"Dude, so what? I sold plasma in college."

Yeah well, dude. That's just it. I'm 35. And I have this bizarre association of plasma selling and like...oh God, I'm gonna get in trouble for this, but, well, HOBOS and DRUNKS!!

The fact is, everybody there was absolutely stone-cold sober (oddly enough, it's kind of a requirement) and clean and nice and looked just like me. IMAGINE THAT! Well, except for one sort of scary looking lady, but I'm sure she was just having a bad hair day.

Good lord, I feel like an asshole. Please, no need to point out what a flaming 'roid I am in the comments, I know. I don't know why I had this association in my head, I just did. Anyway. I have the potential to make an extra like, $50/week, which shakes out to $200/month (-ish) which will pay for Christmas at least and then will help me start putting money back in savings and start paying down some of my credit stupidity and some other stuff.

"Why don't you just get a second job??"

First of all, I have this thing called a child. And yeah, she's 15 and yeah, she can cook and fend for herself and all, but I'd like to actually SEE her from time to time and help her with her homework and spend some time with her. She's already in high school and as trite as it sounds, it really does feel like she started kindergarten yesterday, so the idea of working nights and weekend and never getting to see her when I can make the same amount of money for sitting somewhere, hooked up to a pump 3 hours a week?? Hmmm, not a hard choice. Second of all, at holiday time in a college town, there's no such thing as "just" getting a part-time job. But that reason is really, REALLY minor compared to the whole kiddo issue.

Hang on a second. Since this money is taxable, isn't this a job?? I mean, I had to fill out forms and show that I was qualified for it and pass a drug test and all that, just like any other type of employment. So, I guess I do have a second job. It's just one with slightly looser hours and I get to read while I'm on the job. Oh, and there's free pretzels while I wait.

"Why don't you get a better paying job/move to a lower-rent area?"

Actually, my job pays pretty well - the problem really is my horrible money management skills. And I live in the area I do because I want my daughter to go to a decent school. We got a good deal on the rent here and it's actually not that expensive. When you subtract the amount in gas and electric (because this apartment appears to have this thing called insulation) from the raise in rent? It all sort of evens out.

I've got a couple of other things lined up (no, I'm not hooking or dealing, mom) like market research things and selling off some of my craft crap that's currently just taking up room in my apartment. That last option I'm not relying on too heavily because frankly, I'm really more interested in just freeing up the room. But we'll see.

Oh, yeah. And I'm gonna do some wacky things like not spending as much goddamn money. I know, it's a revolutionary concept, but we'll see how it goes.

ANYWAY. I'm fine, I'm not begging for money - no donation button, no complaining about how I couldn't pay the rent after I bought those $200 boots (rent always got paid first - HA!!) no ads (I don't even know what good that would do, since I have 3 readers, including MY MOM), no whining. I hope - am I whining? If I am, y'all slap me, OK? 'Cause I know I made my own bed over here.

Pea soup, body fluids for cash and a filthy living room. Yep, that about sums up my Friday, folks. My wine glass is empty.

ETA - we shall not speak of the havoc that stupid Kansas State is currently wreaking upon the Longhorns.

Perch

Aw - y'all are sweet. Of course, it's nice to know that if I'm gonna fish for compliments, I'll actually get some and not, y'know...boots or license plates or tires. Or, y'know, whatever the equivalent would be. Wow. That metaphor sort of disintegrated, didn't it??

Moving right along.

My mom started a blog!! Woo hoo!! Don't let her fool y'all with that "in the making" hooey. She's totally a crazy cat lady - she's got four of the damn things. Hi mom!! I'm still bringing the wine and the cute boy (I hope) for Thanksgiving!!

There's been some holiday-related funk lately. I know part of it is because this is the first holiday season since my dad died. I won't be going to Louisiana for Thanksgiving. I'm pleading financial and vehicular reasons, which are both valid, but the bare-ass truth is I just can't stand to go to Louisiana and not see my dad. I mean, yes, my car needs a bunch of stuff done to it before I take a 500 mile trip and I can't really sink the money into my car right now, but I *could* pull it together and I *could* make it happen like I've done before, but honestly?? Drive nine hours and turn down that road and look for the mailbox and turn in the driveway and go under the carport and go in the door and then no dad? I just can't.

He always used to joke and bitch that "next year, I'm going to a Goddamn restaurant." This year, it's tempting to stay home in my pajama pants and order pizza in his honor. I know it's selfish and I'm sorry. But I just can't do it this year. Maybe that makes me a bad person or a wimp or a bad granddaughter, but I'm not entirely sure I care. The thought of sitting in that house and choking down baked turkey without my dad's sense of humor surrounding me fills me with a type of fear that I can't even describe.

The thought of disappointing my grandparents fills me with a mild sort of regret. I'll take the regret, thank you.

I swear mom, I didn't give you this link so you could see me all sad. I write funny stuff, really!! I'm just having a bad week!!

