mmm, jelly

You would think, from the echoing stillness over here, that I spend my days in a vacuum or something. I don't really spend my days floating in a tub of nutrition jelly, doing nothing over here. I swear, I have a life.

Although, doesn't that sound pleasant? Screw planning a vacation. Just slip into some sort of body suit (I would think boxers would float around too much) and sploosh into a tub of nutrition jelly for the weekend, soak your vitamins in through skin, breathe through a tube, floating weightless...gurgle, aaah.

Hi, sorry - lost you there for a minute, didn't I?

My brain has been in overdrive for the past month. If this continues, it might melt. Seriously, pistons sticking and the whole works. And the topics in there are starting to piss me off.

Ok, I like weddings. I like going to weddings. And I would like to have a nice wedding. Not a big wedding. We've covered this. But my first wedding was kind of a mess. Poorly planned, a smattering of what everybody else told me I was supposed to do and frankly a little trashy because I just didn't know any better. OK?

I was not one of those girls who grew up with an idea of her dream wedding in her head. I haven't had this shit planned out since I was 10. I knew one day, yeah, I'd probably get married and it would involve a dress and some cake and hey I like cake! but that was about as far as it went. So the first time, when I was trying to order alcohol for the reception before I was even legal to drink it? Yeah, things were screwed up there.

Which leads me to this wedding, for which I don't have a date yet, which is making me crazy, not because I am desperate to get married, but because if I have a date for the wedding, that means Jef will have moved to Austin. It will mean that I can stop feeling like I'm living in limbo. It will mean that all the ideas I have and want to talk to him about? I can actually talk about and not feel like I'm acting like one of Those Girls. You know the ones. I call them The Cosmo Hive Mind. The ones that have been planning this shit their whole lives and all you really have to is paste some guy's head in the wedding album in their brain and they're happy. The ones who seem to think that once they find a man and get married, all their problems will be solved.

I remember when I was married and working with a bunch of single girls and they'd talk about how they wanted to Find A Man, like it was the Holy Grail and I'd look at them like they'd sprouted a second head and tell them, "You do know that life continues after the wedding, right? The problems don't go away. You just get some new ones." And they'd just look at me like I was crazy - or perhaps like I was a giant bitch. Which, y'know, maybe I was a giant bitch for ruining their little fantasy that you can put on a pretty dress and say a few words and *poof* all your problems go away.

That's why I'm so snockwabbered* over here. I am not in a hurry to be married again just for the sake of being married. Honestly, the idea of getting married again sort of scares me a little, considering how screwed up my last marriage was.

And considering that this marriage will unite two households into one consisting of a lot of big-ass furniture, two very independent adults, two extremely hairy teenagers and seven, yes count them folks! SEVEN cats.

Anybody want a cat?

But, I am happy right now - despite the rapidly overheating brain. A huge, vital part of what is making me happy is Jef. I know how silly it might sound to the intertubes, but there are so many little things about our relationship that thrill me. The fact that he gets along with both sides of my family. The fact that our kids like each other. The fact that we both retreat from anger so quickly and deal with arguments the same way (like cats - hiss spit, retreat. You still mad? Want a belly rub?) The fact that he likes chocolate more than I do, hates spicy food and doesn't like roller coasters.** The fact the wakes up in a foul God-damned mood in the morning, which means I don't have to deal with a fucking morning person for the rest of my life. Good Christ, I hate morning people.

So many other things, big and small, that make me unquestionably want him in my life.

The waiting is driving me bonkers, and the fact that it's not really about wanting the picture perfect wedding, it's about wanting Jef in Austin, and keeping all of that separate is making me even more nutty than I already am.

Maybe I should just give up and get a knot.com logon already and seal my fate.



*I couldn't figure out a word to express how I felt, so I made up my own. Fuck the limits of language, man.


**This means I won't spend my life not getting to eat dessert, getting called a wimp for not eating the salsa and holding somebody's damn wallet while they go on the fucking Superman when all I want to do is play Skee-ball.

A month? Wow, I suck.

It occurred to me, as I was typing the third comment of the day on SOMEBODY ELSES'S SITE, that maybe I should spend less time writing on other people's sites and spend a little time on my own.

So hi! How are you? I'm fabulous. A tad wedding-obsessed at the moment. Which feels a bit silly, considering we have the whole other horse to put before the cart of getting Jef moved down here to worry about. Problem is, I can't really DO much about getting Jef down here right now. I can't find him a job, I can't put money into his checking account (hell, I can barely keep money in my own), I can't find him an apartment. I suppose I can scope out apartments, but only he really knows his price range and what he likes and we still haven't talked about whether we'll move in together before the wedding or wait or any of that and oh my God do you have any beer? A beer would be nice, thank you.

So you see why it's so much easier to just bury myself in the pretty pretty pictures of flowers and dresses and cakes, right?? Right.

By the way, I have this thing pretty much planned in my head. Provided of course, Jef doesn't see everything that I like and think it's awful.

Hi baby, I love you - it's all just ideas and I won't be insulted if you hate it, I promise.

By the way, this is why I believe all wedding planning should take place over a plate of chili cheese fries and a pitcher of beer. Seriously, how can you disagree over shades of purple when you're wiping chili off your fingers? You can't.

OH! Which reminds. Ok, so I've always been attracted to those wedding trainwreck shows. I can't help it, it's a sickness. I like "Bridezillas" and "Platinum Weddings" and the occasional episode of "Whose Wedding is it Anyway".

Bridezillas is fairly obvious - it's like watching "COPS", only everybody's wearing tulle. "Platinum Weddings" is an opportunity for me to stand around in a wife beater and drink $5 wine and say "yew spent haaw muuuuch????" Try it, it's fun. And then "Whose Wedding is it Anyway" is just fun for a combination of both of those and the odd decorating idea.

Allright, so the point - I'm watching WWIIA and there's this bride on there who is apparently just obsessed with purple, which hi, I thought we all outgrew the purple thing in 8th grade, but whatever. She wants purple draping and purple drinks and purple blah and purple blee, etc etc, ad purpleum. So she meets with the wedding co-ordinator and the on-site people to discuss the fabric choices for the draping in the room (at which point yours truly went to the kitchen to pour a very large glass of wine) and they're talking and she's nitpicking between light lavender and very light lavender and hint of lavender ("Mah colahs are blush and bashful!!") and the voice over finally, after the longest runon sentence in the world, tells us that SEVEN AND A HALF HOURS LATER, the bride has decided on her color.

