Yellow Trash Diaries

Back In The Saddle

2011-03-16T14:34:00.002-04:00

On Monday I will be returning to work, but hopefully this time it won't be so hellish. I'll be working in the high-powered, glamorous world of medical billing and insurance. I suspect it's going to be so boring I will find myself fantasizing about algorithms most afternoons, but it's a good company to work for and Mon through Fri hours sure beats 60 plus hours in restaurant management.

Besides, there were less savory alternatives. I actually interviewed for a management position with Titlemax. I know, I know-- but the salary was decent enough that I was okay with repo-ing Grandma'a car if I had to. Besides, how could you not be excited about a company who used midgets in their commercials? I even had a game plan on how to motivate the staff-- maybe a chart like Megan's old potty chart, except with tiny teardrops instead of stars. Perhaps a bumper sticker that said "I Make People Cry", as opposed to the bumper sticker for my last gig, "I Make People Have Heart Attacks." I was this close to wearing my Darth Vader costume to the interview. It's probably just as well that I didn't though-- I was disappointed when I saw that they didn't have the filmy bullet-proof partitions on the desks. There went the Pope in the Parade fantasies.

When I started this blog, I was struggling to get a decent job. And don't get me wrong, I'm looking forward to it. Left to my own devices too long I regress to overgrown facial hair and stained t-shirts. But I felt like I was just getting the wheels to start turning with my art. I got a website together (sort of-- it is still a work in progress) and I had some promising prospects. But the universe can't wait forever for me to "explore my dreams" and I'm not exempt from the reality of bills any more than the rest of you. So time to do the responsible thing. Hopefully I can still carve out a little time to be creative. I may have to give up a reality show or two. I guess we all have to make sacrifices.

Actually, I might still get a "I Make People Cry" bumper sticker made. One with hearts and rainbows.

Roots Almost Got Me Ass Raped

2011-02-01T09:41:00.000-05:00

Happy Black History Month everybody!

Always brings to mind the wager I made with my husband-- I was trying to get him to read Roots 'cause it was so phenomenal, but Jason is very peculiar about the books he reads. His choices tend to lean more toward Frank Herbert or Stephen King. So I made our usual bet, the carrot I always dangle when I'm confidant I can't lose-- anal sex if he read the book. I don't know why that is such a holy grail for men, but as far as I'm concerned, there isn't enough Xanax in the world, people.

Well, I was in a real pickle when Jason did read that book, in record time. I managed to wheel and deal my way out of that, but defeat did not stop me from throwing that on the table again for other challenges, like when we competed to see who could lose the most weight (proportionately). I lost again, but managed to evade anal violation once again. Eventually Charlie Brown realized that I was always going to snatch that ball away at the last second, so I can no longer use that as my trump card.

So we're trying to lose weight again, but I'm finding it hard to feel motivated. The weight that I lost last year wasn't intentional, just the byproduct of working so many hours. The pounds are piling back on, and I'm finding it hard to really care. I mean, yeah, of course I want to look good, but we've finally reached that point in our marriage when I no longer feel the need to constantly test Jason with the Would-you-still-love me-if-I-were-horribly-burned-and-had-no-limbs-and-had-to-wear-a-diaper-and-could-only-communicate-by-blowing-through-a-straw hypotheticals. I know he loves me, I've finally accepted that.

So I guess my big motivation now is my health. Especially in light of cheerful statistics like the fact that Asians Americans are more likely to develop Type 2 diabetes than white people, even when they have a lower BMI. According to the article in 8Asians, that's basically because of large amounts of visceral fat-- big ass bellies. And yep, I've got one. Some people can make little baby butts with their bellies, I can make Jennifer Lopez's with mine.

I suppose a visit to the doctor would motivate me-- I'm way overdue for an oil change anyway. Despite being on a tighter budget now (Jason has graciously given up his trips to the Japanese massage parlor-- the tips were killing us, and I have significantly cut down on my cocaine habit), I finally decided to act like a grown up and put myself on his insurance. Remember when I said I was going to immediately go and have my appendix removed or something as soon as I got insured? Yeah, well I've kinda been avoiding it, like a kid dreading a trip to the principal's office for a scolding. I know what the diagnosis is going to be-- you're fat, eat less and exercise.

I know I need to to that. But damn, it's so nice down here in the sand. My head really likes it.

Whatev, Tiger Mom

2011-01-30T00:18:00.001-05:00

Okay, so now thanks to that chick that wrote Tiger Mom, every time I go out in public people will be regarding my children with pity because they will assume that I deprive them of extracurricular activities, friends, refined flour, and basically anything else good. I haven't read the book, but from all the responses so far, American moms are pretty much taking it as a big "F.U. bitches, you suck as mothers." So yeah, thanks for that too.

Who knew such an opinion would spark so much controversy? We were watching a debate about it on t.v. the other day, and can you believe my husband turned to me and said, "So that's where you get it from." Excuse me? Did he just say that I was strict? 'Cause I happen to think that I am the funnest, coolest most laid back mom ever. Or at least I was up until a few years ago, when my son's pending adolescence seems to have collided with my pending perimenapause, thus causing me to lose my shit a few times to the point where I have been known to speak in tongues and occasionally black out.

Okay, maybe I am a tad bit strict sometimes, but what can you expect when you've been raised by a drill sergeant? There was pretty much a rule for everything we did in our house, and for how long we could do it. But THAT is for another post, 'cause if there's one thing I've learned these last few years blogging, it's that readers start to drool a little after a certain word count, and their eyes begin to roll into the back of their heads. Also for another post, my experiences with my Asian mom (who adopted me)- she was not so much strict as she was batshit crazy and mean as hell. I swear, had I been born 20 years later I would most certainly have been whored out along the child pageant circuit by that woman. In preparation for our much anticipated arrival to America, the woman had me permed and pierced within an inch of my life. It took a full year for my hair to recover before it no longer looked like Gilda Radner's.

What I wanted to convey was that although of course we all want our children to succeed, I think it's important to let children be children. Let them remember a happy childhood-- it will shape who they will be and what kind of choices they will make for the rest of their lives. Grades and responsibility are absolutely important, but not to the exclusion of all else. I can live with the possibility that my child may not win a Nobel Prize. I couldn't live with it if my child were an addict, or alone and miserable.

Having said that though, maybe there is some merit to the idea that we sometimes have lowered expectations for our children compared to the Chinese. Maybe we are a tad too soft, too quick to lather on undeserved praise and give unearned rewards. How many times have I caught myself marveling at some drawing done by my 3 year old, when perhaps what I should have been saying to her is Seriously, Megan? I mean, whose head looks like that? Yeah, why don't you come back when you've put some real effort into it and quit wasting my time.

There. That should get her started on the road to success.

Oh My God I'm Such An Asshole

2011-01-21T23:01:00.001-05:00

This is a picture a friend of mine posted on FB of her new tattoo:

She says she "loves it!" but I am horrified. It's supposed to be her baby's handprint but it looks like a baby zombie touched her and left a burned imprint on her flesh. For real? She's going to go through life with that mark on her? I guess it's better than the tattoo Jason said he saw on a girl once at a pool-- a penis on her lower back, complete with balls. Class-say.

That's all. Just had to share that little gem with you. You're welcome.

Plagiarism Is Cool!

2010-12-23T14:54:00.000-05:00

Wow, I can't believe how long it's been since I've written on here. Reading my last post, you guys must think I've been in the longest bad mood ever. Actually, I've just been busy. Well, up until about two weeks ago, when I FINALLY QUIT MY JOB.

Woo-hoo! Hooray!

Since then I've been ~~enjoying all the reality tv shows~~ spending quality time with my kids and getting back to writing and painting. It's been so nice that instead of looking for another job I've been trying (again) to think of ways to make some money from home. Erin has been very helpful with tips in this department, having mastered it after deciding that 9 to 5 jobs gave her hives and a foul-smelling discharge. One idea she suggested was writing papers for college kids. Brilliant! But I'm wondering, should I sit down with them beforehand, you know, a just-how-stupid-are-you kind of thing. Don't want their professor giving them an F for plagiarism. Unless of course the paper is on physics. Then it will be a how-stupid-am-I conversation.

I think I'll write "am Asian" under the credentials.

One bad part about not working (well, besides the lack of money) is that I'm gaining all my weight back. In case you haven't followed my five dozen Facebook updates about it, I had lost over 30 pounds in the last seven months. Was starting to feel pretty damn cute, as a matter of fact. But, just as I feared, as soon as I quit the pounds found me with a vengeance. I've already put back on ten and counting. Yes, I could cut back my calories. And exercise. Shut up.

Anyway, it's great to be back. I know some of you manage full time careers and children and still put out witty little posts with unnerving regularity.

Some of you were the ugly girls in high school, obviously.

Muah!

P.S. I was the ugly girl in high school. :)

Confession

2010-10-28T09:42:00.001-04:00

Not feeling like a very good mother today.

Of course saying this will prompt lots of "you're the best mom in the world!" comments. Because let's be honest, there's sort of a sliding scale when you are a mother of a child with special needs. (And god I hate that fucking term. I hate saying it, I hate everything about it. I do. I can't help it. I never thought that term would apply to my child.) Everyone automatically thinks you are such a great mom if your child has any sort of disability. But they don't know that sometimes I get so tired of repeating myself, of talking loudly, of all the noise, all the noise all the time. Sometimes I get so frustrated because my son doesn't do what I tell him and part of me knows that he didn't hear me correctly but that doesn't stop me from losing my temper and what kind of monster does that make me?

I love my son. I love my son more than anything in the world. I don't even recognize myself sometimes when I am yelling at him. I seem to be always getting onto him lately. I'm always sorry, but it's like I can't help myself. I just want to talk to him, but I end up correcting him.

My son got his first F on is report card. Again, the sliding scale. I know everyone thinks, well he does have a hearing impairment...

I hate that fucking sliding scale. I know that every time someone remarks on how smart he is, there is that silent for a hearing impaired child. I don't want lowered expectations for my son. I want him to be popular and Homecoming King and all that bullshit.

I have a friend whose child is four and going through chemo treatments. Another friend has a two-year old with spina bifida who has had eight major surgeries and has spent probably a fourth of her life in some sort of cast. I feel selfish when I think of that and ashamed for feeling sorry for myself.

I'm just scared, and tired. I'm scared because I think Jay's hearing might be declining. I just want him to be able to hold onto the what hearing he still has.

And of course there is the guilt. There will always be the guilt. Not just the guilt of failing my son, but the guilt that I caused all this. My son is hearing impaired because of something I did. Nothing will ever convince me otherwise. No matter how many doctors or professionals tell me otherwise, I will always know it and it will weigh on my chest every night as I lay in bed at night.

This is a bad morning. There is a lot of joy in my life, and most of the time I am appreciative. Sometimes, though, sometimes you just have to be honest and let out even the darkest, most hideous truths.

Okay, deep breath now...

I Have the Brett Favre of Vaginas

2010-10-23T23:49:00.001-04:00

Having a little girl is so different from having a boy. My three year old daughter is complaining that her pee pee hurts, and honestly Internets, I'm at a bit of a loss. Yes, I know I have the same equipment and should know immediately what to do, but seeing such a miniature scale version is a little intimidating. Is it a UTI? A yeast infection? What to do, what to do? Especially on a Saturday night.

You see, much like me, my vagina's a tough old broad and has never really given me any problems. She's never called in sick, and never let me down. Up for any task, big or small. Even after the birth of my son, who was born with the head and shoulders of a full grown left tackle. (Although I do cross my fingers and say a little prayer every time I have to sneeze or cough really hard.)

True, she's seen better days. And whereas once she might have been best in show

Now the ol' girl looks more like this

She may not be always be as trim as she used to be, but she's played more consecutive games than most and she knows all the words to Sharp Dressed Man-- I've even considered buying a tiny pair of sunglasses for her.

So it's a little unsettling to deal with your toddler's feminine issues. Don't worry, we'll head to the pediatrician's on Monday. Until then, I'm following the pharmacist's recommendations from Walgreen's (as opposed to the web's advice of a vinegar solution, which, as it turns out, burns-- wtf internets???). It's not too bad, but still not something you think about when you're blissfully shopping for onesies at Babies R Us.

P. S. Ever look back after a post, in the light of day, and think maybe that wasn't such a good idea to share?

By the way, Megan is fine.

Dare Me?

2010-10-11T15:31:00.001-04:00

If I had a penis I'm sure it would have been shriveled up right then.

That's it-- that's the first line to my novel, people.

I know what you must be thinking-- WOW, instant classic! People will be quoting that for decades and Alex Trebek will be reading that off on Jeopardy! How did you ever come up with that flash of genius, Kim?

Well, I've struggled with the beginning for my book for awhile now. I've got lots of stuff (essays, really) to fill up the body, but how to start? That was a dilema. The whole hiding in the attic from Nazi's thing just wasn't working for me, and I wanted to find a way to incorporate stories from my childhood without giving everyone nosebleeds like the flashbacks on Lost. Recently I've been trying to overcome my lifelong issues with my family-- it's complicated. And what the hell is up with blocking family members on Facebook? Whatever happened to good old fashioned drunken fights at holiday get-togethers? All of my life I've fantasized about Dynasty-style confrontations, big shoulder pads and all. Or at the very least one of us getting shot in the east wing of Southfork.

Anyway, I've reached a point in my life when I'm trying to let go of all of my bitterness toward my family. Okay, maybe not all of it (I'm not a fucking saint). I've realized that the only person it's hurting is me, and that my warped need for acceptance from them has held me back in so many areas of my life (blah blah blah). So I thought that it would be symbollic and cathartic to do something bold and out of my comfort zone that made me face my insecurities head on.