Anyway, speaking of mom, she's hosting Thanksgiving at her place this year. I really will bring wine. At least one bottle for me (heh) and something cranberry - related and since Kayleigh doesn't have faith in anybody's cornbread dressing except mine, I may make a pan of that as well. And, because I'm a recipe nerd, and mom's talking about going native this year, I think I'll research a "first Thanksgiving" or "authentic native American" recipe or...somesuch and make that. As long as it doesn't involve bugs, I'm good. That makes three dishes, one bottle and a cute boy. Does Igloo make a cooler that big?

Dude, it's 11PM, why am I still wearing a bra?

Me

Hi. Good lord, I need lipstick. I'm thinking about making that my default pic for over there. What do y'all think?? Could you stand to look at that every time you come here, or would that drive both of you away?? Leave me some POLITE feedback.

Eh, I'm feeling kind of needy lately. I could just sort of use someone to sit next to me and maybe pat my hand uselessly now and then and listen to me chatter like a monkey and hand me a kleenex here and there and interject the occasional "aw shit, man" or "duuuude" or "it'll be OK."

Really, that's all I need right now. Well, that and some financial advice and good swift kick in the ass. And maybe a cold Guiness and some dark chocolate, but really, that's all. I swear. Mostly that swift kick in the ass.

Thanks for listening.

Y'all, this weekend, I witnessed a miracle. Either that, or a sign of impending doom, DOO-OOOM!!! I saw a 15 year-old rise up and completely clean her own bedroom and bathroom. People, this was no ordinary job! This involved multiple bags of Goodwill stuff and trash! This involved the acquisition of a dresser! This was a TASK! And she did it with no prodding or intervention or bribery or help.

My child, she doth rock.

But I'd keep an eye out for any of the other signs of the Apocalypse. I'm just sayin', is all.

Mwah. Love you guys.

It's 2AM and I just. can't. sleep.

"Laura, you're so pretty, I'd like to shower you with money and purses, is that OK?"

"Why sure, George Clooney, that'd be wonderful. Say, my wine glass is empty and I seem to be out of this magic calorie-free cheese, would you mind fetching me some more??"

"Oh no, I'll have my friend Edward Norton do it. Right now I'm going to lick your eyebrows."

"I...what? Um...OK"

BEEEBOOOBEEEBOOOBEEEBOOOOBEEEEBOOOO

"UUUGHHH? Hello??"

"Hey, babe? Look, I know it's like 2AM and you're sleeping. I'm sorry. But I just got some more of that cookie dough and I was wondering what kind you wanted?"

"Um....chocolate chip?"

"Cool. Talk to you later - go back to sleep."

*click*

"What the? Why is my eyebrow all wet??"

"Mrowr?"

We'll see how long this lasts

I think I need to give up celebrity gossip.

Ok, my ears just popped, from the sudden pressure change when y'all all just did that shocked inhale. First off, fuck all y'all. Second off, I'm dead serious. It's bad for me. I mean, I'm taking up valuable mental real estate here with whether Angelina is pregnant and whether Ryan cheated and whether Kelly/Ashley or Mary Kate/Nicole need to lose/gain/gain weight and whether Paris is a whore.

Answers: I hope not, hell yes he did, no/can't tell which is which, but yes/yes oh Jesus Christ YES

But see that's just it. I make my little judgments on folks I don't know, but I get all wound up when the people writing the gossip pages make judgments I don't agree with. Like, when they call Kelly Clarkson fat. Sure, she's got a couple Snickers bars rattling around in those jeans, but who doesn't?? I think she's cute. I think she's far more attractive than some of the sex symbols folks are drooling over now who are nothing more than bags of bones. FEH!!

AAAnd this is where I think I need to quit reading. Because I'm spending time and space and energy on stuff that I'M NOT ENJOYING.

I enjoy reading blogs. I enjoy checking out people's outfits and seeing the cute little kitty pictures and making stupid South Park caricatures of the folks in my life. But I'm getting kind of tired of getting all riled up about folks I don't even know.

So. I'm giving up the celebrity gossip. Really.

But before I do, I have one thing to say.

Dear Lindsay Lohan -

Please take a six month break, during which you hire someone to teach you how to cover your legs (leggings are fine, you certainly have the stems for them), brush your hair and properly manicure yourself. During that six month break, please eat lots of fresh fruits and veggies, drink lots of water and get plenty of rest. You're 20 and you're starting to already look 35. You are partying too hard, young lady. Slow down. You are far too pretty and too talented to burn out this early. The dark hair is fine, although I'd love to see something closer to your lovely natural red.

Come back in six months.

I love you, just clean it up a little.

Laura

Ok, all done. Off to delete some bookmarks.

Portrait of the artist as a dork

Ok, so everybody knows about the little South Park character generator thingie. Or, everybody knew about it then forgot, or saw it but didn't know the link or whatever, right? There's the link. You're welcome.

Jef and my mom and the kid and I have all spent the past couple of days making different versions of ourselves and our interpretations of each other and such. For example - here's me, according to, well, ME:



This is Jef according to me:



Isn't he cute??

Of course, this is Jef according to Jef:



"I'm not grumpy....I'm crotchety"

OK then.