Seven and a half hours, to pick a shade of purple for tablecloths and strips of fabric for the ceiling.

Now look, I get that weddings are very important days. I get it. But seven and a half hours is a ridiculous amount of time. After 15 minutes in a shower, I start to get a little antsy, OK?? Seven and a half hours of looking at shades of purple, I would have probably lost my ever-lovin' mind.

It's purple tulle, it's one day, get some goddamn perspective.

Although, she did spend 2 hours getting the purple martini juuuuuuuuuuuuuuuust right, and I think *that* was time well spent.

Been a while

I haven't had much to say lately, but I figured I'd let y'all know that Tuesday night, Jef asked me to marry him.

I said yes.

Despite a married friend's insistence that separate residences are the key to a happy marriage, I think we've settled the whole moving to Austin question, eh wot?

ch-ch-ch-changes

There's a long (not terribly interesting) story about how I got this question, but here's the question for the day:

If you could have any plastic surgery alteration, what would it be? First tell me the realistic stuff - tummy tucks, butt lifts, third eye removals?? Then tell me the outlandish stuff - prehensile tails, wings, third joints in the legs so you could walk like an ostrich??

Me?

Ok, realistically, I'm actually pretty happy with my body. I know a few of you out there probably immediately thought "breast reduction" and you know what? Fuck y'all. I've finally gotten used to the damn things and I'm keeping 'em. My first answer was liposuction on my tummy, but then I thought about how painful liposuction has always looked and reconsidered. I think I'd see if they could do anything about the red circles/bags under my eyes. It doesn't matter how much sleep I get - lack of sleep just makes them more red - I always have red circles and bags under my eyes. More genetic payola from Dad. So yeah, I'd go in and have that taken care of in the least invasive way possible (no knives by the eyes, GAH! MUST WASH BRAIN AFTER PUTTING THOSE TWO WORDS IN SAME SENTENCE! AUGURGRGRGRGRRRGGRGRG!!)

Now on the outlandish stuff. I think I'd get big springs implanted in the bottoms of my feet so that when I needed to get somewhere, I could just *booi-ooi-ooing* over to it, like a giant flea. Wouldn't that be cool??

Oh quiet, you know it would rock.

All right - Hit me in the comments or leave a link to your own entry.

convenient truths

I had a break from Smiley-Mart tonight, so I decided to so something unsual. I went out and had a life. A friend and I wandered over to a psychic (the day job is in south Austin, right on the fringes of east Austin - you can't swing a dead cat without hitting a psychic, a hippie or a Mexican restaurant) and then we had margaritas.

Tarot and Tequila Tuesdays. If I had the money, I think I'd make this a weekly thing.

Anyway, because I am a child of the 80's, everything the psychic read in my cards made sense to me. Of course, when I cut the cards, I was thinking about Jef (and no, I didn't tell her that - that sort of negates the whole deal (deal! get it?)) I have lost my punctuation, what with the margaritas and the double quotes, so I'm just going to start here, in the middle, and fuck Garner's up the hole.

Ok, so. All the cards that had to deal with my past were very negative. It was the devil card and a guy lying on his back with an assload of swords stuck in him (hi mom! help??) I was told that while there was love in that relationship once, I needed to put all that behind me.

Well, duh.

Everything in my present pointed to me being veryvery busy, not taking care of myself, having a lot on my plate, worrying too much, but having a lot of opportunities soon and if I have faith and strenghth, it will all work out.

Now, look - I can hear Jane's eye muscles ripping from here, what with all the rolling they're doing, so listen up. I am not so naive to believe that the cards led themselves to me or that she could actually read my mind or blah blah blee. I also know that telling people in nice work clothes, coming from downtown at 5:30 that they have a lot on their plate and they have opportunities coming up is a pretty safe blanket statement. OK? OK. May I continue??

Then she told me that everything looked rosy and wonderful for me and my current relationship and asked if his name started with a "J." Again, not so naive that I don't realize that a LOT of men's names start with "J", but still, y'know.

Even if it was convenient bullshit, I haven't been to my therapist in a while and it was around the same price as going to see her and it made me think about some of the same things - where have I been? Am I hanging on to old injuries too much? Where am I now? What the fuck am I doing here? Where am I going? Is it where I'm supposed to be?

The cards, however full of shit they may be, say I'm doing OK. So I think I'll listen for the time being.

It also helped that SuperGirl picked up the tab for the 'ritas.

And according to my palm, there was something major, like life-threatening when I was a baby...mom???

Screechy, like an owl

Why I love Flea.

I try not to get to screechy about my feminism (or is the current term "shrill"??) because when I do, a voice that sounds suspiciously like one or both of my grandmothers tells me that women shouldn't make a fuss. Oddly, these are the same women who told me that men are all out to control women, and would tell me stories about life as an intelligent, strong-minded woman in the wrong generation and how hard it was. These are the same women who brook no bullshit from the men in their own life. But these are also the same women who instantly defer to a man, any man, when a question comes up.

If you ever want to see hackles actually rise, come around when this happens and check out the back of my neck.

My daughter makes fun of me sometimes when I point out the inconsistencies in how boys and girls are treated. How, for example, I show people her class picture and the class picture of Jef's son (they sit right next to each other in my wallet - just like in Jef's) and when they see his, they say "wow, good-lookin' kid," but when they see kiddo's, they say "she's so pretty, but she could've dressed up!!" For the record, he is wearing a red t-shirt and she is wearing a yellow t-shirt. Little things like this irritate me, because they are part of the larger picture.

My call to The Larger Picture is simple. Treat me like a person. If I make a mistake, it's not because I'm a woman, it's because I'm human. If I'm having a bad day, it's not because I'm on the rag, it's because I'm a human being and sometimes that happens.

Since I grew up with a pretty wide variety of female role models, it honestly never occurred to me that a woman couldn't/shouldn't be her own person. If anything, I had difficulty choosing a role. My mom worked and went to school full-time and raised me on her own (generous meddlinghelp from grandparents notwithstanding.) My stepmother quit working when my brothers were born, but is a tomboy who still gets in indoor water fights with her grown sons and will tell you exactly what she thinks. My maternal grandmother is incredibly intelligent and independent and went back to work in her 60's for a while. My other grandmother worked up as a hairdresser until Katrina hit - admittedly she had whittled her schedule down to one day a week, but that happens when all of your clients start dying off.