I told you my mother in law lives on a nudist resort, right?

On paper it sounds perfect-- I'm about to be 40 next year (God, that's even hard to write) and what a way to release all my hang ups about body image, taking back my power and all of that. (Also, what a great hook for a magazine article!) Of course, that's assuming I'll actually have the nerve to walk around in public with it all hanging out. And I do mean hanging.

So, who's up for a Thelma and Louise adventure? I'm looking at you, Christi.

We better hurry though because it's starting to get cold...

Bastards Love Me

2010-09-16T12:08:00.002-04:00

It's been so long since I've been on here, I was totally expecting the chirping crickets reaction after my last post. It was so great to hear from you guys-- I heart all of you.

Remember when I used to actually write stuff? Well, the wonderful staff at Bastard Nation wanted to print one of my essays in their publication, Bastard Quarterly. I'm on page 13-- woo-hoo! Love the mysterious Asian eye peering from the fall foilage. So me.

Can't wait to get back to painting and writing again. I'm going to stick it out about 3 or 4 more weeks at the job-- just long enough to pay off the Navigator that we bought from our friends (Megan calls it the Alligator). And then I. Am. Done. You may find this shocking, but fast food management SUCKS. I know, I know-- let the I-told-you-so's commence. I didn't work this many hours when we owned our own restaurant (granted, our place was only open four days a week, but still). And I certainly didn't have to take crap from a bully of a boss. I will eventually find something else to do for money, even if it's professional ass licker. At least the hours will be better.

I remember watching an episode of Oprah about the happiest countries, and the Swedish were among the most content, according to this study. Their philosophy was that quality time with family was the most important thing, which is why they take like two months vacation out of the year, and live a relatively minimalist lifestye as opposed to Americans, who tend to overwork themselves in order to acquire more "things" in search of happiness. Of course, being tall, blond and beautiful helps. Fucking Swedes.

Anyway, I can't wait until I am liberated. Soon nothing will keep us apart, Internets!

Enough

2010-09-09T16:55:00.001-04:00

I've had enough

of this awful, awful job.

70 hours a week

is just not worth it at all.

I have enough of this

And this

But I can never get enough of this

Or this

I miss my kids

I need a date with my husband

I need a date with ME.

I've had enough.

My boss is an ass

and I just want to go in

all Norma Rae and singing bad country lyrics.

The house is a mess

and I am exhausted.

I 'm not superwoman--

I don't change the world by day

and run the PTO by night

all the while cooking up delicious organic meals.

I'm super to them

And THAT

is definitely

more than

Enough.

P.S. Yeah, I'm quitting soon. Wow, I have a lot of freckles.

Jeffrey Dahmer's Mom Probably Made Him Go To Summer Camp

2010-06-14T09:40:00.000-04:00

I just dropped off my son Jay at summer day camp, where he will get to experience lots of group games, camp sing-alongs, and good cheer.

God I hope he can forgive me one day.

When his camp counselor told me her name was Road Runner, it was all I could do to suppress the little Wednesday Addams in me. I never thought I'd be the kind of mom to embrace the camps and cub scouts and all of that, yet here I am, scouring the internet for enriching experiences to expose my son to this summer. And yes, I was that mom that was applying sunscreen on her kid at 8 o'clock in the morning. He may have lungs like a chain smoker from inhaling the fumes from those easy-spray cans of sunscreen, but by god he will not get skin cancer and everyone will know what a good mother I was.

I'm nervous about Jay getting his hearing aids wet or lost. Imagine attaching a thousand dollar bill to each ear on your kid and sending him off to the lake without you. But to be honest, what makes me more anxious is how well he will make friends. Believe it or not, I was not always Miss Popularity. Buses, in particular, are a source of tramatic memories for me. I remember years of walking down that long aisle lined with little kids making slant eyes at me. When I got older, it didn't help that I never had a car in high school and therefore was the oldest person ever to still ride the bus. All the other students were gangly little freshmen, while I already had a full beard and mustache.

Anyway, I hope my kid has an easier time fitting in than I did. Although I'm sure having hearing aids makes it more difficult. Maybe his cheerful disposition will win over. He does have his father's DNA too, after all.

Oh, and thanks for all the concern about me getting dooced because of my comments about Mr. Douche. I'm not too worried, though. I googled myself and the only thing that came up was some jazz artist or something. Just to be on the safe side, I went around and peed on a few of your blogs to throw off any trackers. Also, let's face it-- the extra money is nice but it's not exactly my dream job so if this ends badly I won't be devastated. Just broke. Again. It's the circle of life.

What Is My Asshole Tolerance Level?

2010-06-09T00:25:00.005-04:00

We are about to find out, internet. Latest development in the chicken world, I am about to finish six weeks of general manager training. I have now learned everything that can possibly be done to a chicken with or without a condom, and at what temperature it should be done at. Next week I will leave my cozy little shelter and go to work for the company asshole. I am not kidding-- this guy is legendary in his douchiness. His specialty? Yelling and publically demeaning his employees. Along with long walks on the beach and pina coladas, Mr. Douche enjoys going on firing rampages. I am told he once fired someone for wearing hoop earrings. In their ears. I'm guessing he's really not going to approve of my nipple piercings.

Why subject myself to this? Because I want his job. I want to oversee his stores, I want the company vehicle, his salary, and his Geneva convention-approved schedule. But I am thinking my smart mouth may get me in trouble. If he starts bellowing at me for no reason, I'm likely to calmly raise an eyebrow and ask, "Are you telling me, or the whole store?"

Anyone want to start a pool on how long I will last?

Hell, it may even be fun to fuck with this guy a little. The best mocking occurs when the intended target isn't even aware of it. Oh how I love a challenge! Let the games begin.

Update: We stopped taking Megan to daycare. She hated it. We hated it. She got sick her first week there. So now my friend Heather is watching her, which is great because her kids are close in age to mine and she is great with them. I just hope that Megan doesn't start to love her more than me. :(

The Dog Ate My Blog

2010-05-26T14:52:00.006-04:00

Okay, some of us are multi-taskers.

And, ahem, some of us have been letting her kids eat take-out almost every single night and holy shit what is that smell in the trash closet? Oh, and of course the blog has been neglected since I started back to work.

First, let me clear up any delusions about me working in some Tequila Sunrise kind of joint where I am strolling around with a wine glass in my hand like Michelle Pfeiffer. I am training for a general manager position at a fried chicken place, that one from Louisiana (whatever). Not glamorous (AT ALL), but pretty decent pay. My plan is to move up to the area manager position soon ( one is 65 years old-- I mean, how freaking long can she ~~live~~ work for crying out loud????) and the other one is a real asshole just one complaint away from a lawsuit. And yeah, I'll be working for the asshole.

The family has been adjusting fairly well, except that Megan has now taken the lead in the Whiniest Kid In The World triathelon (such an over-achiever, my kid). Daycare is a little rocky-- there are so many kids in her class that I'm sure they just assign them numbers rather than call them by name. And the Daycare Nazis make you sign a pledge in blood pretty much agreeing that you will pay even if you go on vacation, they are closed for a holiday, or there is a death or dismemberment involved. Breaking up with them is harder than cancelling a gym membership.

Oh, and just to make things interesting, my car has been a real asshole. Something in the electrical system has gone crazy, and sometimes the alarm goes off for no reason. Jason disconnected the horn but it still makes a less noisy but still annoying sound. I love it when people are like "I think your car alarm is going off," like I'm some clueless idiot. Oh really? I thought that was my great-aunt Helen trying to communicate with me from the great beyond. Sometimes I'm tempted to play along with the crazy Asian woman act and start flapping my hands rapidly while blowing on the door handle like hot soup screaming "Aieeeee!!"

Oh internet, how I have missed you.

P.S. And yes, we have thought about disconnecting the alarm, but Jason wasn't able to do it. We are trying to figure out which utility we can live without for a year so we can take the Land Rover to the dealership to fix. I would say we could dip into our retirement fund, but I'm not sure if they take scratch off lottery tickets as payment.

It wouldn't be so bad except the car won't start sometimes. We've sort of found a remedy for that problem: you have to lock the door, wait 20 seconds, then unlock it, get in and start the car. If someone else opens another door first, you have to get out, close all the doors and start the process all over again. Sometimes I look like I have the worst case of OCD ever.

Be Careful What You Ask For

2010-04-26T11:40:00.002-04:00

Well, I finally got a job. Good news, yes, but it's a restaurant management position, something I was trying to avoid because of the hours. You basically sign your soul over in blood and hope your kids still remember you in two years. Although I've tried earnestly, I could not find that perfect job where I could work from my computer wearing jean shorts and surfing porn all day (apparently there is a hiring freeze at the SEC). And I didn't even get an interview for that neurosurgeon position, although I highlighted in bold

that I took Anatomy and Physiology 1 AND 2 in college
I am a fast learner
and I am Asian

I was pretty sure that last qualification would have made me a shoo-in, but apparently not. I mean, isn't that what they have malpractice insurance for?

Anyway, I don't want to give too many details about work (they might not appreciate my vagina anecdotes), but let's just say I will be working a lot of hours. I start training next Monday, and I've been busy shopping for clothes for my kids for the next five years so I can lay out their outfits for them. I think I found a good daycare for Megan, and some fun summer camps for Jay. I'm looking for someone affordable to clean my house once a week (and by affordable I mean a box of doughnuts and a case of Bud Light). I definitely won't feel like scrubbing tubs on my day off-- hell, I don't like scrubbing tubs when I'm home 24/7.

It has occurred to me that a great portion of my paycheck will be going to pay other people to do the things I used to do. Hmmm.

I'm excited about working again, but anxious about how we'll all adjust, especially Jason. At first he was all giddy about the extra money, and then the reality of him taking care of the kids a lot more on his own set in and he's been having minor panic attacks. But hey, we've got to give it a try. I really don't want to choose which kid gets to have braces, and which one gets to go to college. Keep your fingers crossed, Internet.

Wow, You Really Can Make A Whole Post Out Of Links And A Whole Lot Of Nothing

2010-04-14T15:37:00.001-04:00

I know you may think I just sit around all day eating potato chips and watching Rock of Love, ~~stop looking through my windows asshole~~ but I've actually been writing on my other blog, which is equally as brilliant as this one. And my column for the Spring Issue of Hearing Health Magazine is out. ~~Click it, click on the links dammit!~~ I hope you go check both out at your earliest convenience.

Also, my precious daughter has recently taken up giving pedicures.

Yes, I realize it looks like I stuck my feet into a meat grinder, but I still think her work turned out as well as this person's. I can't wait until she starts doing my makeup. Hopefully I won't forget it's on, like the princess tiara, and go out in public.

I finally completed the final details on my Marilyn painting:

And yes, she still looks like she's giving everyone the finger. Damn. I hate hands. My future subjects are going to be amputees. Or pirates.

Team Jason

2010-04-12T08:56:00.000-04:00

Everyone loves my husband. If we divorced and our friends were forced to choose sides, I think I'd be left with the deviant and the drunk (which may not be such a bad thing in a situation like that). I think even my Dad preferred him to me. Jason is just a likable guy, and easy to talk to. The man will start a conversation with anyone-- mailman, people in line, cashiers. Me, I just want to pay for my groceries and get home, not discuss how Phil or Fred are hitting the golf balls that day. I've lived in the South most of my life now, but I think I've always retained a Yankee mentality in that regard. I'm just not a small talk kind of gal, and it's hard for me to pretend to give a shit when I don't. Also, I suck at small talk. I was made for the internet and texting. Say what you have to say and you're done. No commitment to fill the awkward spaces.

I saw an article about how the brains of shy people process things differently. So you see, don't be so quick to label "rude unsociable bitch." We have a physical disorder. Feeling pretty bad now, aren't you? Fucking right.

Despite my disorder, my encounters with new friends over vacation went well. At least, that's how I remember it. Of course, there were several shots involved, but I am pretty sure I was awesome and charming as hell. Or crude and obnoxious. It's a fine line. It was also great reuniting with my best friend from high school, whom I haven't seen in over 15 years. I was considerably more sober for that meeting, so I think I was a little more reserved. Jason schmoozed as if he had grown up with my friend and her husband all his life. Team Jason.

All in all the vacation was fabulous. We started in St. Mary's (by Cumberland and Jekyll Island)-- beautiful town but man-eating sand gnats. We visited Okefenokee Swamp and did the whole tour boat thing (I DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THAT FUCKING WILD BLUEBERRY BUSH IT'S FUCKING HOT AND I JUST WANT TO SEE SOME ALLIGATORS SO STOP BACKING UP THE BOAT ALREADY). After that we moved on to Tybee Island. The weather was perfect and the kids loved the beach. I won't bore you with a million pics (that's what Facebook's for, right?), but I just have to share this priceless gem:

Now THAT'S how you sell a bikini.

What's Up With Me (BRILLIANT post title, right?)

2010-03-31T09:15:00.002-04:00

Great news-- my friend Jenni did not need a hysterectomy and they had to remove a smaller portion of her cervix than they had initially thought, so she should still be able to have children. Which means I am off the hook, but everyone will still know I was WILLING to help out. It's like I would give you a kidney, dude, but whoops, we aren't a match. And now I have a babysitter for life because HELLO, I was going to babysit your kid for 40 weeks inside MY WOMB, and that's a little hard to say no to. Guess I will have to find another gimmick for my book, though.