This is my mom, according to her:



This is my child, when she's waiting for the bus:



And now you know what happens in my house when I cut down on the booze.

Mwah!!

Prime

I've been cleaning out my rat's nest of an apartment this weekend. I've let things get pretty out of hand, so it's one of those weekend projects. I work for an hour or two, realize I can't tell my left from my right - wait, I have trouble doing that on the best of days, let me give another example. I work till I realize I can't tell up from down, eat a snack, grab a beer, talk to Jef or the kid or a wall or something for a little while, then get back into it. So far I've taken a couple of bags of books to Half Price Books, I have a gigundo pile of stuff to take to Goodwill, I have a few piles of trash and I'm currently in the final sorting stage of the stuff I want to keep.

Some of y'all don't do any crafty type stuff and it's times like these that I really envy you fuckers, because you're not spending your weekend staring at a pile of scrapbooking shit that you haven't used, wondering if you should get rid of it all now, go through it and keep the card-making stuff, throw it back in the closet so you can ignore it for another two years, or go to the store for more wine.

I've left my bra and my shoes on, in case y'all are wondering which way I'm leaning.

Seriously, I've sorted through giant piles of pictures and receipts and bills (why?) and kid's artwork and half-finished craft projects and just all sorts of stuff and I've come to a not-so-stunning conclusion.

I am absolutely certifiable, batshit, lizard-lickin' crazy, y'all.

I mean, GOT-DAMN! I have SEVENTEEN different flavors of blank notebook. And that's not including the couple of teeny ones that I put in the Goodwill box!! Seventeen!

I've made my decision - what wine goes best with lizard?

This just in - that cliche about Mondays is true!!

When I came out to my car yesterday morning, my glove box and my fuel door were both hanging open and all the crap that usually sits in my center console was on the passenger side floorboard.

Oh, and my dad's watch was missing.

The best I can figure is that when I got home from Dallas last night (more on that in a bit) I was in such a hurry to get upstairs to the bathroom (more on that too) that I forgot to obsessively click the lock button on my keyfob like I usually do. So some fuckstain came along and opened up my car and rifled through it and found the only shiny thing in it - my dad's cheap-ass stretch band Pulsar watch that is completely and totally worthless to everyone but ME. They passed up a cute beaded bracelet, a pair of earrings, a packed CD wallet and about $5 in spare change to grab THAT. Fuckers.

He/She/It tried to get in the trunk, but was too stupid to decipher the difference between a gas pump symbol and trunk lid symbol, so they popped the gas door instead. which is kind of funny, considering I've been driving around with my ex-boyfriend's DVD player and a spare microwave for the past few months. Yes, I'm serious.


Dear fuckstain,

You stole something with absolutely no monetary value that was very important to me. Don't bother trying to pawn that watch, I'm not even sure it's worth a Happy Meal. I'd suggest you hang on to it and use it to make sure you meet your dealer and johns on time, you completely worthless waste of skin. Actually, I hope you have an allergic reaction to it and your fucking hand falls off.

Rot in hell, you pustulent fuck.

Kisses,

Laura

Other than that, everything's just peachy. Jef's car decided to go tits up at the last minute, so I drove up to Dallas on Friday. We had a really good visit, with a fun family-style outing on Saturday and lots of movies and chinese food and non family-style fun. A very, very good visit.

About halfway home, I started having really, REALLY bad stomach pains and chills and some, uh, feelings of urgency. I made a couple of stops for Rolaids and to urgently powder my nose, but it just continued. So I made arrangements for The Ex to get kiddo and meet me in Round Rock, rather than me have to stand in his living room and do the bathroom dance, and then I sped home. That's why I think my car ended up unlocked last night, because I'm usually pretty compulsive about the whole keyfob thing, to the point of annoying myself with the constant horn honking.

And before anybody says a goddamn word about it, believe me, I've lambasted myself enough about the stupidity of leaving something that important in my car, so just shut the fuck up already, OK? I wore the watch from time to time, but I have a habit of taking all my hand jewelry off on the drive home. I don't know why, I just do. So his watch ended up in the console, and it was cheap and behind a bunch of stuff and it never occurred to me that some ass-pimple would break into my car, rifle through the Taco Bell receipts and grocery lists and take the one Goddamn thing in my car that mattered.

Fuck, I hate people sometimes. I think I'm gonna pack up the kid and the cats and find a nice, cozy 3 bedroom cave for us and the boys.

Bah.

cat in a basket

"What's the Spanish word for 'bus'?"
"El buso?"
"I'm pretty sure that's not it."
"How do you know??"
"Well, car is 'el caro', but...no - bus is not el buso."
"It could be."
"El no-o."
"Ok, see, that's not right, because it already ends in an 'o', so you wouldn't add the o - it would just be 'no'."
"......"
"So, I wonder, is oboe really just 'ob'???"
"......."
"What??"

full of holes, like swiss cheese

This morning I got on my scale, as I do every morning, in the vain hope that I will have magically lost 10 pounds and lo! I magically lost 10 pounds!! I looked, skeptically, critically, at the reflection of my ass in the mirror and said "um..no, I don't think so" and climbed off the scale. Sure enough, the little dial had been scooched and the scale was off by 10 pounds. I fixed it. No magic today.