I started to write about what wonderful examples these women were of how women could still work and be wives and have kids, but that's not really what I want to say. What I want to say is that these four women set examples for me that women could be people and do things and live their lives. They did what they wanted or had to do, not just because they had vaginas, but because they are people. And this is the part of sexism that I just don't get.

Women don't want extras. I don't. I just want to be able to walk through HEB when I'm having a bad day and not be told to smile - would a man do that to another man?? I want people to look at my daughter's class picture and not notice how she's dressed - they don't notice it with the boy, why do they notice it with her? I want to be able to get angry about something and not have somebody ask if it's "that time of the month." I want to be able to go get a beer and read my book (Hi, yes, I'm a nerd with a boyfriend!) and not be intimidated into being polite to some jerk because I'm afraid he'll get mad and try to hurt me - would he bother another guy? Does he really care what I'm reading?*

It's been said before and better, but here's my point. Dudes, other than the plumbing, I'm not really that different from you. OK? I have bills and a gas tank to fill up at 3 bucks a gallon and a kid to feed and pets and two jobs and a boyfriend and parents and grandparents and siblings and books I want to read and movies I want to watch and laundry to do and my trash needs to be taken out and Good God what is that growing in the crisper drawer and man I could use a beer and what is that knocking sound under the hood, when's the last time I got an oil change and and and and and and.

Get it? I'm living my life over here. The point I'm trying, and failing, to make is that I don't understand why the same story or shirt or job or anything is different when it's told, worn, performed, whatever by a man than it is by a woman.** Individuals make the difference - not genitalia.


*And don't give me that "he's trying to be nice" bullshit. If he were really trying to be nice, he'd see that I was reading and leave me in peace with my book. People looking to get picked up DON'T BRING BOOKS TO BARS.

**This is the part of the conversation where Jef and I tend to derail, because he's former Navy and the Navy has a record of being the most sexist military branch and of being proud of it. I forgive them because they look so damn hot in their little sailor suits (two can play at that game, buddy.)

General Well-Being, Colonel Happy

Hello, party people. My birthday was fantastic, thank you for asking. I received all sorts of fabulous gifts - a box of truffles and a custom-made CD (OF LOVE!!) from The Jef, one of these from my mom, a $100 (whoo!!) Amazon gift certificate from D-mama, money from the other grand-rents and my step-mom, margaritas and a handmade fused glass pendant from a friend and an entire day of just chillin' out and doing stuff with my kiddo.

And on Mother's Day, I hung out with my kid by the pool and then she bought me a sno cone. Really, how do you beat that? You don't.

Of course, all good things must come to an end and Monday we spent the day all spiky and bristly and had a fight. But that ended the way most of our fights do - with us laughing at each other. So, y'now - it's all good.

I realized something recently. Open a can of Ro-Tel and a bag of chips, 'cause it's cheesy. I realized that despite some kvetching to the contrary, I actually really like myself. I have a weird sense of humor and I babble and overexplain because I'm pretty sure nobody understands what the hell I'm talking about half the time (and I have a deep-seated fear/loathing of being misunderstood), and I'm always underestimating how long it'll take me to get places and overestimating how much I can carry in one hand, but overall, I like me. I've managed to make it to my mid-30s without developing an eating disorder or a (major) drinking problem, I feel like I look at most of my shit head on (I said most) and I don't know, I'm a generally happy person. (With maybe a small parentheses problem??)

Of course, when I went down this road, I took a wander down Body Issue Avenue and I started to think about whether or not I was happy with that part of me/myself/I and I realized that, well yeah - I am. I'd like to start running again and I could probably stand to lose a couple of pounds, but eh. I used to really dislike my hands, but when I look down at them now all I see are my dad's hands and they make me unreasonably happy.

I don't know, you guys. I'm in a really good spot right now. Ok, let's re-word that. I'm tired all the time because I'm working all the time and my house is a constant mess, but I get to see my boy in 8 days and I have a girls' trip coming up with some friends and I'm starting to see some financial progress from all the toiling at Smiley-Mart and I'm feeling generally happy and optimistic and good about me in general.

It's a nice feeling.

Oh, honey. You have queso on your chin.

Birthday Suit

Actually, tomorrow is my birthday, but tomorrow I'll be too busy running around with my kiddo and drinking margaritas on a deck somewhere to write an update, so y'all have to deal with the birthday cat a day early.

I love my birthday. Some of you may scoff and say it's because I'm still young and perhaps that's true. I turn 36 tomorrow, which is a good age. I'm old enough to do all kinds of fun stuff, young enough to enjoy my body, but old enough to listen to the aches and pains and know when to stop. I'm wise about a lot of things, but still stupid enough to jump into situations feet first and look around, all shocked puppy-dog and wonder how I got here. I have a sex drive. The thirties are a blast so far.

But I can also tell you that I'm still here and I'd rather still be here than not. I'd rather turn older every year and watch my face wrinkle and my hair turn gray and feel my knees get stiffer and realize that I don't get checked out by bagboys anymore, and wonder when bread got so expensive and look up one day and figure out that I am old than not. I am still here and my friends, there is only one other alternative, and I don't like it.

So I will celebrate my birthday today at work and tomorrow with my daughter and I will enjoy every casual "Happy Birthday" thrown my way and I will savor every bite of chocolate cake and every truffle in the box that Jef sent me and every sip of my margarita(s) tomorrow and every single moment of my birthday this year and the next and the next and the next.

I think y'all should do the same when your birthday comes up. But tomorrow, have some chocolate cake and wine, and when people ask you why, say "Didn't you hear??? It's Laura's birthday!!"

Smooches

memmememmmeeeee

The post rattling around in my head right now is all serious and drab and about how divorce still sucks, even when you're in an extremely wonderful, yummy, incredible relationship and how I feel sometimes like I'm going to break right in half *snap*, like a dry twig and how lately I've taken to leaking from my eyes at random moments while driving from one job to the other and how maybe someone could bring me a candy bar and fix my fucking car for free and how I hate feeling this way because it makes me feel like the world's biggest whiney weiner and feh, nobody wants to read that so instead I present you with a long rambly sentence and a meme I stole from danatheb.

Enjoy.


1. What bill do you hate paying the most? Fucking Old Navy fucking credit card. Fuck.

2. Where was the last place you had a romantic dinner? About a month ago, sitting at Jef's desk. Gnocci and tortellini (what? we wanted pasta) and wandering through the internet on a Saturday night.