Have you seen The Food Revolution on t.v. with Jamie Oliver? Of course not, you probably have plans on Friday night. My social calendar, uncluttered and streamlined as it is, allowed me to catch the first episode. And I have to say, it actually made me feel a little better about what I'm feeding my kids. I mean, I know I write a lot about what a food slut I am, and how I need to cut back our meat portions and love of white flour, but I don't often write about the good stuff. (How boring would that be?) I'm proud to say that almost all the dinners I prepare involve me shoving my hand up some chicken orifice and lots of manic vegetable chopping. Point is, at least I start with real food-- real produce and meat before it's processed and preserved to death. Before I had kids, I was a boxed food junkie-- whatever was quick and easy. Fortunately, my husband is a tremendous cook and taught me a lot. I'm still no Julia Childs, but I have come a long way, my friends. And I feed my kids a green vegetable at every dinner-- it's like my saving grace. If they turn out to be delinquents and addicts, I can hold on to the fact that I gave them broccoli and lima beans, and really, what more could one ask of a mother?

Next week is Spring Break for us here, to coincide with Master's Week--duh. Even my azaleas dare not bloom until Tiger and Phil get here. We will be heading out of town to visit my friend Christi in St. Mary's and then on to Tybee Island. During this trip I will be meeting people I only know through this blog and Facebook, and will be reuniting with my best friend from high school, whom I haven't seen in well over 15 years. So I guess I need to wax the trucker mustache and brows, and maybe the bikini area (in case the shots of Jager get out of hand). I'm a little nervous, to tell you the truth. Have I mentioned before I have a slight case of social anxiety? I know it's hard for you to imagine me as anything but brilliantly witty in real life, but the truth is, I'm not so good at the talking to real people thing. It's like I suddenly turn aphasic and can only blurt out really awkward and inappropriate things. I once saw someone I knew at a restaurant-- I was in my early 20's and he was probably in his late 30's, and sitting with a couple of other men (probably business associates). He had been a regular customer where I had worked at before, and I had hung out with him outside of work a few times along with my coworkers. Anyway, my great ice breaker? I showed him the scar on the inside of my upper arm and announced I had just gotten my Norplant birth control implant removed.

I'm pretty sure his friends thought I was a hooker.

So you have been warned, internet friends who think you want to meet me. Just sayin'.

P.S. Oh, big thanks to Susanne over at Married Geeks for giving me the Sunshine Award. If you haven't checked them out yet, you should. She and her husband are currently living with their children in China for 6 months, and their attempts at navigating the cultural gap are hilarious. Be warned, though, it will make you hungry.

The One About Religion

2010-03-26T09:27:00.000-04:00

My father served in the Army for 21 years. After he retired, I think there was a big void in his life-- he needed a new gig. And so he became a preacher.

I know, seems strange-- the transition from loud, cantankerous drill sergeant to a humble servant of God. But actually I think it makes perfect sense when you think about it. I mean, in the military everything is black and white and there is no questioning orders from those in charge. There is a clearly defined enemy, and that enemy must be defeated by any means necessary. Is that really that much different from religion?

Now, notice I used the term religion, and not God or spirituality. I have a great admiration for spiritual people who find peace and comfort in their beliefs and try to better themselves and help others. Christian, Buddhists, Muslim, Hindu-- I don't think it matters which path you follow, but rather how you live it. As John Lennon once said, "Whatever gets you through the night, man." (Don't be so impressed-- I got that from Forest Gump.) And contrary to what many believe about me, I am not an atheist. (My friend Christi would tell you differently, but that's just because I'm not Catholic.) I found God at a very young age, not through church (we never went to church growing up) or family, but on my own. I may not have the same ideas as others, but my relationship with God is between me and him, and I don't feel the need for anyone's approval about it.

Organized religion is what I find hard to swallow. I believe that it's often used as a tool to control the masses through fear and hate. Do as I (your religious leader) tell you or you will burn in hell. Hate these people for they are different (don't agree with me/ have land or something of value that we want). I don't think the Bible is the literal word of God, but rather man's interpretation and used to reinforce whatever the church wants you to believe.

This post is not my usual light commentary, I know, but I was going to write about this new scandal in the Catholic Church. You know, the one regarding another priest molesting boys, boys in a home for the deaf. Those of you who have read me for awhile know that I have a son who is hearing impaired, so you can imagine my feelings on this. But honestly, even I can't think of enough four letter words to adequately describe my disgust at the situation, and you'd have to be a pretty hard core asshole to not agree, so there's really not much else to say about the case itself. It just makes my head explode wondering when people will finally acknowledge that the people running the churches are JUST PEOPLE and the rules they try to enforce COME FROM MAN, NOT GOD. In many cases I see the church (of any denomination) becoming more important than God, and religion more about who we're supposed to hate, not who we're supposed to love.

Now, to post or not to post? Fuck it, publish post.

I Wish Other Asian People Would Just Stick With the Math and Science

2010-03-17T09:25:00.001-04:00

What the hell???

You know my great American novel, the one that I've been working on for the past, oh, two decades or so? (Chapter four was reeeeeaaaaally long, okay?) Well, now I see all these other adopted Asian kids writing their memoirs, getting a documentary. Jeff from over at 8Asians sent me a link to HBO's project for Asian American month. (We have a month? Oh just wait, people, I'm going all out that month-- shamrocks and green from head to toe.)

"As an example, we currently have a story of a Korean kid who was adopted into an Italian family in Pennsylvania. He grew up 100% culturally Italian while looking very Korean to his peers. He won the outstanding Italian American scholarship for college and accepted the award in front of a room full of confused old Italians. Hilarity ensues and lessons are learned."

And then there's this story about a little Chinese girl who was adopted by a Jewish family. Fuck, I can't compete with that! Damn cute little Asian babies with their fat cheeks and baby duckling hair making everyone want to collect one.

So then I decided I needed a new angle. This was right around the time my friend Jenni gave me the sobering news that she had cervical cancer. Fortunately, she should be okay after they remove a portion of her cervix or give her a hysterectomy. Unfortunately, either option will leave her unable to have a baby (they would have to remove quite a bit of her cervix and it wouldn't be able to support a pregnant uterus). Well, it just so happens that a very drunk friend of hers volunteered to carry her baby a few years back when she mentioned concerns about being able to conceive.

Yeah, I really need to stay away from dark liquor.

But seriously, I would be a surrogate for her. I'd have to talk Jason into it, but if Jenni could afford the invetro and everything, I would totally carry her baby. And not just because I could turn to her friend and say, "NOW who's the best bridesmaid, bitch?" Being a mother has been the greatest thing that has ever happened to me, and I would gladly help someone else experience that.

Also, how great of a book would that make? Womb for Rent.

Kidding. I am not that mercenary, people.*

And to show you how gracious and full of good manners I really am, I'd like to thank Heather over at 30 and Starting Over for giving me the Kreativ Blogger award. I'm supposed to share 7 things about myself that you may not know, but honestly, after having told you guys about my chubby labia majora and embarrassing noises with that one guy, what else is there to know? I'd also like to thank Aion and Nicole over at I BLOG YOUR PROFILE for picking me as the blog of the week.

To all the wonderful people who have given me awards in the past, I'm sorry I have never posted them here. At first I didn't know how to embed the codes, and ~~then I was too lazy for all these goddamned links~~ I didn't want to post some and not the first ones. But I love and appreciate them all. (I hope that doesn't sound as pompous as I think it might.)

*Don't get me wrong, if I did surrogate for her I probably would write about my experiences, because that's what I do. I meant that that wouldn't be the reason I would agree to do it. Just wanted to clear that up in case I'm ever on Oprah and this post comes back to slap me in the face.

If You Have A Good Baby Recipe, Keep It To Yourself

2010-03-15T11:03:00.001-04:00

I really wish I could be a vegetarian. If only they would loosen up on the whole not eating meat thing. Seriously, I am more likely to have success becoming a nun than a vegetarian. On principle, I am totally against killing animals, especially when they are mistreated. After I watched that HBO documentary about the undercover PETA guy that worked at a pig farm, I was this close to swearing off pork. But, come on y'all-- mmmmm, ribs.....

I don't have much of a sweet tooth. If cakes and brownies needed a chaperone, I would be the girl for the job. But put a juicy ribeye in front of me and it's all over. The other night, we were at a low country boil at our friends' house that included a ton of blue crabs. Now, if you've ever eaten blue crabs you know that it's not all clean and unoffensive, like eating snow crab legs. With blue crabs you are pretty much dismembering the animal, guts, lungs, "mustard" and all. It's a lot of work for about a spoonful of meat, but sooooo good. The other women there were pretty grossed out, and they weren't big fans of the shrimp with the heads on, either. Did that deter me? Not one bit, I'm afraid. Carnivore through and through.

A vegan life may be unrealistic for me, but I have been trying to take small steps toward consuming less meat. Americans eat so much of it! Think about it-- most of us eat meat at lunch and dinner, and on the weekends probably breakfast too. I've tried to incorporate a few meatless dinners into the shuffle, like eggplant parmigiana and strogenoff with portebella mushrooms. I doubt they will help with any weight loss because most of the recipes are loaded with cheese or sour cream, but it's a start. And it makes me feel better, just like when I buy the eggs laid by free range chickens. I make sure to place the carton in plain sight so all the other shoppers can marvel at what a friend I am to animals. I know the cashier in particular is impressed, and I'm sure if any PETA members read this they will invite me to pose nude for one of their ads.

Oh, little piggies and cows, why do you have to taste so good? It's a good thing little babies aren't as delicious. At least, I hope they're not...

All The Best Kids' Toys Incorporate A Little Danger And Risk Of Mutilation

2010-03-12T09:58:00.000-05:00

Big news around our house guys-- WE HAVE PEE PEE IN THE POTTY!

Megan finally got over her potty phobia. I don't know why, but peeing in the potty startled her and she would always jump up midstream and then refuse to go near that evil contraption again. Finally, after a long Mexican standoff, we have gotten over that hurdle. Now it's just a matter of sequestering ourselves with the potty for a few days until the routine becomes ingrained. I am beginning to feel like a prisoner who has lost her mind and spends her days picking off fleas and mumbling deliriously, "Pee pee in the potty? Do you have to pee pee in the potty?"

But when we have success, oh what a celebration! It's like Carnivale up in here, and not just because Megan is naked from the waist down. We do our little congo line pee pee dance all through the house chanting "Pee pee in the pot-TEE! Pee pee in the pot-TEE!" And of course I had to make good on some promises, because I had become so desperate I would have offered Megan pretty much anything for some cooperation. When she finally did the deed, I remembered later that night that at one point I had told her the potty fairies would leave her a present. So I had to run out to the drug store and come up with something. It was a toss up between a roll of Tums and this:

For those of you not in the know, these are the infamous Zhu Zhu pets that everyone lost their shit over before Christmas. They make little noises and zoom around like a real little hamster, minus all the little turds. Megan loves it, but I'm starting to have some misgivings after reading the warning about not getting it too close to your hair because of the spinning wheels on the underside. Now I am having visions of Megan's hair catching on those wheels and her screaming as her head is pulled into the grinding gears like some horrible accident scene in a sausage factory. Yeah, I have some anxiety issues, I know. I am so scared of heights that I won't even lean against the window in a tall building. Just in case, you know, the whole side of the structure falls away and I am helpless to stop the momentum of my own body weight.

Okay, maybe Megan's potty phobia is not so ridiculous after all.

P.S. Did you know I have another blog? It's me, only less cuss-y.

Much Like Me, My Home Needs Some Style

2010-03-03T08:40:00.000-05:00

Ever see a picture of yourself and realize OH MY GOD I'M SO FAT? Well, that's similar to how I felt looking at pictures taken inside my house. No, my house is not fat, but very, very boooooring. I mean, I'm a painter, and ALL my walls are painted a neutral eggshell. It's safe. I don't know what I'm scared of-- like someone's going to walk into my house and gasp in horror at the vast avocado expanse or something.

And I'm embarrassed to say there are no curtains. And I sew, so there is no excuse. I could be so matchy matchy if I wanted to-- matching curtains, throw pillows, kerchief on the husband and kids and half apron on me. It could be a coordinated damask wonderland up in here.

I guess my decorating concerns have always taken a backseat to practicality, since the kids came along, anyway. There was a time when we had a 130 pound German Shephard and super active chocolate lab and I thought it would be cool to have off-white furniture. Yeah, that did not end well. So after that my ciriteria for couches became "What would this look like with juice stains and dog ass rubbed all over it?" Very chic.

Things have also got to be durable. I've always said that our home is as much the kids as it is mine and Jason's. Who am I kidding-- it's more theirs than ours. So not a lot of breakables. I remember when I was little, my adopted mother had a HUGE Hummel collection and porcelain French Revolution era figurines. I don't know why, but nothing says you've made it to a Korean woman than a house full of delicate miniature men in tights with powdered wigs and women in lacy, tightly corsetted finery. When her friends would come over they would all exclaim their appreciation-- it was in rapid Korean, but I'm pretty sure they were saying "Girl, you got it going on in here." Not exactly a kid-friendly environment.

This would have made my mother the envy of all her friends.

So my new goal is to infuse a little flair and personality into my home. Order and tranquility would be nice, too, but let's not push it, people. It's times like this I wish that all my gay guy friends had not moved on to younger and cuter little sidekicks. Bastards.

The Post That's Going To Get Me In Trouble With EVERYONE

2010-03-01T13:27:00.006-05:00

Okay, back from my hiatus here. I'd like to say I've been away on a secret mission for my country, but the truth is this is the first time in about a week that I've felt good. I have had the WORST headache/ stabby pain right behind my right eye and temple. Relentless headache. I've been pretty much living on a regimen of Excedrin, Ibuprofin, and Aleve. I thought it might have been eyestrain, but that usually comes on late afternoon. Then I thought maybe it was blood pressure, but it was weird that it was just on one side. Maybe abscessed tooth? Except I didn't have a toothache. Sinus infection? Syphilis? The wrath of God?