Listen up!!!

alter - to change

altar - a place where a religious ceremony, such as a wedding, takes place.

Get it right, folks. Y'all are killin' me.

Anyway - Dallas and Jef were (as per usual) wonderful. Since we're both giant geeks with impulse spending problems who can't seem to stop thinking about each other (I'll wait while you finish retching) we did a strange little gift exchange when I got there. I'd bought him an ACL t-shirt and he'd gotten me an autographed (autographed!!) copy of Silent Bob Speaks and some other silly stuff.* So it was like a mini Christmas, what with the kissing and the unwrapping and stocking stuffing.

Ahem

Anyway - I spent the weekend there the way I typically spend the weekend at home. That is to say, in my pajamas, reading, snuggling with a cat or two, eating too many carbs, watching too much TV and taking naps. The main difference was that instead of whining "whaaaaaa, I miss Jef", I could just walk over and smooch on him right then. It was pretty damn cool.

And yes - he and I are fuckin' rockstars, what with the couch-riding and movie watching. You know you're jealous. Don't deny it.

While we're on the subject of rock stars, may I please have these shoes? Thank you.

Ok gang, time for me to go grocery shopping. Right now my fridge looks less like that of a set of stylish bachelorettes such as kiddo and myself and more like that of a couple of nasty boys, what with the half bottle of cheap wine, zip-loc bags of scary leftovers and mystery stains at the bottom. You know what that means don't you? While the kid is doing all the homework she didn't do this weekend (grrrrr), I'll be listening to Monday Night Football, putting away freshly purchased groceries and cleaning my refrigerator.

I'll be wearing my super-sexy penguin pants while I do it, too. Don't try to run baby, you know you want it. Come here for a cheap red wine kiss.

*A gimme hat from his company 'cause I wear baseball caps a lot. Shut up. And the funniest damn beer coozie I've ever seen. It has boobs. Again - SHUT. UP. I laughed out loud when he gave it to me.

threadless

Will y'all think less of me if I tell you that I can't wait for the new year to start because I'll get to use my new calendar?? If so, then clearly, you do not know me at all.

To follow up on my last post, the book club was a bust. Oh, I'm sure it was fun for the folks who could find it. But I got up Sunday and showered and dressed and copied down directions and went to the apppointed place and the appointed hour and ...hmmm. Have you ever tried to find a book club at a trendy coffee house?? It's like looking for "the naked one" at a porn convention. I considered walking around, all "are you my book club? Are YOU my book club?" but thought better of it. Instead, I drank my iced coffee, soaked up some sun, went home and took my kid out to eat.

I have to interrupt here to say that I just opened up my chef salad from Thundercloud and it smells JUST LIKE Campbell's chicken noodle soup. I'm confused on many levels. As you were.

Something that I didn't tell y'all, and I don't know why, is that BFF and company are in town this week.

Ok, goddammit - I'm tired of acronyms and aliases, folks. So look, BFF = Lee, TBFD = Jef and Kiddo = Kayleigh. Now, I'll probably still call her kiddo here, because that's what I call her most of the time anyway and that's 5 keystrokes vs. 8 and I'm all about laziness efficiency.

ANYWAY - LEE was in town this weekend, with husband and child and OH MY GOD, that child is gorgeous!!! I'd seen pictures, of course, but OH! GAH! I had lunch with them on Tuesday and then kiddo (see?) and I had dinner with them Tuesday night, then last night there was a big group happy hour. They're heading to San Antonio for the weekend then back home to Nebraska on Sunday. *sob* But it was good to see them. Lee looks happy and seems to have settled into the mom thing fairly well. I don't know - I still feel like I have bits and pieces all untucked and hanging out all the time, and I've been doing this for 15 years.

I mean, hell, yesterday the kid and I stayed home because I couldn't find one of my daughter's shot records - something I used to PRIDE myself on having all together.

I've lost my thread.

Anyway - Lee seems content, and while I miss her like crazy, I'm also just thrilled snotless that she's found all this happiness.

Weekend plans. I'm heading up to Dallas to see Jef, which is not my preference, but he's having car/budget issues and I just want to see the boy. And the drive is not really that bad. And I'm taking a day off work to see my boyfriend. So, y'know...not all bad. I usually start the trip with a fill-up for the car and a large something caffeinated for me and just go. Somewhere around Waco or West (which is halfwayish) I have to pee and re-caffeinate, so I do. There's loud music and bad singing and riding with the windows down at high rates of speedthe speed limit. I generally like road-tripping, with or without company.

Actually, I have yet to take a road trip with bad company. Or Bad Company, for that matter. When I was a kid I travelled with my mom, my grandmother or my grandparents and they were all fans of the sleeping/reading/entertain yourself variety of travelling. As an adult, road trips were with the ex and he preferred that I actually carried on a conversation with him...the nerve! HEH. In reality, we had some pretty good talks during our road trips.