3. Last time you puked from drinking? About two years ago - in front of my mom. I'm so proud.

4. When is the last time you got drunk and danced on a bar? Uh, never.

5. Name of your first grade teacher? Mrs. Harris. Another in a long line to tell me that I wasn't living up to my full potential. I WAS 5 LADY BACK OFF.

6. What do you really want to be doing right now? Sitting on my back porch with my book and a glass of wine, please and thank you.

7. What did you want to be when you were growing up? Teacher. While I'm not thrilled about this whole IT/Smiley-Mart drone thing, I'm glad teacher didn't work out. I probably would've taken a PTA meeting hostage or something.

8. How many colleges did you attend? Two.

9. Why did you choose the shirt that you have on right now? Becaue it was clean and easily accessible and hanging right there with a coordinating skirt.

10. GAS PRICES??? Oh, fuck me running.

11. Where would you move if you could move anywhere? I think I'm there.

12. First thought when the alarm went off this morning? "Oh shit."

13. Last thought before going to sleep last night? "Jesus, why'd I have that Dr. Pepper, now I can't zzzzzzzzzzzzz.....""

14. Favorite style of underwear? boy short. Which I am, unfortunately, not wearing today. 'nuff said.

15. Favorite style of underwear for the opposite sex? Boxers.

16. What errand/chore do you despise? Cleaning the catbox

17. If you didn't have to work, would you volunteer? I'd like to say yes, but realistically I have no idea.

18. Get up early or sleep in? I don't know how to answer this. I'm always tired no matter what I do.

19. What is your favorite cartoon character? Brian

20. Favorite thing to do at night with a girl/guy? "At night" as in "when all the cool bars open?" Or "at night" as in "in the dark, bow-chicka-wowwow?" 'Cause the answer to the first one is go the Draughthouse for a couple of pints and then wander down Congress Avenue and pretend to be one of/laugh at all of the cool people. The answer to the second is none of your damn business, missy.

21. Have you found real love yet? I sure as hell hope so.

22. When did you first start feeling old? When I sold a pack of cigarettes to a kid who was born the year I graduated high school.

23. Favorite 80's movie?

24. Your favorite lunch meat? ugh - not a big lunch meat fan. Ham?

25. What do you get every time you shop at Sam's club. I don't shop there often enough to have a regular item.

26. Beach or lake? Beach

27. Do you think marriage is an outdated ritual? A little, but I still like it.

29. Favorite guilty pleasure? Cheesy 80's metal, these cookies, cheap wine, In Style magazine

30. Favorite movie you wouldn't want anyone to find out about? If I don't want anybody to find out about it, why would I tell you? Jeez.

31. What's your favorite alcoholic drink? Frosty cold beer, red wine, vodka tonics.

32. Cowboys or Indians? Cowboys, baby.

33. Cops or Robbers? Cops. It's the uniform.

34. Who from high school would you like to run into? "Run into??" Not a damn person. I'd maim, perhaps kill to see Lee though.

35. What radio station is your car radio tuned to right now? Uh...KLBJ? The ROCK OF AUSTIN.

36. Movies or Documentaries? Depends on what either one is about.

37. The Cosby Show or the Simpsons? God, if I have to choose, the Simpson. The Cosby Show was awful.

38. Worst relationship mistake that you wish you could take back? *snort*

39. Do you like the person who sits directly across from you at work? Well, if I look straight ahead, I see my own reflection in the server cabinet door, so I'll have to say yes.

40. If you could get away with it, who would you kill? Oh, I talk big but really, nobody. But I'd harass a lot of folks.

41. What famous person(s) would you like to have dinner with? Elvis Costello. I'm not even that big of a fan, he just seems like a cool guy.

42. What famous person would you like to sleep with? Natasha Henstridge. Yes, I'm 100% straight, but damn, girlfriend is hot.

43. Have you ever had to use a fire extinguisher for its intended purpose? Nope, nor have I used it for its unintended purpose.

44. Last book you read for real? Possessing the Secret of Joy. very good. I'm currently re-reading Catch-22, one of my all-time favorites.

45. Do you have a teddy bear? Nope.

46. Strangest place you have ever brushed your teeth? UH. I tend to just brush my teeth either at work or at home. I do seem to remember brushing them at a restaurant one time - in the bathroom, of course.

47. Somewhere in California you've never been and would like to go? I've never been anywhere in California.

48. Do you go to church? Only if my daughter's choir is performing in one.

49. At this point in your life would you rather start a new career or a new relationships? New relationship. But like - friends, I'm not looking for any new romantical crap.

50. Just how OLD are you? I'll be 36 in 5 days, Ms. Nosey.

trenches

Customers of the day:

The old(er) guy that I got to stand and talk to for about 5 minutes. We started out joking around when I was trying to describe how he should slide his credit card through the reader and said "just like that, but strip down sir" and he threw an eyebrow at me and got a Dirty Old Man glint in his eyes.

I had to explain that that phrase didn't actually contain any verbs.

The other best customer of the day was the little boy accompanying some adults who was giving an extremely animated lecture on various dinosaurs and which one was the biggest and the baddest and how you wouldn't want to "mess with Tyrannosaurus Rex, he's one serious dinosaur!!!"

So yeah, I've been working and working and working. I need to do something else. Preferably "something else" as in get laid.

Oh, be quiet.

I'm working 60 hours a week, my car is acting up (thus adding yet ANOTHER GODDAMN BILL to my list of stuff to pay), and I haven't seen my boyfriend in over a month. I need a day off from both jobs (got that coming up, actually - on my birthday! Whoo!), my car fixed, someone to come clean my messy-ass house and some damn sex. HMPH.

That's about it. I'm alive.

Zzzzzzooooooommmmmmm

The last couple of weeks, broken down:

Busy
Tired
Tired
Cranky
Busy
Busytiredcrankytiredbusycrankybusy

Sick

I'm mostly better now. There's still a glue factory operating in my head, but production seems to be slowing. Soon all the little laid-off glue factory workers will wander out of my cranium with their little metal lunch pails in search of another job.

Um.

So listen, if you go to Smiley-Mart and you buy a 12-pack of regular Coke and a bag of mini Snickers and a box of diet pills guaranteed to burn belly fat? I'm going to judge you.

If you come in and buy a James Bond DVD, bubbles and a pack of underwear, I'm going to entertain myself by imagining you - sitting around in your new boxer briefs, reciting the good bits of "Diamonds are Forever" while blowing bubbles in your darkened living room. OK? Deal with it.