I know-- you're wondering why I didn't just cut short the martyr act and go to the doctor. Well, here's the kicker (the thing that's going to make all of you want to throw things at me): I'm the only one in the family that doesn't have health insurance.

Wait! Give me a chance to explain before you go! I dropped my coverage after having Megan, figuring I would pick it back up after we were "caught up." The kids are covered, of course, and Jason has a policy through his work, which is a relief because there's a history of heart disease in his family. And well, you know I'm adopted, so guess what? That means I HAVE NO FAMILY HISTORY OF HEART DISEASE OR CANCER. Also, everyone knows Asian people are inherently healthy and live to the ripe old age of 100.

Yes, I realize I am in the worst denial ever. But the cost of adding me to Jason's policy is a gajillion dollars-- 'cause of the whole me having a uterus thing, I guess. You know how volitile those things are-- it could blow at any time. Can you blame the insurance company for not wanting to take the risk? But this past week, as I was lying and weighing the pro's and con's of dying from bleeding in the brain or having to pay for an MRI until I'm 97, I realized how ridiculous my priorities were. I mean, who puts medical attention on the "optional luxuries" side of their list, while keeping cable, dining out, and internet as necessities. Well, I think we can all agree that giving up the internet is not an option.

So I am going to start acting like a responsible adult and am signing up for one of those high deductible policies. One of those in-case-your-head-falls-off policies. It's a start.

Next on the How To Act Like A Grown-Up list: learning to return the library books on time. Did you know there's not a limit to how high your fine will go? Honestly, I'm better off just going to Barnes and Noble.

P.S. As soon as my policy kicks in I'm going out and getting my gall bladder removed or something. No, I don't actually have any gall bladder issues but HELLO-- health insurance people!

I Left That Last Post Up So Long Because That's How Much I Love Erin

2010-02-18T08:33:00.002-05:00

Not, you know, 'cause I'm lazy or anything.

So, new developments in my life-- well, first of all, I got a new car! Yay!! Okay, so it's not really new, but it's new to me. Look how pretty:

We finally got rid of the Rodeo, Old Faithful. Even our favorite saying "But she's paid for!" was not compensating for all the things that were going south in that car. I mean, the automatic window didn't work, so every time I went through drive-thru I had to hop out like a jackass, or pull up past the window so I could open the door and reach back for the food offered by the kid who was looking at me as if to say Oriental people really can't drive. And then ALL the windows stopped working, so when people walked up to the car to say hello I would just kind of yell and make exaggerated gestures and facial expressions while the person stood there talking to me, probably wondering Why the hell doesn't she just roll down the fucking window already? Also, Jason's favorite game on road trips was Trap the Family in a Cloud of Farts. Nice.

The Land Rover has lots of amenities like a sun roof and moon roof and leather seats that will warm your ass, but honestly, I'm just thrilled about the cupholders. You just don't know how nice those things are until you have to go without them, driving around with a Super-sized Diet Coke between your legs so that by the time you get home your crotch is so numb someone could perform a root canal down there. (I really don't know what that means.)

Oh, and it snowed down here. For the first time since 2003. And just like back then, the power went out. But fortunately the outage only lasted for an hour or so this time. Which was a big relief, of course, but to be honest I was a little disappointed. I mean, watching all those episodes of Man vs. Wild kind of makes you long for a chance to test your survival skills. I was fully prepared to drink my own urine and hydrate myself via an enema when the lights came back on. No, there was never a problem with the water, but that's beside the point. I longed for the adventure and adrenaline rush demonstrated by Bear Grylls:

Libby actually posted that video first. I think she was trying to talk me into some sort of suicide/ enema pact. I swear, some people make friendship so awkward sometimes.

Turns Out Erin Is An Attention Whore Like Me, But A Clever One

2010-02-05T16:06:00.000-05:00

Okay, so Erin at Blogging for Dorks is having a contest. You should go check it out-- you can either write a short story or poem, or draw something, basically anything creative as long as it has to do with HER. My macaroni sculpture didn't turn out so well, so I decided to play around with some ink and pastels and came up with this:

Ta-da! Now go check out her blog.

This Is Probably Why the Indians Made Their Women Leave For a Week Every Month

2010-02-04T23:26:00.001-05:00

Thank God there are no more auditions with guest judges on American Idol because Victoria Beckham was really starting to creep me out.

I mean, how the hell did she get that Star Trek bun wound so tight on the top of her head-- with a tire tool? (And I can not believe that there isn't a more technical name for that thingie you turn to tighten the lug nuts when you change your tire. I was expecting Jason to say something like lugwrenchnut or cresent axle winder when I asked him.) Anyway, Posh must have a Korean hairdresser 'cause nobody ties that shit back tighter than a Korean mom. Trust me, my second mother (the one who was married to my dad when I was adopted) was Korean, and she used to pull my hair back so tight my chin would be where my nose was supposed to be. I think they do that because binding feet is illegal here, or maybe to shut us up. It was hard to talk smack when you had to talk like Beaker from the Muppets. And it's hard to run off too far when your eyes are now on the top of your head. Ahh, sweet childhood memories.

Did you ever see that movie The Time Machine? As the guy speeds through millions of years in his machine, you can see the plants and the world outside changing dramatically. That's how it felt when I looked at my house after a few days of concentrating on painting. It was as if centuries had passed and everything had become overgrown and apocalyptic. I would not have been surprised to have discovered that several different species had evolved and were now roaming around my house, communicating telepathically. Seriously, how can things get so messy so fast? I don't think Motley Crue or Ratt could have done more damage back in their heyday. So today I had to clean, I mean really clean-- not just go out and buy more of those cute scented oil things with the bamboo sticks and put them in every room.

So not a very fun day. Especially since I've also been super hormonal and irritable. I mean, I guess it's hormones. All I know is I've snapped at everyone and been so bitchy even I feel bad. And I don't even know what I'm mad about, which makes me even more grumpy. Maybe I'm just turning into one of those crochety old men. Ew, I hope I don't start growing long nose hairs.

Re-Posting: Almost As Bad As Re-Gifting

2010-01-31T10:51:00.000-05:00

I don't know about you, but I love leftovers. Also, I can't seem to think of anything witty to write about lately, so here goes an oldie but a goodie (and no, I can't believe I just used that lame cliche either) :

If Bill Cosby and Nellie Olsen Had a Really Ugly Love Child, This is What It Would Look Like

I can't believe I'm posting this hideous picture of myself, but I just had to share with you how thrilled I was to pay good money to have this done. So here I am, in all my double-chin glory people. Needless to say, this will not be my pic on eHarmony.

It took the stylist over an hour to curl and pin my hair up, and she used 51 bobby pins. I have a lot of hair. The end result was not as bad as I feared, but I still looked like some kind of pageant reject. Then it was off to get my first ever pedicure. I know, I know-- I should have my rights revoked as a woman. I told you I am not a girly girl.

It was a little strange sitting there in the massage chair with my feet soaking in scalding water. First, the chair was not made for short people so I was perched on there with my feet dangling like that Lilli Tomlin character, the little girl in the big rocking chair. (Please don't ask if you don't know because it will make me feel really old.) Second, I was morbidly fascinated with the length of the toenails of the lady sitting next to me. They were huge-- I'm not talking fashionable french-manicure kind of long. Her big toe looked like it belonged on a dead troll or something. It made me think of the character in the Dune books, Duncan Idaho. Jason's a big fan of the series and told me about Duncan, master of combat, using his big toenail as a weapon to slice open the throat of his opponent. Impressive.

It felt strange to have an Asian woman bowed at my feet, clipping and scrubbing them (which was not as painful as I had imagined, I think in part due to the boiling cauldron of water I had been instructed to soak my feet in). When she had finished painting my toenails, I had to wear a pair of their cheap foam flip flops because of course I hadn't worn the appropriate shoes for a pedicure. The first flimsy pair broke right away, so I had to get a second pair and walk through the mall ever so carefully, high-stepping it like I had on big flippers. Combine the neon flip flops with my over-the-top diva hair, and I looked like the craziest Oriental woman ever walking through that mall.

Oh, and in case you were wondering-- of course it rained that night. Of course it did. But the ceremony was nice anyway, although we had to pose for a million pictures. And the only thing I hate more than having my picture taken is being subjected to a round of hugs from squealing women. The bride pretty much spent the whole night being photographed-- she didn't even get to eat. When I was gathering my things to leave up in the dressing room, she followed me in barking to her new husband, "Get away from me-- I am so annoyed with you I can't even stand to look at your face!"

Yep, sounds about right.

But I Can Walk And Chew Gum at the Same Time

2010-01-28T09:11:00.000-05:00

You know those awesome women who can juggle ten different things at once? Like my friend Christi, who is the executive director for Habitat for Humanity, has four wonderful kids, and manages to have a social life. With, you know, real grown up friends that she sees outside of birthday parties. Okay, so she has confessed before that her youngest is somewhat feral, and her husband needs quite a bit of work (my assessment, not hers-- hi John!), but still-- SHE GOES TO REAL GROWN UP MOVIES AND EVERYTHING.

My point is that I, apparently, am not one of those women. When I focus on a project, everything else seems to fall to shit. Lately I have been painting like crazy, and loving every minute of it, but unfortunately the house is a mess and I'm ashamed to say that both my husband and son left with dirty socks on today. Oh, the shame. I also have done very little writing (you probably noticed that) and have once again waited until the last minute to write for my column in Hearing Health.

But man, I can't tell you how great it's been to paint. I wish I had never abandoned my art because it's really awakened something in me. Without sounding too much like a Charles Dickens novel, I can say that I'm finally overcoming a lifetime of self-doubt and am gaining some confidance at last. It feels great.

I have some possible leads on people interested in buying this kind of art, and as soon as I finish another painting I'm going to set up an Etsy shop. I hope to branch out to do some murals for children's rooms soon. Make money doing something I love-- that would be my idea of success. Hopefully that happiness won't sap all the humor out of me. I did experience a bout of cheerfulness the other day-- it was not pretty, people. Apparently I don't do perky well.

Sometimes I Just Like to See How Many People I Can Piss Off In One Day

2010-01-20T13:21:00.000-05:00

I usually don't talk politics much on here because 1. I usually don't know what the fuck I'm talking about 2. Two thirds of the time I really don't care. My attitude can pretty much be summed up with:

I feel passionately about equal rights for every person regardless of their race, religion or sexual preference, but as far as the economy goes, I'm probably the last person who should be debating how to get our country out of crisis. Have you seen my checking account? Enough said.

However, yesterday's election was just too rich not to mock. And so, I give you these cartoons. Enjoy-- there's sure to be something offensive for everyone.

If My Husband Loved Me He'd Let Me Win This Stupid Contest

2010-01-19T09:22:00.005-05:00

This is the latest project I've been working on. Jason asked me to paint it as a wedding gift for our friends-- I'm pretty sure he just didn't want to buy them a present. I'm almost done, just have to paint about A MILLION spectators in the stands, which is turning out to be way more time consuming than I had imagined. My next painting is going to have ONE person in it. That's it, no more. But hey, I've got the gay man in the black leather hat and the guy going Whoo-hoo, so that's a start. Hmm, I just noticed that number 64 on the bottom right looks like he's getting that poor guy on the ground from behind. Is it obvious to you guys too?

I don't know if I mentioned it or not, but a few weeks ago Jason and I started a weight loss competition. We never decided on what the prize would be, but it's pretty much understood that the person who wins is clearly the better human being, parent, and humanitarian. To make it fair (taking into account that guys have a higher muscle mass, metabolism, and pretty much lose weight just by walking across the room), Jason agreed to count two of his pounds to my one. I am still losing. And if anyone else tells me how thin his face is looking I'm going to stab them in the eye with a pencil.

Am not a sore loser. There's still a couple more weeks left to make a comeback. (And sneak butter into his food-- thanks Rachel!)

*UPDATE: Actually, I haven't been weighing myself because I was pretty sure that I hadn't lost any weight with all the cheating I've been doing. But I just stepped on the scale and guess what-- I think I'm winning now! Jason is probably going to say I got a big head start when I had the stomach bug, but whatever. I can't help it if his strategy of salads and exercise is turning out to be a poor one. He should have planned ahead and eaten some bad seafood or something. If he's not 100% dedicated, that's not my fault. Whooooooo-- I love winning!

Clearly She Cares Nothing About Family Honor

2010-01-15T10:45:00.003-05:00

My daughter will be three years old in March and still refuses to pee in the potty.

We've escaped a lot of harsh judgement because of her small stature, but more and more I'm starting to sense the silent condemnation of other moms every time Megan's Pull-Up peeks out from the back of her pants. To which I respond with a defiant look that clearly says Pffft, you Rich Americans, and lets them know that they are being racist and intolerant of cultural differences.

I've tried everything. The stickers, the candy, the pretty pink potty that plays a song when you use it. I told her that Santa Claus would come back and bring her a present if she went pee pee in the potty.

I told her she would turn into a princess if she went pee pee in the potty.

I've tried running water to get her in the mood, I've loaded her up with liquids, put big girl panties on her, everything that has ever been tried I have done it. This kid will not break. I've tried reasoning with her-- how does she ever expect to get a husband like this? I've been too easy on her, I should have bound her feet when she was a baby. She remains unimpressed.

It's not that she doesn't understand the concept, it's more like she has a fierce aversion to it. Like the potty will SWALLOW HER SOUL if she uses it.

Maybe it's just a mother/daughter conflict thing. Because she refuses to wear a dress, would not wear her princess costume at Halloween and we had to find velvet pants and a frilly sweater for her to wear as a flowergirl at my friend's wedding. And yet Heather just sent me this picture, taken at a fun place for kids she took her to this morning:

It's gonna be such a long adolescence, y'all....