Now, my accompanied trips are all with the kid and she rocks. She has a tendency to play the same CDs over and over and over and ooooooooover again and let's just say there's only so much Weezer one woman can stand. But, she's fun to talk to and easy-going and believes in fast pit stops and we roll along pretty well. There've actually been a couple of trips when I've missed her company.

So yeah I'm going up there tomorrow and he'll head down here next weekend and AND!! his brother will be in town for the Rolling Stones concert. His bro lives in the valley and I'd already told Jef that anytime his valley folks needed a place to stay in Austin, I have a lumpy futon and plenty of floor space. So not only will Jef come down to see me, he'll also get to see his brother and I'll have houseguests!

I'm a bit insane, because if I have to leave my house to meet strangers, it takes all sorts of self-talk, a couple of "mommy, you look pretty"s from the kid and possibly even a shot of bourbon before I get out the door. Still, I'm a nervous wreck during the trip to wherever and ugh. I hate gatherings. Actually, I love gatherings, I just figure everybody will hate me and ignore me and there's no point in me going, I'll just stay home, isn't there a show on fungus I wanted to watch coming on anyway?? yes - weird, I know, your point??

But! I love having people come to my house. Even if my house isn't spotless (which it frequently isn't) I can overlook that after a bit (read: two glasses of wine) and I'm happy having folks over and cooking for them or ordering pizzas or giving directions to the store while I clean the kitchen and whip something up or whatever. In other words, I love people!! On my terms.

Thus endeth chapter 20 squillion on Ways in which Laura is Completely Bat-Shit Crazy.

Five!! HAHAHAHA!! Fiiiive!!

#1 Angela left a comment! Which means she read my drivel! Holy crap! Come back! I'll make cookies!!

#2 There's a Nigella Lawson show on the Food Channel. Say what you want about her, but she cooks a lot like I do (chops some veggies, brown some meat, throw a starch in there and pop it in the oven for a while, voila! Serve with a tasty wine and a good dessert and nobody cares!) and she looks a lot like I do - below the waist, that is. So I like her show. And her cookbooks. Shut up.

#3 A reading group! I found one! It meets today - I'll let y'all know how it goes

#4 TBFD's work schedule has cycled around to where I will actually get to see him next weekend. We're still trying to decide if he'll come down here of if I'll go up there (I'm a big fan of him coming down here because I've taken that drive a few times and BLEH) and I keep finding things that I want to share with him, but we'll see. You know I'll keep y'all posted in nauseating, yet totally family appropriate, detail.

#5 Kiddo just read this over my shoulder and said "write something about meee-eee", so here goes. She just made this really great pot of risotto with Italian sausage for lunch AND!! has decided to read Lolita. Wheee!!

Happy Birthday Kiddo

Dear Kiddo,

Fifteen years ago today, you made you entrance into the world. Just like everything since then, you did it on your terms. Keep up the good work.

Every day since then, I find myself amazed by you - your humor, your strenght, your singing, your cooking, your intelligence, your goofiness, youir kindness. Every day, I thank God for making me your mother. Please always know that I love you, love you, love you.

Happy Birthday
Mom

And no, I haven't shaved my legs

I like open letter entries - they're fun to read and they're fun to write. Especially if one is a crappy writer *cough*likeme*cough* and does better with a rant than a narrative.

Anyway, for the past week, I've had a series of open letter entries semi-composed in my head. I sat down to write them out, but then realized they'd be a bit repetitive. Check it out:

Dear Lady in Front of Me on Mopac:

Fuck you.

Sincerely,
Laura

Dear Teenager in Starbucks:

Nice bag. Fuck you.

Sincerely,
Laura

Dear Hair, Big ass, Blister on my Toe, and Back Fat:

Fuck you, you, you and especially YOU.

Sincerely,
Laura

I think you get the point. The Mood over here has been so monumentally bad that I almost wrote one of these to TBFD. Why? Because he lives in Dallas. No other offense.

Then yesterday, it started raining and thundering and lightning and the power went out at Border's before I could check out and as I was leaving I realized that even though I'd have to go back to get my books, I was in a good mood. I was chipper! And cheerful! I still wanted the dude driving down the MIDDLE OF THE LANE in the parking lot to die a festering death, but I muttered my "fuck you, assmunch" CHEERFULLY! With a smile on my face! 'Twould appear that I've moved from getting horrible killer migraines when the barometric pressure shifts to getting grumpy and semi-suicidal. I'm not entirely sure this is an improvement, but it does make life interesting.

(Note to self - stock up on chocolate, wine and fashion magazines before the rainy season starts.)

I've spent today doing pretty much nothing. Let's see, I made the breakfast equivalent of shit on a shingle (mushrooms and sausage in a cream gravy over biscuits - it'll cure what ails ya) and burned my finger in the process.

Yeah - did you know that roux gets really fuckin' hot and that just sticking the end of your finger in it to taste it is really damn dumb??

On another note, I never realized a blister could form that quickly. Heh.