You, sir? The one who comes in every week and buys a pack of athletic socks and a pair of very large women's dress shoes? I try not to think about what you're doing.

You, cute Army guy, who comes to the express line and gets frustrated because we never have your cigarettes by the carton? Come back. I'll tell them to restock. You're pretty. You're also heartbreakingly young and if you're shopping at Smiley-Mart, it means you're not getting shot at in Iraq.

You, parents who bring your toddlers in at 10PM and then wonder why they're cranky? Are you on crack? Oh...nevermind.

Speaking of cranky children, I'm always sort of amazed by the fact that there's this other person living in my house. You'd think, after 15+ years, I'd be used to the concept, but it obviously takes me a while to catch on. She still sort of blindsides me sometimes with all of her otherness.

She's not even remotely the kid I thought I'd have at this point. I'm not disappointed at all - she's amazing. But I look at her and go "huh, so that's how you turned out....cool." The ex and I referred to her as The Science Project when I was pregnant and now that seems really appropriate. Here is The Science Project at Stage 15 - Adolescence.

Anyhoodles. I'm still sort of in the busy/cranky/tired phase of things, but I felt like popping in to say hello. So - hello. I'm off to save the world, or at least this little tiny, furniture-based, digital bit of it.

Sanitized kisses.

Screw 'Em

From a comment thread on Feministe

"It seems like every time we turn around we’re hearing another story, and it would be a much better world if, when this sort of calamity happened, we couldn’t go “Oh fuck. Not again.” But really, the number of marauding psychos is a lot smaller than the number of, say, distracted drivers on city streets.

But if you can, think about what you’re giving up by letting the (relatively small number of) crazy people and killers make you afraid to do what you have every right to do. "*


Drink a glass of wine, kiss your kids on the forehead, even if they protest - hell, especially if they protest. Sit on the front porch and blow bubbles. Fingerpaint, eat donuts, walk to the store instead of driving, buy the good cheese, let the dog sleep on the bed.

Live your life, people. Don't let the assholes of the world get you down, because when you do?? They win. Life is too Goddamn short to live in fear and negativity.


*Comment by zingerella and edited. Bold added by me.

Not one single question about my favorite movies

Jul put up an interview that has not one damn thing to do with fairies or kitties or coffee flavors. Thank you, Jul. Enjoy.

1. You can travel back in time and visit yourself at [select all applicable] 10, 16, 22 and 30. What would you tell your various temporally-disjointed selves (any hokey "buy stock in Microsoft" replies will be taken out back and accused of antitrust violations)?

10 - Pay attention in class, you little shithead.
16 - Pay attention in class, you little shithead. And stop worrying so much about boys.
22 - You'll be fine on your own, you're stronger than you ever realized, leave the first time you think about it.
30 - You'll be fine on your own, you're stronger than you ever realized, leave the 30 squillionth time you think about it.

2. Analogy Tyme: if your drug of choice was an item which could be purchased at Home Depot for under $150, which one would it be, and why?

Storage and home organization items. Ironic, since I never seem to put a Goddamned thing away.

3. You can reanimate and spend several hours (say, sharing some Batter-Dipped Choco-Cheesecake Nibblers at the local crap-on-the-walls chain restaurant) with one of the following individuals - which one would you choose, and why?

- A deceased relative of whom you were moderately (but not overwhelmingly) fond.
- A randomly-selected serial killer of moderate notoriety.

Well, if we have to go with somebody I was only moderately fond of?? Hm. Probably my Aunt Bessie on my Dad's side - she was, oh what's the right word? A cantankerous old biddy. But the idea of sitting down for a day of apple pie and coffee while she told me stories about my Papa and my dad when they were little tykes just tickles me down deep in my soul.

4. Think of your most esoteric, potentially-humiliating sexual fantasy. Think of another, equally-odd (but completely fabricated) fantasy. Describe them both without identifying which is which.

HEH. A dark room and potential assault is involved in both. And that's all I'm gonna say.

5. What is the typical prison sentence for the most legally-questionable act you've ever committed?

180 days. Not bad.

6. Think of the worst physical pain you've ever experienced (childbirth, ping-pong ball-sized kidney stones, atomic wedgie). Think of the worst emotional pain (depression, divorce, disaster). Think of the person who is closest to you in the world (child, spouse, sibling). You must decide whether they will suffer a comparable degree of physical OR emotional pain. If you choose the former, you will be required to inflict it yourself. If you choose the latter, it will occur without any involvement on your part. Which do you choose?

Gah. My answer will sound a lot like Dr. Mama's but I couldn't inflict that much physical pain on the kiddo or Jef. Kiddo's young and has a lot ahead of her, so I suspect she'll go through emotional pain of that caliber without any intervention on my part anyway. So Jef, guess you're up for some emotional whammies, big boy. Sorry. I'll hold the chocolate.

7. You're granted the power to uncover the truth behind one very, very big secret of the modern age - who shot Kennedy? What the hell is the deal with celebrity Scientologists? You will not be permitted to share this knowledge with anyone, ever - it will be solely to satisfy your own curiosity. What do you choose to learn?

Not a Goddamn thing. If I can't tell anybody else, I don't want to know. HMPH. Can't share, my left hind foot.

8. While purchasing some plantains at Tienda Mexicano, you find The Lord. You discover that he is a cruel, arbitrary Lord, as well as one who has read entirely too many "Choose Your Own Adventure" books. He takes you outside, sits you down on the hood of his El Camino, hands you a can of Jugo de Coco and informs you that you will never see any of your current loved ones
again. They will continue to live their lives, just magically sans any awareness of your continued existence. By way of compensation, you'll be allowed to determine your own natural lifespan. You may elect to die instantly, live to 120 or any option in between. What do you choose? Why?

Interesting, since that description sort of matches my idea of God. Jul - come to Texas, we must drink together. I'm assuming I'd get to make new loved ones? New connections? I wouldn't just wander the world for the next 85 years as some sort of Kung-Fu spectre, would I? Assuming I would get to have human contact of some kind, I vote to live to about 80/85.

9. You are given the opportunity to sample human flesh. Your enjoyment of this unusual entree will not be the result of any amoral acts - the source of your Bruce Burger (Tim Tartare? Francois Filet?) will be an individual who has died of unrelated causes. Your consumption of said flesh will not be as a result of starvation, nor as a condition of some sick wager ("Take a chomp out of Lloyd's thigh and I'll give you season tickets to Six Flags Over Highly Unlikely Transactionville"). Yea or nay?