Getting a Stomach Bug is Awesome for Fitting Into Your Bridesmaid Dress

2010-01-13T14:23:00.002-05:00

Damn, I guess as a featured blogger of the week I ought to actually write something this week.

For starters, the wedding went fine this past Saturday. Except for the fact that I finally came down with the stomach funk a few days prior and consequently was even more nauseous than usual at the thought of putting on a size 14 sleeveless bridesmaid dress and walking down the aisle in all my girdled glory. On the bright side, I think being sick helped take off a few pounds of water weight so yay twitchy colon!

Too bad it didn't help out my feet any. The shoe that everyone had chosen didn't come in wide, so my poor feet looked like two little hams that had been bound too tightly with twine. After 13 hours in them, my toes looked like this:

Ew, that picture is really gross.

One of the other bridesmaids put on some Crocs later in the night when we all went out to a club. I was envious, but come on-- if I had worn them everyone would have been like Look at that crazy Korean woman with the purple dress and plastic shoes. You know it's true.

I actually had a good time going out afterwards. It was fun going out without any kids and I can't remember the last time Jason and I danced together. Which kind of made me feel like I was in middle school and he kept telling me to stop rolling my eyes and that I was the least romantic person, but whatever. Every third or fourth song was a line dance, and as far as I could tell one of them was just a bunch of group hopping in various directions. We couldn't figure out any real pattern to it, although a few of our group went out there and tried. Jason was like Even So-and-So is out there bouncing around and I just had to shake my head at him because maybe a different verb would have been better considering So-and-So's sizeable implants. Jumping, said one of the groomsmen, trying to be helpful, next time say jumping, bro.

A magical night all around.

It's Like Getting Picked For Homecoming Court, Except You Don't Have to Be Pretty or Sleep Around with the Football Team

2010-01-10T22:28:00.001-05:00

Woooooo!!!!!

I'm the blogger of the week over at Studio 30 Plus! My reaction looks exactly like this hula hooping baby:

Wooooo-hooooo! Thanks to the Wondertwins, Jerrod and Jules! Man, can this week get any better-- first I had a really good hair day, then I actually had FUN at my friend's wedding, and now this. What next, the McRib coming back? (Shut it, Libby-- that sweet tangy goodness is heaven in the form of a pressed and formed little patty.)

Wooooooooo!!!!!!!!!

Proof I Was Once a Human Child

2010-01-07T11:44:00.001-05:00

Or teenager, anyway. These are the oldest known existing pictures of me. The girl in the photo with me, my best friend in high school, found them and posted them on Facebook for me. This was taken the day we graduated. I can't get over my neck-- virtually freaking swan-like! See that dress? I made that! Okay, the zipper is puckered up, but in my defense the material was a stretchy knit.

I made this jacket too-- I had forgotten all about how I sewed some of my clothes (just call me Molly Ringwald from Sixteen Candles) back then. In fact, I have no recollection of this pic either (must be the side effects of the shock treatments), which was apparently taken when I went to visit my friends at the University of Georgia during their freshman year. I had been accepted too but couldn't go because of money. I know, I know, sad huh? But I rocked it anyway with my super big earrings.

The last day of school senior year. Damn, I was cute! And I thought I was so ugly back then-- teenage self-esteem sucks.

Okay, this outfit I did not make. I have no defense for the Hammer pants except to say that it was the early 90's people (I think this is '90, maybe '91?), I'm sure you have plenty of big hair, big shoulder-pad pictures lurking in your attic.

It was really great seeing these old pictures. When my Dad passed away I looked for photos of me and there were none. Not a one. Granted, he had given me a handful of old school pictures and such when I moved out on my own, but it was only about half a dozen photos or so. I lost those during one of my many moves in my 20's, and so there are no pictures of me as a kid. That kind of makes me sad. And as much as I loved looking at these, it was a little bittersweet. I looked like I had the world by the balls back then.

Maybe it was just the Hammer pants.

It Might Snow Here So I Am Arming Myself With Holy Water and Silver

2010-01-05T08:52:00.002-05:00

So after making it through December barely breaking out a light jacket, it is finally getting cold here. I mean, even I am cold-- I believe I've shared before how I lean toward the hot-natured side. I am either a shapeshifter and don't know it, or I have been perimenopausal since middle school. Which would actually explain quite a lot.

This week, due to a cold front I suspect was conjured up by a lot of bitter people up north, there is a possibility of snow. Which has everyone in a panic down here. Snow is one of the more horrifying signs of the Apocolypse, or so I've been told. Roads close, schools close, people stock up on canned goods and run around screaming "The Yankees are coming! The Yankees are coming!"

I've lived here for over 25 years now, and I still can't get used to the way everything shuts down at the lightest dusting of snow. When my Dad was in the Army, we lived in Alaska for three years and I remember being waist deep in snow by Halloween. Yet somehow we managed to go on with our lives and maintain some semblance of civilization. Down here, snow brings mass chaos and destruction. It's like the minute drivers see that white stuff they are compelled to jerk their steering wheels at sharp angles and run themselves into ditches like lemmings. A few years ago we actually had enough snow to stick-- not enough to make a snowman or anything crazy like that, but apparently an inch and a half was enough to make the power go out for several days. (I'm not entirely convinced that it wasn't some guy at the power plant who sabotaged the whole operation, shouting "Save yourselves, the Beast is upon us!" to his coworkers.) We were huddled around the fireplace and burning candles like it was the 1800's for days, eating Vienna sausages and Little Debbie snacks.

So if you don't hear from me for awhile and you see that it has snowed down here, pray for me people. Pray for my soul.

Anybody Know the Key to Sustainable Nuclear Fusion?

2010-01-04T14:39:00.003-05:00

'Cause I just realized that in about a year and a half from now it will be time for my 20 year high school reunion. I didn't go to my ten year, although then I could have respectably told everyone that we owned a restaurant. I hated high school and really had no desire to see most of the people I went there with-- but now if I don't go it might look like I'm hiding or something, especially since I still live in the same area. So my options are: 1. move to Kenya or 2. do something really spectacular before then, like get my PhD in 12 months through an online course. Or become the new record holder for eating the most ribs within a 24 hour period. Maybe I'll just go in a bloody prom dress-- that usually discourages a lot of smalltalk.

Whatever I decide, I should probably start working on it now because I have a bad habit of procrastinating. For example, the wedding that I'm in is this Saturday. So I have approximately 5 days to lose 40 pounds. I should be working on that right now instead of blogging. I was kind of hoping that the stomach bug passing around our house would drop a few pounds for me, but wouldn't you know it, I am still going strong. I'm like the guy in that movie Major Payne when the kids try to exact revenge by loading up his cupcake with laxatives and all that happens is him passing a gigantic toot. Seriously, I'm pretty sure if a Stephen King/ The Stand scenario happened it would be me and 9 or 10 other people left fighting the forces of evil. Which would suck because I am really lazy and probalby wouldn't bother walking thousands of miles for an epic showdown.

Anyway, here is my new article in Hearing Health.

And I joined this, and you should hurry up and join too so later we can be shitty to newcomers and torment them with some sort of initiation:

Visit Studio 30 Plus

Oh, and this post by Mandy was freaking hilarious. But don't go read it until you've left a comment here, dammit.

Men Are Such Pussies

2010-01-01T12:16:00.002-05:00

When they are sick. The stomach bug has been making the rounds this week at our house. I am the last man standing. I feel like holding up my sword in the middle of the livingroom and yelling, "There can be only one!" (Come on, I can't be the only chick that's seen Highlander.)

Anyway, I am very nurturing and comforting when my children are sick, but according to Jason, I suck as a nurse for adults. I guess maybe it is callous of me to watch Bizarre Foods when someone else is nauseous, or to make comments like "I bet you're going to have fun at the bachelor party this Saturday eating OYSTERS and drinking JAGER." (They are starting off at Rhinehart's Oyster Bar for our friend's bachelor party.) It doesn't help that my husband is the loudest sick person. Ever. When he vomits it sounds as if demons are being exorcised from his soul. Oh, and he's one of those why-should-you-sleep-if-I'm-not-sleeping people. So he would nudge me every 45 minutes or so to update me: "I've got the chills", "My legs ache" and "What does it mean when your face is numb?" To which I may have answered, "Your face is probably about to fall off." It was late, people.

The kids have been cooped up for too long this week. They remind me of a wolf we saw at a zoo called Hollywild in South Carolina. It's a refuge for retired animal stars, like Barbara Eden, and has a large safari area where you can feed giraffes and stuff from the tour bus. It's a fun place to visit, but I always feel so bad for the animals. Like that wolf I mentioned, who paced circles around this tree all day long, slowly losing it's mind. And there was an orangutan there who knew sign language and when I tried to sign with him ("Want play?" "Want eat?"), he kept signing "Out.' I know, I know-- I wanted to break him out of jail right then, but he would have probably torn my face off. I know on principle I shouldn't take my kids to zoos and circuses, but hey, flashing neon swords! And cute little baby monkeys!

Don't judge me, people. I'm just trying to appease the hostiles.

P.S. The ad on my last post made me think of this:

Clean Colons for Clean Minds

2009-12-30T14:50:00.002-05:00

Don't you just love the ads in your local paper/ magazine?

Colon Hydrotherapy: I had no idea that shooting water up your ass can treat allergies, memory loss (?), brittle hair and nails, and headaches. Hunh. And you thought YOUR job sucked.

I love the idea of an Express Gynocologist-- I wonder if they guarantee to check all your fluids and get you out of there is fifteen minutes or less. And that "Japanese Therapy Massage"-- I can't believe they are still in business after several busts for their "happy ending" package.

Anyway, I guess all of you are finalizing your exciting New Year's Eve plans. We, however, have the plague circulating around the house this week so it's vomit-cleaning duty for me, yay! Have fun for me. Oh, and since it's that time of year, might as well post my New Year's resolutions:

Eat healthier, exercise, etc. etc.
Get published more
Get some cartoons published
Quit smoking (okay, so I don't smoke, but I'd like to improve my success ratio here)

Happy New Year's, bitches!

Updated: I just noticed in the Express Gyn ad : Emergency Contraception. Nice.

The Christmas Post

2009-12-27T11:19:00.002-05:00

Hope everyone had a great Christmas. Jason and I have always had a tradition that we don't buy each other gifts because Christmas is such a drain on the old account as it is, and instead we wait for the after Christmas deals in January and buy ourselves what we want. I like it that way-- to me, Christmas is for the kids. Except this year he went ahead and got me something anyway. Don't you hate when someone you made an agreement with goes ahead and buys you something anyway, leaving you to feel like an ass on Christmas? How selfish of them.

Like a lot of other people this year, I tried to scale back, but I still went a little overboard for the kids-- I can't help it. We had such dismal holidays as a kid that there's nothing I love better than making them special for Jay and Megan. Remember when I said that Evil Stepmother did a little stint as an Avon lady, and how we used to get crappy gifts like decorative soaps? Ever tried to dress up little seashell soaps? Or play little seashell soap family? Sucks. It wouldn't have been so bad if we'd been poor but with lots of love like a Dolly Parton song, but I don't remember much joy at all from my childhood. So it pretty much just sucked all the way around.

Anyway, that's why I tend to spend more than I should and then go upstairs and put on my crazy woman red lipstick singing I Feel Pretty. It's worth it.

Jay was so cute in his gift giving. He drew a picture for me and made a reindeer out of Bendaroos for his grandmother, but the best present of all was the one he gave to Jason:

He found this book by the sidewalk while we were out walking one day and immediately wrapped it and proudly put it under the tree. So funny.

Needless to say we did not make it to Disneyworld. No matter how hard I tried to make the incoming money and outgoing expenses reconcile, the little numbers just laughed at me like Are you fucking kidding? I did see an ad, though, about a special Disney is having where they give you a free ticket when you do some community service. I just hope they won't have me in an orange jumpsuit picking up trash or anything. Please don't throw soda cans at me.

Lots of Thanking and Sucking Up

2009-12-17T10:21:00.003-05:00

I just discovered a cool site called Double Sifted (I know, it makes me think of double fisted too). It's a compilation of some great posts by a wide collection of bloggers. Why am I mentioning it? Because I'm on there, of course. (I'm always happy to link someone who says how awesome I am.) You can find me here and here and here and here. I've been browsing around there and found some really good bloggers.

Also, Aion highlighted me as his profile of the day on Dec 15. He still hasn't told me what he googled to find me, and his review comes with warnings for some reason, but thanks for the recommendation anyway.

Hey, thanks everybody who became a fan of my cartoons. Wow, some of you have some great secret identities. I would have never guessed YOU to be a 14 year-old Malaysian boy in real life. Hunh. It's kind of cool to see all of you rambling around in there like politicians in a whorehouse, careful not to make eye contact. I, too, have tried to protect my dirty little secret, so that I can post things like this without fear of censor:

Apparently, this is what happens to your goatee when you go down on Angelina Jolie.

Not quite as bad as what happens when you go down on Rosie O'Donnell, though.

So if you're over on the Kimmie Haha fan site, keep this blog on the down low too. 'Cause a girl's gotta have a safe place to talk about her vagina, right? And don't worry about me outing you, 'cause I'm cross pollinating so much lately that I'm scared I'm going to write "Hey great post about itchy assholes" on somebody's wall that is an innocent bystander sent there by a friend.

As you can see, I still have not found the Spellcheck on Blogger's new editor. And I've come to the conclusion that you guys are purposefully witholding the info to see just how dumb I really am. Spelling errors make me feel naked. Horrible sentence structure, not so much. But you already knew that, didn't you?