I've also spent just about all damn day reading the archives over at Fussy. Why? I do not know. But I have this weird thing I do, where I start at the very beginning of a site and then read the pages in chronological order (January '02, February '02, etc) but I read them from the top down (Friday, Thursday, Wednesday, etc.) So I'm reading them...inside-out? Upside-down? I dunno. But it kills a slow-ass Sunday.

I'm currently sitting on the floor, back against the couch, legs propped up on one of those seating cube thingies, laptop in my...well, lap. I'm watching a Law & Order re-run and drinking the last bit of one bottle of red. There's Italian sausage defrosted and the last bit of another bottle of wine in the fridge. My kid is up in Round Rock, visiting friends and has been told that somebody else needs to bring her home, since I hauled her and her friends back and forth twice yesterday.

In other words, you people are lucky I took a shower today and a bra ain't touchin' this bod till tomorrow AM.

Hey! Feral Mom, wanna hang with me?? Bring more wine, I'm almost out.

No YOU go fug yourself.

Listen up. I like leggings, OK? I like them on their own, I like them with a giant men's shirt, and I like them under all lengths of skirts. I like them with boots and with flats. I like them in a car, in a bar, underneath the stars.

So this fall/winter, if you see a 5'10" blonde in a skirt and leggings and mary janes and it looks like maybe this girl might have seen leggings the first time and maybe she might be a bit heavier than the recommended legging weight, so by all rights she should be in a pair of jeans? Keep your comments to yourself. Her bad fashion sense isn't hurting you.

Hmph.

Subject Change

Ok, Miz S is now my Official Favorite Reader. The benefits of this honor include me thinking you rock aaaaaaand pretty much nothing else.

Seriously though, that last entry is probably my least favorite writing ever - to me, it ranks below the ones where I wrote "Ugh, am tired, will write later." Miz S - thank you. You are either more insightful than I will ever hope to be or you are incredibly kind. Either way? Rockage.

I didn't write anything yesterday because who the fuck am I to write about September 11th? I'd just be one more person, telling you where I was and how I had no personal investment in it, yet I felt like I did because I'm human and American and Jesus, this world sucks some times.

Whoops.

I was actually a little annoyed by a lot of the 5 year coverage and I'm not sure why. It's not that I don't think we should remember, because duh - I do. I think it's because, well....memorials and all are nice, but so far we've spent billions of dollars on a President's ego trip and have yet to do any God-damn thing about fixing the problems that created this situation in the first place, or catching the bad guys, or or or or. So yeah - forgive me if hearing the victim's names read out loud, AGAIN, leaves me a tad cold.

Subject change.

Today is TBFD's birthday. I went up to Dallas this weekend, since I had to work today. This damn job keeps getting in the way of my personal life, I tellyuwut. Anyway, yeah - weekend visit, some gifts, some hot sex, some Chinese food. I had a good time, he seemed to like his presents, so I guess it was all good.

What did I give him? Wow - that's sort of personal...oh..you mean the presents. ahem. I got him a couple of Threadless shirts ("Fiesta Fiasco" and "Ask me how I became a pirate" (or something like that) I'm entirely too lazy to look up the links) a pair of pajama pants and a couple of goofy little things from my favorite local toy store. And yes, I know that the name of that place totally sounds like a dildo store, but it's not. Toys, plain ol' toys. You want dildos when you come to Austin, you have to go here.

Subject Change

Kiddo has pleased and surprised the shit out of me this year. She's doing her homework, keeping up with her classes, complaining because the girls in her Biology group just want to "talk all goddamn day and not do any damn work!" I'm really impressed. It's not that I don't think she's capable of this sort of thing, it's that junior high was kind of a huge pain in the ass, what with never doing any goddamn work and fighting me every step of the way. This year has been much easier and it's pretty much all because kiddo has taken the initiative. I'm pleased as punch. Of course, we're 3 weeks in and Algebra II is totally kicking her ass, but we'll see what happens with that. I have lots of faith in her.

If she could kick this Plague of Mucus, that is. She and I both came down with a general ick sort of thing - runny nose, congestion, cough, feelings of grossness - about a week apart. I was first, then she got it. We tend to trade colds and such back and forth because HI - we live together, so I figured that was the deal. Well, I'm still sort of phlegmy (sorry) but mine has gradually gotten better. Hers?? Notsomuch. She gets better, then worse, then better, then OHMYGODTHESNOT!!! So I took her to the doctor today.

Let me take a moment here to tell you that having the doctor walk into the office and totally recognizing her as a girl you went to school with sort of sucks. I feel a tad failure-ish tonight. Admittedly, I'm a cute failure who is guaranteed to bring a good bottle of red and a tasty dessert to your next party, but yeah - failure. FEH.

Anyhoooo - the doc suspects it's allergies. So kiddo and I walked out of there with scrips for allergy pills and nasal spray, tralalala. She went to school for Algebra (see, totally working at it!! Tough class!!) and then her dad picked her up for their night, blah blah bleee. She came home with a low-grade fever and swollen glands - like 100% worse than when we saw the doctor. OF COURSE.

GODDAMMIT.