Um...no. I feel guilty when I pass cows on the highway now, I can't imagine what it would be like going to the mall after that. No.

10. You are given a Memory Dustbuster. It looks like a regular Dustbuster, circa 1989. However, when held against the human skull, it has the ability to suck out specific memories. Like many small appliances, this one has gotten a bit finicky in its old age. It no longer removes single memories... for each one which is removed, an equal-but-opposite second memory is also vacuumed up. You can suck out a particularly awful recollection... however, you'll also lose a happy memory of comparable intensity, and you have no say in which one it happens to be.

Lose the memory of my dad dying, but risk losing the memory of seeing him hold his grandchild for the first time?? Oh hell no. I'll keep it all, thank you.

11. The Enormous Glowing Sphere of Influence Equation: how many of the following events have occurred in your life for which you've felt personally responsible? By this, I mean that the event in question would definitely NOT have occurred were it not for one or more conscious decisions on your part. Do NOT include events which were confined strictly to your professional life - thus, lawyers/doctors/matchmakers/executioners/etc. should use their discretion on this one.

- Marriages - 2 (yep, 2)
- Divorces - 1 (my own, heh)
- Births/adoptions - 1
- Deaths - 0
- Involuntary commitments (mental institution/rehab/prison) - 0
- Relocations of over 1,500 miles - HM. Was I any part of the decision to move back to New Orleans when Daddy Brad died?? I'll have to come back and edit this one.

- Ascension to a level of fame/renown/power sufficient to interest/impact more than 10,000 individuals - hahhahhahaahhahahahahaa - zip!
- Change in income level of +/- 50% - I guess 1, see above in re: divorce
- Formal adoption/renunciation of religious faith (or other organized belief system) - 0

12. An exercise in writing, randomness and self-reflection (when commenting/posting, only include item "C"):

A. In exactly 25 words, describe the thing you're proudest of.
B. In exactly 25 words, describe the thing you're most ashamed of.
C. Combine the odd-numbered words from A. with the even-numbered words from B

I also gave it some interpretive punctuation, just for giggles.

My having witty guts. Sarcastic leave, iron-willed unhappy chef; hiding lover I. Artistic wanted!!! Colorful out - outgoing infidelity. Open-minded, of brilliant, up resilient an daughter.

I may have used this picture before, sue me

Cats, red wine and wireless technology. America, fuck yeah.

Went through orientation at Smiley-Mart today. Seven hours of Smiley-Mart history and various training films including my favorite, what to do in case of a spill.

"There are three types of spills, non-toxic, toxic and unknown."

Um, yeah.

Went to mom's house when I was done and she sent me home with a bunch of super-fresh, organic green stuff from this place. I'm thinking sauteed mushrooms and Swiss chard for supper. If Miles doesn't stop running back and forth from one end of the porch to the other, whining the whole Goddamn time, I may have a report on how apartment-raised feline tastes with Swiss chard and sauteed mushrooms. I have been bemoaning the lack of protein in my diet, after all.

It's only 70 degrees outside right now and I'm freezing in a t-shirt and shorts. Honestly, how do all you mammal-type people do this?? Bleh. I've got the house open because it's lovely out here, and it's finally not raining and I need the fresh air, and I know that in like, 15 minutes we'll all be complaining because it's 150 frillion degrees and our brains are melting, so I'm sort of savoring this little pocket of cool. However, I'm not anemic, I'm not exceptionally thin (Hahhahhahhahhahhaaa...SNORT) I'm not some kind of bizarre hairless Chinese Crested half-breed woman, I do exercise, my blood circulates on its own, so why am I cold all the time? The entire world is comfortable at 70 and I'm reaching for a peacoat. Everybody else is gasping and getting indecent at 78 and I'm finally thawing out. I just feel like some sort of Equatorial freak.

Bleh. Am half lizard. Mom lied to me all those years. She just found a guy who conveniently looked and acted JUST LIKE ME and really got freaky with an iguana 36-ish years ago. That's the truth isn't it, mom???

I'm off to put on a couple of layers and figure out what the hell to do with a kohlrabi.

Doesn't that sound like something you'd see at a bar mitzvah??

"Levi! That dance is amazing! What do you call it??"
"The Electric KohlRabi."

page break

Y'all know how it is - I read a lot of blogs, and a large percentage of those are the "mommyblogs", a term that makes my spleen jump out through my nose in revulsion. While I'm tucking my spleen back in, I wonder at all the illnesses these mommies seem to get from the basics of raising a kid, like changing diapers.

I was just barely 20 when kiddo was born and had changed perhaps 8 diapers in my life before that, all of them attached to the rear-ends of Sport and McBrother, and I managed to make it through 2 years of diapers and potty training without catching any kind of stomach virus or ickiness from my child's diapers. Hell, my child had two eye infections before she was three and I didn't catch those.

Y'all, I am not a germophobe and I am NOT a clean-freak. I didn't carry anti-bacterial wipes or goop with me, man I'm not even sure I washed my hands every time I changed her diaper. So what the fuck? Are they LICKING their children clean or something?? What gives?

Seriously, I've caught more colds off my child since she's hit puberty than while she was a toddler.

[insert clever segue here]

I've mentioned my financial issues before. My little tiny city park train derailment of a financial problem that I'd like to keep from turning into a giant Amtrak disaster. I kind of suck at budgeting - ok, not really, but it's a matter of baby steps and I'm impatient and bleh. The plasma thing got sort of derailed (again with the trains??) by the holidays and I've had a little trouble talking myself into going back. Something about not having a set schedule and sitting there all Matrix-style for an hour, getting my fluids drained for an hour, has been really difficult for me to get back into. When you're too lazy to sell plasma, you know you have issues.

Would you like to know the sad truth? My left arm doesn't bleed. Well, Ok - I'm not half mannequin, so technically it bleeds - just not as well. So they have to stick me in the right arm, which renders it useless the whole time, which means I can't knit, write or type while I'm sitting there getting drained. I can bring a book, but it's surprisingly hard to concentrate on a book with all the beeping and phlebotomist scurrying going on. Yes, I know. They're paying me for my bodily fluids and I'm bitching because I can't figure out a way to distract myself.

Moving on.

I applied to a few places online, because I can't stand doing the whole "hi, are you hiring?" thing and the only one to call me back so far has been a certain big chain store represented by a smiley face. We shall not discuss the ethics of shopping for or working at this store. I have financial goals here, people. Sacrifices must be made. Therefore, sometime in the next couple of weeks, 16-20 hours a week, I shall be spending nights and weekends as a cashier at a Smiley-Mart in south Austin.