Yes, I Am a Horrible Person, But You Should Still Help Me

2009-12-14T14:15:00.005-05:00

Remember when I mentioned that I was playing around with some cartoons? Well, I'm really kinda liking it. I wish I was smart enough to set up a website, but for now I'll have to settle for the fan page I created on Facebook. Yep, here comes the big pitch: I need you guys to become a fan of Kimmie Haha. I'm going to have an inferiority complex until my numbers reach a respectable 500 or so. And I'm gonna need you to bug your friends into becoming a fan. Hey, if Mr. No Talent Dan Cook can become successful through Facebook and go on to make crappy movies with Jessica Simpson, why can't I?

Become successful, that is. Not make crappy Jessica Simpson movies.

Okay, chances of me making money from this are close to zilch, especially since I can't even set up a site so people can give me their credit card numbers. The real reason is to feed my ego. There, I said it.

Don't worry about me invading your personal space-- I won't friend you unless you send me a request. (My first name, then Hamilton, then Waters.) It's kind of like how I wouldn't say hi to anyone in the halls in high school until they said hi first, unless of course I was really good friends with them. I don't know what I thought would happen-- like they'd recoil in horror and be like Ugh, I can't believe that little nobody said hi to me. I hope no one else heard it. I know-- I have rejection issues.

The other night at my friend's bachelorette party I think I sort of tried to talk her out of marrying her fiancee. I think that probably makes me the most awesome bridesmaid ever. I could be wrong. Libby told me that my duty as a bridesmaid was to gain as much weight as possible to make the bride look better. (Of course, the bride is a size FREAKING 2, and they STILL had to take IN her wedding dress.) So I think I'm going to make it up to her by going off my diet. Because I? Am totally selfless like that.

Oh, and this is for you, Steamy:

I'm Such a Bad Bloggie Friend

2009-12-07T15:25:00.003-05:00

I swear I am the Worst. Blogging. Friend. Ever. Second only to how bad of a friend I am in real life. I was reading some epic blogger on blogger tributes , and then when Libby mentioned me in her blog (link, link link) there was a comment from Chief, who is AWESOME, saying that she's tried to get my attention but to no avail. I felt so bad! I love reading other bloggers, but I don't read nearly as much as I used to. Mainly because Megan has gotten so much faster at chewing through her knots, and there's always the constant annoying chorus of I'm hungry, I'm hungry buzzing in my ear. (Seriously, I'm beginning to worry that my two year-old might be a little slow because I have showed her at least a dozen times how to use the stove and she still keeps burning everything.) That's why I love Facebook so much-- I can throw some cookies across the room and have just enough time to check everyone's status and insert a sentence or two myself before Megan comes trotting back.

This is also why it takes me forever to get through a book. And I'm not talking about Hemingway or Steinbeck here-- I'm talking about flimsy little paperbacks with shiny shoes and purses on the cover. I just can't get into a good Sookie/ weretiger sex scene when there's a lot of noise and commotion, and there is almost always a lot of noise and commotion over here. Jason, on the other hand, can zip through a 500 page novel in no time. It's as if there is some sort of invisible forcefield surrounding his recliner through which only his noxious gases can pass. He can totally block out all the yelling and fighting like some sort of zen master. Must be a guy thing.

On an unrelated note (or maybe not), I was noticing a trend in my choice of footwear the other day when I bought a new pair of shoes. Now that summer has long gone and even I can't justify flipflops anymore, I've broken out my winter shoes. Which, interestingly enough, seem to mostly consist of the slip-on variety. Because I just can't spare that extra three seconds to insert my heel into a shoe...? It's not like I have to rush out the door to fight fires or anything. I guess I'm just that lazy.

I realize that some of you are knee deep in snow already, but down here I still don't even wear a jacket on most days. Of course, I've always been hot-natured. Must be all my natural insulation. Or inner wrath.

This Is What I Did Today Instead of Cleaning

2009-12-01T15:08:00.001-05:00

So Christi posted several links on FB to a cartoonist, Natalie Dee, who is funny and talented and by all appearances, successful. She did this because she knew A) it would drive me mad with jealousy and cause me to claw at my face, thus exacting revenge for me standing her up when she was in town Thanksgiving weekend and B) it would, at least temporarily, light a creative fire under my ass.
Then it hit me-- why couldn't I whip up some cartoons to go along with my daily musings? And then I could put them on t-shirts and cards and sell them ~~because why should everyone have unlimited free access to my awesomeness~~ to raise money for all the underprivaleged orphans in Africa. (By the way, I am LOVING the new editor on Blogger-- why am I always the last to find these things out?? Do you know how long I've been yearning to do the strike out word thing? The world is my oyster now, people.)

Anyway, Cafepress allows you to upload designs and sell items with no upfront cost. You probably don't make much profit off of it, but it's a safe way to test out some ideas without having to come out of pocket and end up with 150 lime green t-shirts in your attic. Now all I have to do is come up with a quirky, cute-sloppy (as opposed to crappy-sloppy) stuff. This is a rough, rough, ROUGH draft I was playing around with. Pay no attention to the smeary colors, I was experimenting with waterpaint.

Yellow Trash Diaries: Pearls of Wisdom from My Couch.

Meh, it needs a lot of work, but who knows?

Shit, where's the Spellcheck on this thing???

P.S. A few ideas I had for cards/ t shirts:

Congratulations.
Your joy is like burning acid in my face.

My mother-in-law's V disguise needs maintenance.

Sarah Palin's V disguise needs maintenance.

Always a Bridesmaid

2009-11-20T14:18:00.000-05:00

I'm going to be a bridesmaid again. And you all know how much I love that.

But let me preface this post by saying that had my friend Heather not asked me to be in her wedding, I would have been PISSED. Still, I hate being a bridesmaid-- does that make any sense? Of course it does.

Normally, a photo like this would be the only recent picture I would allow out for public viewing:

But due to constant badgering from SOME OF YOU, and also to prove a point that the sight of me in formal wear will in no way bring joy to anyone's most memorable day, here is a picture of me from the wedding back in July:

Yes, I realize it's only a shot from behind-- there are those of you who read this who frighten easily. (And also those who possess mad photoshop skills and have unlimited access and power over the internet.) I have no idea why my hand is on my own ass-- I'm hoping it's not some sort of nervous tick.

People, trust me on this: no one should ask a woman in her late thirties to be a bridesmaid-- we just end up looking like drag queens in our shiny dresses and overdone makeup. And it pisses off the groomsmen because they want a pretty little thing they can get drunk and sleep with after the reception.

Anyway, this is a picture of a gown one of the other bridesmaids suggested:

A perfectly lovely dress, to be sure-- if you have the figure of Marilyn Monroe and not Wilfred Brimley. If I were to squeeze myself in that thing my eyes would bulge out and I would look like one of those big goldfish.

This is the dress I'm voting for:

Love the color (eggplant-- when Heather first said purple I had horrible visions of ghastly lavender gowns), love how it's loose and flowy, even better would be a wrap to cover up my big arms. It's either that or this one:

And yes, that was actually listed as a bridesmaid dress.

C'est Fini!

2009-11-18T13:26:00.002-05:00

I have a problem.

Yes, there are so many directions I could take with that, but for the purposes of this post, let's stay on subject, shall we?

I get these bursts of creativity, but very rarely do I finish a project. I present to you Exhibit A:

This is a picture I painted for Jay, who has been obsessed with dinosaurs since the age of 2. It was supposed to be a birthday present. His birthday was in February. As you can see, it is still not completed.

Next we have a dress I made after being inspired by my friend Susan.

It is now almost winter and this dress still is not hemmed and doesn't have button holes, or buttons for that matter. Also, Megan has developed a strong aversion to dresses and won't let me put it on her. Awesome. I hope Meg likes pink and brown, Libby.

If you've read Erin's blog you know that she is a crocheting fool and whips out these ridiculously cute hats and things at an incredible pace. Seriously, I think she runs a mini sweat shop with her four kids. Seeing how adorable her stuff is inspired me to start knitting and crocheting again. And look, I actually finished!

It helps that this is the easiest pattern ever. Hence, the other hats.

It would be nice if I could parlay my little hobbies into some sort of business, but I fear that I have neither the stamina nor the tact needed. For instance, I would want prospective buyers to have attractive children, that way the merchandise would look better upon delivery. And people might take it the wrong way if I wrote THIS HAT WON'T LOOK AS CUTE IF YOUR KID IS UGLY on my website. And customers tend to make unreasonable demands, like wanting stuff to fit. I guess I could always write PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU HAVE A FREAKISHLY BIG HEAD under the sizing.

It would be nice, though, to sit back watching t.v. and knitting, yelling HEY, I'M TRYING TO WORK HERE if the kids got too loud or Jason asked about dinner or whatever. Too bad I work at such a slow pace I'd have to charge $200 a hat to make it worthwhile.

But at least I'm getting better at finishing stuff. That falls under the self-improvement umbrella, right? I'll be an enlightned being in no time.

I Hate Being Healthy

2009-11-16T14:39:00.000-05:00

Middle age sucks.

When you're young you're carefree and beautiful-- seriously, even ugly people are pretty in their 20's. When you're old you can say and do pretty much whatever you want and you no longer torture yourself about fat rolls and diets. Sure there's the whole dementia and impending death thing looming over you, but a fair trade for being able to eat without thinking about calories if you ask me. I can't wait until I am old enough to wear elastic waistbands openly without fear of judgement.

I haven't really cared about my appearance very much these last couple of years, and boy does it show. I've finally come to the point where I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a store window and said Whoa Nellie, this has gone far enough already. So I've been trying to lose weight by eating smaller, more frequent and healthier meals as opposed to my usual routine of skip breakfast, have a big lunch, and eat until I can no longer breathe at dinner. I've also been exercising. (Um, just not today because I'm taking the time to write this thoughtful little piece here for you. Seriously, the sacrifices I make for you guys.)

The problem with this brilliant plan is that 1. I have very little willpower and 2. I like quick results. I guess I got spoiled back in the day when I could drop 15 pounds in 3 days on the cocaine diet with all my waitress brethen. Since that's no longer an option, looks like I'll have to do it the old fashioned way-- slowly but surely. Which sucks. To make matters worse, I think my body is pissed off at me for the years I abused and neglected it. Not to mention taking it for granted. I used to have the metabolism of a teenage boy-- I could and did eat like a full grown man and rarely gained any weight. And did I appreciate that? Hell no, instead I was taking over the counter diet pills starting in middle school and always hated the way my body looked. Looking back I'm thinking Damn I was HAWT-- why didn't I realize it??

So now my body is having it's revenge, and I'm struggling just to lose a few pounds. Time... it's a fucker and it always wins. So if you are reading this and you are in your 20's, enjoy it. Run around naked, flaunt your stuff. Trust me, your time is coming soon enough.

Yes, dieting is making me cynical and bitchy. Bitchier, that is. Have a nice fucking day.

Best Damn Poem Ever

2009-11-05T09:53:00.000-05:00

I just noticed this on the package of noodles from the Asian market:

It almost brought a tear to my eye. And I thought the directions on the back were cute, with little helpful hints like "For fry: put little oil in pan."

You are at the bottom of my heat, people.

Which reminded me of the show I saw last night on Discovery Health called Strange Sex. There was a woman on there who suffered from Persistent Genital Arousal Disorder, in which the patient was almost constantly in a state of arousal and had to masturbate often to relieve herself. She went on to relate what a burden this condition was, and how it was close to ruining her life. The doctor explained that people with this condition often experienced 20, 30, sometimes up to 50 orgasms a day. Well, by chance this woman started taking some medication to help her stop smoking and one of the unexpected side effects was a relief from her PGAD. Apparently, the meds acted as a Dopamine inhibitor, which prevented the onset of arousal. The patient went on to say what a relief this medication was, and how she finally felt like a normal person.

Later it was revealed that the woman had chosen to no longer take the medication, and preferred to deal with her condition "without drugs."

You are at the bottom of my heat.

Today's Secret Ingredient Is...

2009-11-03T14:12:00.000-05:00

So the other day Jason was watching America's Test Kitchen and gets this great idea for us to make the Lo Mein with Pork. He was so inspired, in fact, that he went out and bought a new stainless steel pan that I'm pretty sure was forged from some of the steel from the Trade Towers-- like an entire floor's worth. Seriously, we no longer have to argue about getting a gun for home security because this thing is heavy enough to bash in an ogre's head.

He wanted to buy the pan because supposedly I have ruined all of our other cookware. Apparently, I don't know how to wash non-stick pans. But I say if those fuckers had really been non-stick like they claim to be I wouldn't have had to scrub the crap out of them to begin with. This is why I shun all cast iron pans, although Jason acts as if they are the holy grail of kitchenware. I'm sorry, I just can't handle a pan that you can't wash. I mean, how the hell am I supposed to clean it? Wiping it out just doesn't work for me.

Anyway, did I mention that this dish had EIGHTEEN different ingredients? Yeah, so I had to make a special trip to the Asian market to get some of the ingredients. I decided to take Jay along because hey, this counts as teaching him about our heritage, right? When we walked in the first thing he said was "It smells funny in here." I shushed him and grinned nervously at the other patrons, half-expecting to be tossed out as impostors. The first thing on my list was Asian egg noodles. To my amazement, I found that there were two entire aisles devoted entirely to noodles. It was as if the clouds had parted and a stream of golden light was illuminating the bounty before me.

The other ingredients were a little tricky to find. And of course there were a lot of exotic things that simultaneously repulsed and delighted Jay in a way that only an eight year-old boy can be. There were some fist-sized wedges of solidified pig's blood, various things with tentacles, and something soaking in a bucket on the floor (and how does that pass health inspection?).