I'm not mad at her - duh. I'm just annoyed that my kid can't seem to get healthy (I feed her once a week just like they tell me to!!) and that she has new symptoms and bleh. This whole parent/adulthood thing sucks major root sometimes, y'all know that??

Ok, I have watched Nip/Tuck, cleaned the kitchen and polished off a bottle of Pinot. I need to throw some clothes in the dryer and then I'm totally going to bed. Really.

I got lost somewhere in the middle

The sound of a ticking clock has never bothered me. If I worked on a bomb squad and had to deal with that cliche time-bomb - you know, with the sticks of dynamite all taped together and the big ol' alarm clock as a timer - I'd probably fall asleep before I could defuse it. My grandparents have always had traditioanl analog clocks with a loud tick, tick, tick. That sound will put me to sleep almost as fast as being in a moving car.

Now y'all know - I'm really just a 5'10" toddler.

There are other strangely comforting sounds from my childhood. The sound of a dishwasher late at night, the "whoooop, whup-whup??" of the big cherry picker trucks from the electric company, the sound of a propane burner going at full blast.

And then there are the sounds I hope to never hear again - the loud beeeeeeeeep of a portable oxygen tank switching on, Amazing Grace, my grandfather's voice, full of tears.

The anniversary of Katrina just passed and I was supposed to call my grandparents, but didn't. What was I going to say? "Hey, so yeah - it's been a year since you lost everything you own, with the exception of a box of pictures and some salt and pepper shakers. How's it feel??"

I'm tired of anniversaries. I'm tired of five years since September 11th, 2 two years since I left my husband, one year since my childhood drowned, six months since my dad died. I'm tired of marking the bad.

I suppose I should view it like the rings in a tree - if you cut me open, you'd see black rings for the bad and what? Blue? Fuschia? Happy jolly pink? for the good.

Perhaps it's my frame of mind or the wine, but right now I can't help think that there are more black lines than blue. I don't remember the first time my grandparent's clock lulled me to sleep, but I can certainly remember the last.

It must be the wine, 'cause I gotta tell you guys, in the interest of blogistic integrity over here - I just cried when I found out that Liz (I'm not linking 'cause the link DON'T WORK) is taking a break and I cheered OUT LOUD for Mrs. Kennedy's turtle.

I don't know, guys. I just don't know. I had a good idea, and it fizzled, so I wandered off for a bit and now all I have for you is turtles.

Surely, there's a lesson or, at the very least, a tired metaphor in that too.

Goodnight.

potential

Kiddo has been asleep since I got home at 6:15, I've had a bottle of red wine, I'm watching crap TV and playing Mahjong to keep busy. One could say that I should be spending my time either cleaning my house, updating my blog, knitting or doing anything else and it would be more productive. And they might have a point. I mean, there are things I could tell you.

For example, I could tell you about the trip to Houston, where we saw the creepy plasticized bodies and the kids got along like damn brother and sister. Or I could tell you that I've been dealing with a funky sore throat/hoarse voice/post-nasal drip for the past week and gah! Or how TBFD is now sick as a damn dog, and I have no place to put my kid for the weekend, otherwise I'd totally go up there and just drown the boy in chicken soup, orange juice and creepy smothering love.

I do have the same birthday as Florence Nightingale, y'know.

Or I could tell you how I've been watching Project Runway and have JUST found this and OHMYGOD, it's so fuckin' funny and what the hell was I reading before???

But y'know, I think I'll finish this game of mahjong, put the leftovers away and then wander off to bed with Mr. Hemingway.

'night.

Two in one day. Whose blog is this anyway??

See, my brain is currently like my living room. It's full of boxes of crap and cat hair and I have no idea where to start in order to get it in shape.

That metaphor lost a little something on the trip from my brain to my keyboard.

Anyway, I guess what I'm trying to say is I have tons of stuff going on over here - really!! I moved! I have bangs now! I re-created a scene from "Saw"!! TBFD and I are going to Bodyworld in a couple of weeks! My kid's in (muhfuckin') high school! But I don't know where to start, and as you can see, there is just no way on God's green earth to weave all that into a cohesive post.

Fuck it. Bullet points, the lazy blogger's friend.

*Yep, I moved. I actually moved back in the middle of June. It's a tad bigger, much closer to work, in a better school district, and the hike in rent is made up for by the fact that it's actually insulated and shaded and I won't have to pay $200 to keep my apartment at 85 degrees. But, as I mentioned before in my horrible opening, my living room is still full of boxes (yes, and cat hair, but that won't change.) The boxes are those last few boxes that tend to get labeled "crap" and then some are full of craft crap. It's really tempting to just pick them up, put them in my car and dump them at Goodwill, but I just can't quite do it. It's a sickness. Y'all know. Well - not Jane. Shut up Jane, you lovable organized freak.

*Bangs! Yes! Whooo! About 3 glasses into my bottle of cab the other night, I said "gah! My hair's driving me crazy! Will you cut my bangs??" Fortunately, the kid was actually at home for the first time in a month, so not only was I not talking to myself, I had somebody to help me with my hair. She responded with, "Sure! Get me a razor blade!" A Venus was disembowelled and about 5 minutes later, I was sporting layered, side-swept bangs. They're cute. Now I have a giant zit from the hair oil, but the bangs cover it. Oh, irony.