If you happen to be in the neighborhood, c'mon by and say hello. Just don't give me no shit, man.

[insert clever segue here]

Kittens!! Don't worry, they were just visiting. I haven't gone off the deep end again.

Mantra

My dad died a year ago today. Before I start talking about it, I'd like to say that I don't really want to talk about it. HEH.

Seriously, I've spent the last couple of weeks in a funk because I knew today was coming. I remember how we spent these weeks a year ago and frankly, it sucked. A year ago today, we spent the day telling him to let go and he finally did. Was it a good day? No, not particularly. But it was better than watching him suffer.

But here's the deal. Let's say you walk into work with a broken arm and in addition to every-goddamn-body asking "Hey, what happened to you??" they all grab your arm and give it a good solid yank. By the end of the day, you'd not only be pretty fucking tired of telling the story, you'd probably be finding a way to avoid people, wouldn't you?? Even the folks that you knew were asking out of concern.

That's kind of how it feels when I anticipate conversations about my dad. I just kind of don't want to be around anybody right now. I stayed home yesterday, justifying it with a comp day (I worked all day Saturday) and a 4-day headache (fucking mold). Fortunately, despite my very best efforts I am not the center of my co-worker's lives (I know! I was shocked when I found that out!!) so the chances of one of them walking up to me, all sympathetic and "It's been a year, hasn't it, how aaare yoooouuu???" Pretty damn slim. Thank Jeebus.

Anyway, the thing is, the only people who'll really remember and think to say anything are my mom, who's probably reading right now (hi mom!) and who knows that it's best to let me bring stuff up in my own time, my grandmother, who has already mentioned she's thinking about me (us) in email and my dad's side of the family and well, I'll call them tonight, because I need to anyway.

So yeah. I don't want to talk about.

I miss him every single day.

squish

I went for a nice, long (for me) (only slightly painful) run yesterday and an interesting comparison popped into my head. You ready?? Here we go - pain, the emotional kind, is like tofu.

Seriously, think about it for a second. In reasonable amounts, both of them are actually kind of good for you, but too much of either are ultimately harmful and can cause mood swings and extra mucus (EW.)

The flavor and texture of both is sort of gross and difficult to describe and in order to make your way through a heaping' helpin' of either you have to use some kind of individualized coping mechanism. Hot pepper, inappropriate jokes, soy sauce, running, tamari, excess wine, whatever. A strategy, you gotta have a strategy.

This, an idea for a Hipster Marathon skit and a recipe for a couscous salad type thing that I realized I can't make because I don't have any couscous all happened in the course of 3 miles.

I can't decide if I should change my running music or add more Baz Luhrman.

treads

I've been restless lately. I'm itchy and my skin doesn't feel like it fits right. My head feels loose and wobbly, disjointed, like if you touched it I'd just sit there and nod like a dashboard dog. Words come up to the top of my brain like fish in a pond and then disappear just as quickly. It's maddening.

Nothing feels right. Running, eating, sleeping, drinking, talking, crying - none of it makes the itchy twitchy feeling go away.

I think I need a road trip.

Gas up the car, check the tires, throw a bag in the back and just go.

I think that's exactly what I need, because I can feel my shoulders relax just thinking about it. Open road - CDs in the passenger seat and sun on my left arm and a styrofoam cup of diet coke getting watery in the console and a map half folded on my dashboard, obscure highways and ranch roads highlighted in lime green.

I need some color. I need wildflowers and barns and mockingbirds. I need to pass by pecan stands and folks selling fudge and church sales. Deer Jerky 2 Miles. Buc-Ee's Fabulous Restrooms. I need to drive and listen to the radio stations fade into one another and sing loud with nobody else listening and sometimes just drive in silence. I need to roll. I need to move.

Spring fever. Jimmy brain.

I'll come back, I promise. I have no desire to stay gone. I just want to get in my car and drive. Drive and sing and think and look around. Stop and take pictures when I want to, stop and buy a stupid keychain when I want.

Or, y'know - not.

Maybe Sunday.

Better than nothing

I'm grumpy, one of my cats keeps peeing on my shoes, another one barfed on my calendar yesterday morning, my right ankle is screwed up from my run the other day and I've had a headache for 3 days straight.

Other than that, the play was great. Smartass.

My vacation was lovely - Jef and I went down to Louisiana in a little zippy rental car, hung out with the grandparents and the brothers and the stepmom, then drove back in the kiddo's truck.

We took one day to go to the French Quarter. Jef had never been and he insisted on referring to me as "the local", which was very sweet if a tad misguided, considering I only know two areas of the town really well and those areas have been thoroughly rearranged, courtesy of Katrina (bitch.) Anyway, while I was able to find every daquiri place in a 2-mile radius, I failed miserably at finding food. Yes, food. In New Orleans. In the Quarter. Shut. Up.

Fortunately, my grandparents' house is only a paltry 45 minutes away (SHUT UP) and the woman cooks as if she's hosting the 82nd Airborne all the damned time. And there were McDonald's on the way. Listen, if I have to tell you to shut up one more time, I'll turn this blog around, young lady.

Anyway. A good time was had by all, despite the frightening alchohol to blood sugar ratio we had going on at one point. We drank, we shopped, we hugged people who moved back to the city, we talked to total strangers (I love this man, y'all. Seriously.), we drank some more. I took him to St. Louis Cathedral and the Moonwalk and Cafe du Monde and Jackson Square and we wandered around and we watched big ships pass each other on the Mississippi and it was lovely, really. Just a lovely, sweet day with my boy.

Sweet baby Jesus, I need a haircut, y'all. Yipes.

Jef impressed the shit out of my grandparents and my stepmom and my brothers. I mean, of course he did, since he is the niftiest thing since sliced bread. I'm not even that big a fan of sliced bread and I think he's pretty cool. Heh.

Before y'all throw up, we don't fart rainbows all the time. We'd been getting on each others nerves before the trip and the whole not feeding him thing led to some issues and being stuck in a pickup truck for 9 hours, knowing that you have to drive another 3 and it's the end of vacation and you're tired and won't get to see each other again for another couple of weeks and you have to go to work the next day? Let's just say tempers can flare.

But we worked through it and the gas is poly-chromatic again and everybody's happy. Yay. Now you can barf. Just not on my calendar, I just got it dried out.