Preparing the dish was a complicated sequence that required both Jason and me. It was like being on one of those chef shows and I swear at one point during our bickering Jason called me a donkey, but I can't really be sure. Finally, after a ridiculous amount of work, it was finished. We gathered around and heaped large portions onto our plates, giddy with anticipation for what was surely going to be our finest meal yet. We eagerly took our first bites, and then--

Silence.

It sucked. Big Donkey Balls.

The lesson here? Tip the Chinese delivery guy extra the next time you order out.

P.S. It occurred to me that some of you might be thinking I thought she said they owned a restaurant once? What's the deal with her being such a shitty cook? The answer to that, my friends, is that Jason's family are the cooks. Jason is a wonderful cook, it comes very naturally to him. His family had been in the restaurant business for a long time. I pretty much handled the front of the house-- the cash register, customers, servers, etc. Oh, and during prep I was in charge of the cold stuff, like chopping produce. I'm an awesome chopper. But cooking? Not my thing.

Writing From the Heart

2009-10-28T14:00:00.000-04:00

I'm all stuffy and sneezy today and all I want to do is watch sappy movies and stuff myself with comfort food. But then I logged on here and Woot! Woot! I'm a rock star-- look at all my new peeps! Welcome, welcome!

I finally got my loot from Brandon from the Travel Channel.

I love how they come in sour cream and onion flavor. I showed them to some kids that had come over to watch Ice Age 3 yesterday, and they were appropriately grossed out and awed. I kept thinking that when they got home they were going to tell their parents how I ate crickets and everyone would just assume it was because I'm Asian. Awesome. Soon I'll have a reputation and mystique to rival Boo Radley.

Yesterday I cooked a roast that was as big as my ass. And it wasn't one of those pot roasts you plop in the crock pot, either. (Don't you love a crock pot? No matter what you throw in there, voila-- eight hours later it turns into something meaty and carroty and yummy-- even if you didn't have carrots to start with.) This was a top sirloin roast that weighed as much as a small baby. (BTW, I never realized how many different frickin' roasts there are-- top round, bottom round, tri-tip, round tip--they all look the same to me. I just shoved my shiny new meat thermometer in that bad boy and stuck it in the oven.) Anyway, I have to say it turned out pretty good. I'm rather proud of myself. Meat has always been a little intimidating to me-- I can never tell when it's done. I end up poking it around every once in awhile until I finally shrug, cross my fingers, and take it out. 9 out of 10 times I end up over-cooking it.

If that last paragraph seemed pointless, it's because I've decided to just throw whatever comes to mind within a short span of time. I recently sent in an article to Hearing Health that I wrote pretty much at the last minute because I am the worst procrastinator ever. I was sure that the editor was going to email me asking what kind of crap was I trying to pawn off, but instead she praised it. Hunh. I realized that happens quite a bit-- things that I put a lot of thought into get luke warm responses more often than not, but things that I bang out in one sitting get compliments and accolades. Go figure. I guess writing is best when it is from the heart. So I've decided to whip out my posts with little thought, editing, or much time involved. You're welcome.

What Comes Out When I Have Too Much Time To Myself

2009-10-21T10:26:00.000-04:00

Another distinction between me and Dooce (you know, besides the obvious difference in class-- as in money, not good taste. Because as any loyal reader knows, I am just oozing with the latter.)

Whoops, I believe I left another sentence fragment hanging. Sorry, I have a problem with paragraphed asides that run amuck.

Anyway, as I was saying, unlike Dooce, who probably never reads her comments (which is why I never write one on her blog, because seriously, after #246, what's the point?), I savor each and every morsel you leave me. I take your words and swirl them around in my mouth for a bit, and then raise my hands to the heavens and shout them for all the gods to hear. That's how much I love you guys. Just saying. (Come on 160!)

So, as I write this, Megan is off with Heather and her mom's club for playgroup. Um, without me. Okay, so I wussed out. Heather and I take turns watching each other's kids so we can get things done. And I have a lot to get done. As you can tell.

I know those other moms are probably very nice women. I'm just not ready. I get all hive-y and uncomfortable just thinking about it. Maybe I have social anxiety. What? I can't have social anxiety? The Bloggess is allowed to use that but not me-- I'm just a cantankerous old bitch? Well, maybe...

We might forgo the fun family trip to the swamp of death in November. Jason and I were discussing trying to go to Disneyworld in December. There are some really great deals on lodging, although we may have to pawn some stuff/ melt our gold teeth to buy the tickets for the theme parks. ($78 for one adult for one day???) I really want to take the kids before Jay is too old to enjoy it. If you never went to Disneyworld your whole childhood is just fucked, right? Case in point, I never got to go. Jason went a few times as a kid and he says he remembers staying all day and walking until there were blisters on his feet. Damn right-- at those prices we're gonna get our money's worth. We're going to squeeze every last drop of fun out of those tickets until everyone is crying and/or bleeding. Reminds me of the few times my family went out to eat when I was a kid-- we'd always go to a buffet like Ryan's and my parents would keep sending us back to get more food and wouldn't let us be finished until there was a half-digested yeast roll coming out of one or more of our orifices.

That's called makin' memories, people.

Going To Try Interacting More With People Without Biting Them Or Throwing Poop

2009-10-20T08:36:00.000-04:00

So my arch nemesis, Dooce, (we're rivals, she just doesn't realize it) put out like 10 posts the other day. Which is probably why she makes $40K a month and no one is exclaiming I'm first, I'm first! in my comments. Okay, so I've been kinda slack, and you guys are looking a little wilty. Time to water and shovel a little shit on you.

First, Jay has finally broken into the little clique up at the court. He's been playing with the kids pretty much every day after school and one afternoon a few of them came over here. I couldn't be happier for him-- this is what I've been hoping for forever. I can help him with his math and spelling, but I can't make friends for him, you know? I'm sure this will slim him down, too. I think the main reason for his extra weight is that he has no one to play with outside on a regular basis. I can send him outside to play, but how fun is that by yourself? Now I have a hard time getting him to come in.

Megan kept asking where Jay was going, and when I told her he was playing with his friends, she said, Where my friends? So I went out to the court with her yesterday, and tomorrow I'm going to take her somewhere with my friend Heather and her moms club. Feel that drop in temperature? Yeah, that would be hell freezing over.

I don't know why I don't just give in to the power of the moms club-- I suppose it's inevitable that I eventually succumb. It's just that I would rather get a root canal than make small talk with a group of strangers for two hours. I'm sure they're all very nice people-- it's me, not them. I think I'm becoming like Anne Rice's vampires-- as they age they become more and more withdrawn and eventually freeze into a stone-like condition.

The thing is, I used to be very sociable. I loved going out every night and my friends were the most important thing in the world to me. And everyone wanted to party with Kimmie Ha Ha. Maybe it's because of the whole wife and mother thing, or because I'm not in a constant drunken state. Alcohol really loosened my inhibitions a lot.

Think the moms club would frown on me doing Jager bombs before noon?

I'm Thinking About Coming Out of the Closet

2009-10-14T13:59:00.000-04:00

Okay, first of all, I've been trying to play it cool, like I haven't noticed the little gain two followers, lose a follower dance going on here for the last month or so. Seriously, I've been teetering in the mid 150's forever and in case you are a lurker and had considered committing to me, you should probably know that I expect that commitment to be TIL DEATH DO US PART. I'm that girl that you slept with after 12 shots of Jager and now won't stop calling you. So please, don't toy with my emotions. I'm very fragile you know.

I've been thinking about coming out of the closet with my blog. You know, as part of my big Take-Over-The-World plan (it's a long term project, okay?). A lot of people that know me in real life keep remarking how surprisingly funny I am on that social networking site that I talk about entirely too much on here. They are so astounded, in fact, that it's a little insulting at times. Like when you fix yourself up a little and people fall over from shock like you normally go out in a burlap sack with dirt rings in the creases of your wrists and neck. Geesh, am I really that boring in person?

Anyway, what's the point of anonymity if I want to be a writer? I need to learn to put myself out there-- no guts no glory. This is me and I make no excuses.

Of course, I'd have to make a few surgical extractions first. Hey, I want to be bold, not ostracized. They publicly stone people down here for some of the stuff I've written about.

On an unrelated note, all this discussion and controversy over flu shots had me thinking about the two scars I have, one on each upper arm, from some kind of mega vaccines they gave me when I entered the country. They must have thought I had the Black Plague because those needles were huge-- one is really deep and about the circumference of a straw, and the other is the size of a nickel and what the hell kind of needle were those people using for God's sake? Personally, I think they were implanting some sort of Matrix-like tracking device in me so that they could keep track of my whereabouts. I keep expecting some random scientist to dart out from behind a tree and take my measurements, flip me over to inspect my reproductive organs, all the while jotting down notes onto a clipboard before releasing me back into my natural habitat and disappearing. Call me paranoid if you want, but we'll see who's right when the documentary comes out.

Satan Says He Is Looking For Companionship and Is a Fan of Summer

2009-10-09T13:37:00.000-04:00

I should have clarified in my last post that I don't think God himself has actually joined Facebook (I've heard he's a bit old-fashioned, stone tablets and whatnot), rather there's an app that you can join that will send you messages from God. I think it's called What God Wants You To Know Today or something like that. So I guess Facebook is like the priest who mediates and interprets these messages. And yes, after your comments I did search for God on FB but came up with no matches. Of course then I had to look up Satan and about 500 showed up in the results. Go figure.

I know everything will turn out okay as far as Jason's employment decisions go. He is getting ever more frustrated with his manic boss, but he would never leave without having something solid lined up. Also, he's got a very employable skill-- he can actually fix things. Which apparently is a much more valuable commodity in the job market than being able to put pretty words together, or watch YouTube videos of dancing babies. I'm not saying it's right, but that's just the way it is, much to my dismay.

I don't know why risk and change scare me so much. I should take more chances. I should have more fun. As long as heights and sharks and small spaces aren't involved. I mean, is it really so unreasonable that I prefer my recreation not to be life-threatening? Case in point, we are trying to plan a trip to the Okefenokee swamp at the end of November, and Jason wants to take the kids out on the kayak. With the alligators. The last time we went, Jay was a baby, and I remember the water being packed with alligators. We rode on a fairly big tour boat, so it was fine, but no way do I want to be perched in a narrow, shaky little kayak while the gators take turns trying to flip us over. I'm thinking Megan would make a very tasty little morsel.

Jason really should have married a more adventurous girl. One who would have liked rock climbing, parasailing, and all that other crap. Instead he chose to go for a trophy wife.

Okay, it's not nice to laugh that hard. Asshole.

God Does Not Want To Be My Friend

2009-10-08T12:36:00.000-04:00

So I think I've mentioned before that Jason is not exactly thrilled with his current job, the one that he took in January for the stability and benefits. Some of the people he works with are a pain, but mostly I think it's because my husband is just not going to be happy working for someone else. His father was always an entrepreneur (and not just during his little stint as a cocaine dealer--his Dad, not Jason), and I think Jason's got the same fire in his veins. I know that Jason could make a lot more money working for himself(he did a job the other morning that he could have charged 2 weeks pay for if he still owned his own company), but there's always that roller coaster ride that comes with it. Not always knowing when you'll get paid, for one. And I kind of like eating every day-- but that's just me.

Anyway, a guy that Jason's known for years and used to be his competition keeps approaching him about making Jason a partner in his business. The guy always has a hard time finding good help, and he's getting a little old to keep working at the pace that he has been. They're going to discuss it, and if the terms are right, I think Jason is going to take the opportunity. Which would mean (yay!) more money, and who doesn't like that, right? But it makes me nervous. I don't completely trust the guy, and it's a risk. I'm not so good with risk, if you haven't noticed. But like Patsy Kline, I'm going to stand by my man.

Or was that Loretta Lynn? Shit, I don't know. I don't listen to country music. Which kind of makes me a pariah down here.

Oh, by the way, I noticed the other day that even God has joined Facebook. I saw where someone had received a message from God to look out for signs, possibly in graffiti or something like that. I'm just wondering why God has not sent me a friend request. I would totally help him level up in the Mafia Wars, or loan him some cows or something for his farm. My feelings are a little hurt. And I really wanted to check out some photos of Moses wasted at the Christmas Party again. Hmph.

How Bizarre

2009-10-05T21:29:00.000-04:00

Remember a few posts back when I mentioned Andrew Zimmern from Bizarre Foods and how he was deviating from his usual diet of testicles and fat grubs to do a new show? Well, I got an email from Brandon over at the Travel Channel (gee, I hope it was okay to use his real name) basically asking if I'd consider posting a link for a promo to Bizarre World, and would I like some flavored crickets.

Hell yeah, of course I would (post a link, that is). I'm such a sucker for a little flattery and recognition. Plus, I love Andrew Zimmern, and my son thinks it's the coolest show ever.

When I told Libby about this, her response was:

Wow-- you are even more awesome than I thought. Now I want even more to be just like you. Tell Brandon that if the Travel Channel will send you somewhere cool I will tape myself eating rhinoceros balls. I would do anything to show my admiration for you.

Then she started into some Bette Midler and really, it got a little awkward.

Okay, so here's a link to the video promo:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pjW2M6HV8zU

I'd like to think that Brandon found me because I am creating such a BUZZ here in the blogosphere, but in reality I'm sure he googled Zimmern to see who was writing about him. FYI, if you send me something really cool I'll give it away here in a contest. My readers seem to prefer penis-shaped items.

I wonder if anyone would contact me if I mentioned how much I love those new four-door JEEP WRANGLERS.