*Let's say you move and in the process of moving, you throw away your plunger because dude, it was 2 bucks and EW, just toss it. And let's say that a member of your household comes home from a long absence and uses the guest bathroom and comes into your room at 1AM (while you are sleeping!) to inform you that the toilet is having an "issue." You would buy a plunger the next day and take care of business, right?? Apparently, you are a better man than I, Gunga Din, for I forgot to get a plunger for almost a week. Yeah. That's the face I made too. I didn't have to reach into the toilet, like that guy from "Saw" (as evidenced by the fact that I am not typing this with my nose because I chopped off my own hands because EW) but the general sound effects and smell and gagginess from that scene?? All very present. Oh - and while I do still have my hands, I no longer have finger prints because I melted them off with all the bleach I used to clean up. Bllleeerg.

*Bodyworld (every time I see that, I hear "Body movin! Body movin'!") Yes - whoo! TBFD noticed a billboard on his way to work one day and thought it said "Coming Soon!" and texted me about it. Turns out that it said "Closing soon!" and is showing in Houston rather than Dallas. No problem - TBFD and his son (need a pseudonym - Spawn - heh, he'll like that) are going to come down the weekend of the 25th - 27th and we'll day trip over to Houston on that Saturday. (Yes, Houston is a daytrip.) Kiddo's going with us and TBFD charmed the pants off of me (figuratively, we were on the phone) when he said "I want it to just be us and the kids." Feel free to repeat the "Blleeerg" from above if necessary. I'll just sit here and moon.

*High school. I have no words. Well, I do, but they're words like "fucking old", "holy ass, how did that happen??" and "please pass me the wine, thank you."

*Oh! A bonus bullet!! Kiddo is currently in Louisiana, visiting Stepmom and the Grandparents. She was sounding kind of sniffly and gross when she left. Well, sniffly and gross has evolved over the past few days into "tonsils the size of golf balls" and "feeeel..ugh..like aaaaaass." I'm heading out tomorrow AM (anybody wanna come feed my cats??) to drive down there. Here's hoping I don't have to take her to an urgent care clinic or the like while I'm down there.

Y'all be good!

Oh, I'll probably regret this later

This started out as the last part of another entry and it got too long and FEH. So here. Enjoy.

Dear Do I really have to say your name??

Hi there. Look, we both know that I'm not the first person to be irritated by you and I certainly won't be the last. That's kind of the price you pay for laying it all out there and being widely known. Plus, you know the old saying about opinions and assholes. Anyway, I'm lucky in that I'm not widely-read enough to have to deal with people telling me I'm just jealous when I write this next bit.* I have had moles removed. I had one removed from my rib cage and one from my back - both of them were right at the bottom of where my bra hits. I've dealt with the little teeny hole. (No stitches - mine were both just left open!! That was super special!!) Fortunately, neither of mine turned out to be malignant. Considering the amount of sun I have exposed myself to, it's pretty surprising. Yours did turn out to be malignant, and there are more suspicious ones. That must be frightening. I am in no way trying to belittle or invalidate your fear. Cancer is a big scary word. However, the malignancy doesn't seem to have spread and it's not a serious kind and, well....look, you tell us about your bowel movements, and your time in a mental hospital, OK? I'm pretty sure we'd know by now if it was something really serious.

Again, pain and fear are individual things and I respect that. I would get pretty angry if somebody tried to tell me how to feel or what to write. But you must know that referring to the six stitches on your arm as "my cancer wound" all the time is going to piss off some people. I mean...don't you? Do you not understand how someone with a body racked with cancer and scars and a port in their chest might get a little offended by your flippant language? Or that the loved one of such a person might get awfully offended by it?

You don't know me and you probably don't care and who the fuck knows, maybe I'll get my own set of trolls after this. You seem like a nice person. I don't agree with every decision you've made with your life, but it's your life. I'm sure if we sat down over a bottle of wine and a list of choices, we'd do an equal amount of "you did what? why?"-ing. This is not a personal attack on YOU, OK? I'm just really tired of hearing about your grievous wound that really...isn't. It's an inconvenience and it'll leave a scar and it's a scary idea, but it's six stitches on the outside of your arm. Please stop.

Thank you,

Laura

*Ok, the jealous thing. Hell yes I'm jealous. Of exactly two things - your metabolism and your willingness to take a chance and stop working for The Man. I like having things like a steady paycheck and health insurance way too much to ever do that. And 14 years ago, I had a baby and my metabolism was replaced with that of a tree sloth. Somewhere in the jungle is a very confused, algae covered hottie. Anyway - am I jealous of anything else? No, not especially. I'm generally pretty happy with my life. I can have (and express) a negative opinion about a person and not envy them, you know. I mean - I think George Bush has Bertie Bott's Vomit-flavored jellybeans for brains, but nobody accuses me of jealousy when I express that opinion.