Seriously, y'all - I am the mayor of Split End City.

Kiddo also returned from New York in one piece. She cheered me up by calling me pretty much every day to tell me what she was doing. My favorites were the voicemail I got from her in Little Italy and the "mystery phone call"

"Oh my God, mom, we're in Little Italy, and I got a loaf of some kind of bread (background 'ciabatta') Ciabatta?? OK Ciabatta bread, anyway, for like a dollar and a container of gorgonzola stuffed olives and these mozzarella balls and oh my God, it's all so good and I got it all for like, less than like, 5 bucks. Loveyoubye!"

Hee. My little foodie.

The "mystery phone call" went like this:

"Hey mom - guess where I am?"
"uh...New York?"
"Well, duh, but WHERE in New York??"
"......"
"Ok, it's sparkly and it's mentioned in a Marylin Monroe song."
"TIFFANY'S????"
"Yep!!"

At that point my stepmother got in the discussion and tried to convince kiddo to bring her something back. Alas, I am a mean mommy who only thought to send enough money for my kid to y'know, eat and buy reasonable souvenirs. I know, I know, I'm an ogre.

I'm off to trudge around Town Lake - y'all be good.

Cushion cut

I'm beyond thrilled that I'm going to be in Louisiana next week during all of the South by Southwest hoo-ha. Austin doesn't need anymore damn people dressed all in black.

Saturday at 5 in the (GODDAMN) morning, I drop the kiddo off at the airport, where she meets up with her choir and they all climb on an airplane and fly off to NEW! YORK! CITY! for a week. Whooo!!

They have two performances, but most of the trip is just that - a trip. To New York. OH MY GOD. I'm halfway tempted to conk her in the head and go in her place. I would, if I weren't three inches taller and *cough* pounds heavier than she is. And if I knew the words to the songs.

As a result, I've sort of hemorrhaged cash this month, what with paying for a couple of new outfits (two performances! Not in the choir formal! What the fuck!) and the various odds and ends that come with a trip and then the expenses of my trip to Louisiana, plus dealing with the extra vehicle we'll be bringing back (more on that later) and so yeah, March has been/will be the month of crazy spending.

So April shall be the Month of Financial Recovery. It's March 7th y'all, and I'm already looking at April and saying "daaaaaamn."

Luckily, I like beans and rice.

OK, so, I'm sure I've told y'all this before, but deal with it. - when my dad was (good lord, I hate trying to phrase this so I don't offend people) sick (can I just say "dying?" 'Cause that's what it was. OK?) he stressed about what to leave me and Kayleigh. He had a shed, a storage room, a couple of closets and the floor under a king-sized bed full of guns and tools and car parts, but nothing that he thought he could leave to two girls.

I got a handgun and a drill. Before you go "WHUH??!" you should know that I asked for these two things and I got an extremely NICE handgun in a caliber that I like to shoot (and I do like guns, remember I'm from Louisiana and I live in Texas and this is not an invitation for a debate) and I asked for a drill because I needed one. I think my dad was actually sort of relieved to have something of HIM go to me.

For Kayleigh, he was going to sell his truck and leave the money to her to buy her first car, but she spoke up and said she wanted the truck. So - next week Jef and I are heading down to Louisiana so he can meet my family (gulp) and pick up my kiddo's truck.

So let's explore all the facets of this trip, shall we??

First of all, we have the whole Boyfriend Meeting the Louisiana Family Thing. As I told my mom - it's not that I value their input or opinion more highly than that of my mom, it's just that there's an 8 hour road-trip involved in going to see this side of the family, so y'know, it's a fairly big deal to meet them and they, lord love 'em, tend to be a little more judgey and protective of me. My mom and dad (and stepmom, for that matter) have always been the ones to look at their kids and go "well, they gotta make mistakes," while my grandparents have been the ones to try to prevent us from doing so. So if I'm willing to expose you to my Grandma and Poppa?? It means I'm pretty serious about you and I think you're pretty fucking special and I think they'll like you. Honestly, if I don't think my grandma and poppa will like you, then we probably won't date for very long. I know that sounds strange, coming from someone who was married for 14 years and seems to have only had 2 relationships since then, but consider this - I've gone out on a few dates and have just KNOWN that a second date wasn't even a possibility and one of the reasons why was because I could hear my Poppa saying "You lost your mind???" The other reason usually has to do with bad teeth/staring at my tits/bad laugh/ugly hands/just generally being a jackass.

Second, we have the picking up dad's truck thing. Do I really need to expand on this? No? Good, 'cause I'm not really in the mood.

Third, we have the idea that I'm picking up a truck for my daughter. For my daughter to drive. My daughter. To drive. OW. My brain just cramped.

HM. I think that's it. Wow. Only three facets? I'm a little disappointed.

Anyway, note that in here you do not find anxiety about sending my daughter to New York for a week. I mean, OK, yes it's there - I'm not a chrome-plated harpy. But look, no matter what Law & Order and MSNBC try to hammer into us, if she sticks with her group and does what she's supposed to do, she'll be safe. Her father and I have put out a pretty good sum of money for this trip and in reading through the itinerary, it looks like it's going to be worth every penny. All the little butterflies I feel when I think about it are not fear, they're excitement and a wee bit of jealousy. I hope she has a blast and comes back and chatters my ear off for hours and bores me to tears with her blurry pictures. I'm not worried about airplane travel because statistics are on my side and I'm not worried about anything else because that's just not my nature. The only thing I worry about for her are pick-pockets and/or her losing her cash. Other than that?? Party on, Garth.

Funny, my daughter's going across the country for 5 days with her choir and I'm not worried in the least, but my boyfriend and I are going to Louisiana for the same amount of time and I'm freaking the fuck out about that.

Oh, I know why. Because on my kid's trip, there's NOT A DAMN THING I CAN DO ABOUT IT. The trip is planned, I'm not going and there are other adults in charge. So my worrying is a little like screaming at the quarterbacks on TV. THEY CAN'T HEAR YOU, DILLHOLE!! I love her, she is my universe, but fretting will only screw up my digestion and annoy everyone around me. And I'll let y'all in on a little secret. If I let on that I'm freaked out about her going, she'll worry about me worrying and she won't enjoy herself. Yeah - she's like that. So I'm just cool as a little beatnik cucumber over here.

Meanwhile, Roy's daiquiris in Prairieville, Louisiana should see some booming business next week. HA!!