What I've Been Doing Besides Plucking My Chin Hairs

2009-10-02T14:22:00.000-04:00

Is it possible I only wrote six posts in September?? It seemed like so much more, but maybe those were all posts in my head that never made it to the keyboard. Like the pretend conversations running on a loop in there. Trust me, no one is better at the scathing six-hours-later comeback than me. So many people are walking around that dodged the bullet of my wrath and don't even know it. Better that way, so that they can go on leading their lives.

I've been querying my ass off to magazines-- still waiting to hear back from Hustler or Anal Adventures, but I've had a promising response from a local publication. So that's where I've been concentrating my brain cells lately-- I'm determined to give freelancing my best shot, even though most of my efforts are rejected or ignored altogether. But it's what I love to do, and while I'm waiting for the CIA to process my application, I might as well try to pursue my dream of being a writer.

The Fall issue of Hearing Health came out. I'm lucky I get to write for them every few months to offset all the other rejections. Plus it's shiny and purdy.

Which reminds me, thanks for all the new friend requests on FB. Now I have more pretend people to interact with while I'm "writing." And I have to say, it's a little strange and cool to match the real people with the blogs. I really thought some of you would be much more warty. Hunh.

As some of you already know, I have been having back and neck pain this week. I didn't do anything strenuous to bring it on, I just rolled over and snap-- I could instantly feel the muscles seize up. I think I've mentioned before that I have scoliosis and that I injured my back in an accident in my early twenties, so I'm no stranger to this. Of course, the extra 40(ish) pounds I'm carrying around doesn't help at all. I'd started walking regularly again to try to fix that, and was even implementing some of the advice I'd read from that pompous French chic (you know, the one who wrote that book about how French women don't get fat and why they are better than us). I've been parking way the hell out there in parking lots to get the extra steps in, but I have to say I feel like a big dumbass when I'm pushing my cart past all the other cars after shopping at Walmart. And I'm sure the guys who retrieve those things just love assholes like me. I'm thinking about circling the check out lanes like 20 times for the added cardio benefit, and to see the nervous looks on the faces of the cashiers. They say to make exercise fun, right? And let's face it, the only way I'm going to achieve that is if someone else is suffering.

I Need More Friends

2009-09-28T21:42:00.000-04:00

But not the kind that expect me to remember their birthdays, or call them on a regular basis, or feel comfortable enough to stop by unannounced. God no, the last thing I need is a reason to clean the house more often.

No, I'm talking about the good old fashioned no-contact, no commitment, no expectations kind of friendship that only the bond of the internet can provide. So I can snoop through your pictures and stop when I get bored at photo #142 of your vacation to Disneyworld without fear of hurting your feelings. Yes, I'm talking about Facebook. It's the kind of social interaction I was made for. You can't see the expression on my face as you share the news of your swollen colon due to your recent colonoscopy, and you can't tell that I just passed gas. Win win for everyone. You already know my first name, add Hamilton Waters to that.

Goodbye anonymity.

Yay, fall is finally here. It's probably my favorite season-- no, not because everything is dying, but because the weather is so great and there's so much fun stuff to do. My son has kept me busy with Halloween decorations. I know, I know-- it's not even October yet. Try telling this to my kid. Ever since he was a baby he has had a fierce love of holidays and all that they entail. I don't know where he gets it from-- as you can imagine, I have about as much holiday cheer as a Death Row inmate. And it's not just the main holidays that the kid goes crazy for, like Halloween and Christmas-- he is equally enamored with St. Patrick's Day and Cinco de Mayo (?). I swear I have to hide the calendar from him or else we'd be decorating for Canadian Independence Day and Yom Kippur. You know when you walk into Walmart and see all those tacky inflatables and crappy outdoor decorations and you're like Who buys all this shit? Yeah, that would be me. We go all out in our family, and I'm not talking tasteful, Martha Stewart shit. No, only plastic and flashing lights for us. Yes, our neighbors love us.

On an unrelated note, does anyone watch Andrew Zimmern on the Travel Channel? You know, the guy who eats goat testicles and donkey dicks on that show Bizarre Foods? Well, Jason was flipping through the channels last night and Zimmern was washing and fondling this penguin and I was like Whoa, is he about to eat that little penguin? Apparently, he's got a new show called Bizarre World where he just goes around dancing and doing other traditional local activities, which is not as entertaining as seeing him chew on big cockroachy things, but a relief nevertheless because I was really freaked out about him eating that penguin. It would have been almost as bad as watching Bear Grylls eat those undigested nuts in the bear shit. (I really hate that guy. Who the hell does a gymnastics floor routine in the middle of a canyon? When my survival's on the line and all I've eaten is a rotten sheep's eyeball, that's exactly what I want to do-- a roundoff and two summersaults.)

Oh hey, I don't think I ever posted a link to my first article in Hearing Health. There you go-- more of me. Just what you wanted, right?

Another Reason I Wish I Had a Trapdoor on My Porch

2009-09-23T13:30:00.000-04:00

Lately I have been overcome with old-man-sleepiness in the late afternoon. Having watched all those pharmaceutical commercials, I have diagnosed myself as clinically depressed. I keep telling Jason, See? I feel fatigued and achy-- I'm depressed.

Of course, it may just be my inherent laziness.

Anyway, I was drifting off into what was going to be a beautiful nap yesterday when I was rudely awakened by the doorbell. Normally, at the sound of intruders I would dive to the floor as if dodging bullets from a rival gang, but as it happens I was expecting a very overdue package from Old Navy so I answered the door. You can imagine my joy when I discovered two young Mormon boys in ties with Bibles standing on my front porch. Now, although I don't sleep well at night, I rarely nap for fear of being called out on all those stereotypes about housewives sitting on the couch all day eating bon bons. I suspect it's the same for cops every time they pass a doughnut shop, only probably more painful. So I was even less sociable than usual, having been roused from a much needed slumber. I may have initially grunted and sniffed at them upon opening the door.

It didn't help that the tall one was a little pushy and dare I say, confrontational. Have you READ the Bible, ma'm? They would not take no for an answer and were too big to nudge off the porch with my toe, so after many assurances about my strong faith, I told them Look, my father is a paster so I don't think you'll be converting me. Which he was, that is, before he passed away. So I will probably only end up in purgatory for using that and not the third level of hell. My Dad thought the Mormons were all part of a cult so he probably wouldn't have minded. (Of course, he also thought that of Catholics, Baptists, and any rival hockey teams.) The tall one actually challenged me and asked, Where does your father preach? The NERVE.

At least these guys were trying to spread the word of God the old fashioned way. I'm a little disturbed by the new trend of churches advertising and even hiring PR people. I swear if I see a commercial with Jesus and his boy band disciples I'm taking that as a sign that the end is near. It was bad enough when they came out with the Jesus action figures that said "Behold, I am the son of God" or whatever. I think they would have had more success with the line if Jesus had had some cool gadgets like a staff that shot out a web or something. Just sayin'.

Anyway, I have been feeling a little down lately. I won't bore you with all the details (I'm a really ugly crier), but basically, like I told Christi, I can't seem to get a job scooping dogshit and how did I get here? I felt like the most articulate loser ever, kind of like being the smartest failure.

To which she answered that I got here because I put Jay and my family first and that I'm an awesome mother, which was way more important than a paycheck.

And that? Is why she has been my BFF for so long. Seriously, they should hand out her cards to jumpers on bridges.

I want to thank Jennifer, who left an especially awesome comment yesterday. You have no idea how great your timing was because I really needed the boost. I don't even have anything snarky to add to that. Just thanks.

Oh yeah, I wrote on my other blog again. I can't believe it's only the 8th post. It's so easy to write here, although when Jason read my last post (which he hardly ever does) his reaction was Why do you have to tell everyone you were bleeding? Um, I dunno...it's cathartic?

My Journey Through the Blue Ridge Mountains, or Smokey Mountains--Whatever. Okay, I Really Had No Idea Where We Were Most of the Time

2009-09-21T13:23:00.000-04:00

Bet you thought I had gotten eaten by a bear, huh?

Actually, don't laugh, but that was an actual (totally legitimate) fear of mine while in the mountains. My uterus, having gotten word through the grapevine that I was going on vacation (I think it was my asshole kidneys that told them-- they have never completely forgiven me for my 20's), decided to tease me with some spot bleeding and waited until we were in the Smokey Mountains to start the main event. (Sorry guys, but really, you should know to expect this kind of stuff here.) So the whole time we were camping in our cabin on the lake (beautiful), I was paranoid that bears from miles around would catch the scent of blood and converge on me. Jason was like It doesn't work like that, they're not like sharks but I wasn't taking any chances.

We had a fabulous time just the two of us, although half the time I kept thinking how much the kids would have liked seeing the waterfall, or going to the Cherokee museum. (Driving through Cherokee and seeing all the tacky shops and gaudy painted bears made me feel even more guilty than reading about the Trail of Tears as a kid-- I think having to perform on roadside stages for tourists is a much more cruel fate than walking barefoot through snow.) Jason talked me into rafting, but couldn't get me to go on the canopy tour. If people were meant to be suspended from cables at that altitude God would have made our bodies produce Xanax instead of adrenaline.

Of course, the food was one of the best parts of the trip. We ate at some great restaurants, including our favorite place in Dillard, Ga called the Dillard House, where they serve obscene amounts of food to you family style-- for breakfast they put six varieties of meat and TWO different kinds of gravy on the table. Sweet manna from heaven. And of course we had to have sushi one night. We had to drive all the way to Pigeon Forge to find a sushi place. If you're not familiar with the town, it's the home of Dollywood. Dolly Parton pretty much provides the majority of the town's income via tourism, and thus is revered much like Mao Tse Tung was in China. I believe in every home there is a framed picture of Dolly above the mantle, right next to the one of Jesus our Lord and Savior. I have my suspicions as to which image is bigger, but we'll leave that alone for now. I made the mistake of making a comment like "How many pancake houses does one town need, really?" (There's one about every 30 yards or so.) Apparently our dining companions worked at a diner and proceeded to inform me that everyonee loves a good breakfast-- it is, after all, the most important meal of the day. I quickly recovered by dazzling the natives with my amazing knowledge of Dolly trivia. (Don't ask-- it's information I've accumulated over a lifetime.) It seemed to pacify them when I remarked on what a savvy businesswoman Dolly was, and how she had been smart enough to retain the rights to all the songs she had written, including those performed by Elvis, Willie Nelson, and Whitney Houston. I think my mention of her movie with James Woods saved us from a Hills Have Eyes scenario, and the woman practically clapped her hands in glee when I said a favorite Dolly quote "It takes a lot of money to look this cheap."

Sometimes, I even impress myself, people.

Now, I'm off to catch up on all of you. I've missed you guys so much! (Yes, that was an exclamation mark. I must really love you bitches.)

I Wonder If My Mother-In-Law Would Find My Vibrator If I Hid It In The Umbrella

2009-09-09T13:14:00.000-04:00

Well, I finally got another article published. One problem, they listed Jason as the author and conveniently cut me out.

Yes, pissed is the word I'm looking for.

When I queried the magazine I stated that the article was written in collaboration with Jason (because he is more credible on the subject matter). What I didn't mention is that I was just using his name as a way in and I researched and wrote the thing pretty much solo. All correspondence with the editor was done through me, so it really surprised me when they left my name out. It's not just an ego thing-- I really wanted to use this piece when querying other publications because it differs from my other stuff, which is mostly narrative essays. Also, this was THE. MOST. BORING. ARTICLE. EVER. TO. WRITE. And I want recognition for plodding through the fucker, damn it. I'm going to contact the editor because the section my article is in is online so I'm hoping they will add my name.

On a brighter note, my oldest stepsister (the one who lives in Canada,found me on Facebook. I'm excited because although she and I were never close (virtually strangers), I think we have the potential for a good relationship now. I was actually always closer to my other stepsister, Cindy, who is my age, but she has a lot of anger issues and if we talk family stuff she starts foaming at the mouth and making scary stabbing gestures. Anyway, I guess part of me just wants some sort of family connection. Weird, huh, considering I've spent most of my life running from it.

I'll be spending the next few days cleaning the hell out of my house because my mother-in-law is going to watch the kids while Jason and I are off on our little belated anniversary get-away. (Actually, my friend Heather will be watching Megan most of the time and she'll really just have to watch Jay after school-- I don't want the woman to overdose on her "nerve pills.") Like most women, my house will never be as clean as my mother-in-law's, so I'm going to great lengths to get the place inspection ready. Also, my mother-in-law is extremely nosy. There is not an opened piece of mail or drawer that escapes her snooping. And I HATE for people to snoop through my stuff. When I was in the hospital giving birth to Jay, Jason asked his mother to tidy up at our place-- I think she found my vibrator. When I was a few weeks from my due date with Megan, I had nightmares about going into labor and having my mother-in-law come over to a mess so I cleaned up even though I was supposed to be on bed rest (apparently I was swelling at an alarming rate and it was feared I would burst like an over-filled water balloon). I went into labor shortly after my cleaning frenzy, so I guess I have my paranoia to thank for Megan being 3 weeks premature.

You know, it's probably a good thing I can't afford therapy because I would probably be prescribed into a lithium-induced stupor that would render me unable to tie my own shoes much less take care of two children.

Potluck

2009-09-03T14:46:00.000-04:00

Just a few random things before the labor day weekend:

1. I was using one of those ATM's at the gas station and wondering why this piece of machinery is pressuring me-- is it really necessary to withdraw my card quickly? Back off impudent dispenser! Also, it would be great if the buttons coincided with the choices next to them. Or at the very least they should have a diagonal arrow so that you will be less likely to pick Dutch as your preferred language. And WTF, Dutch? Is there a huge underground Dutch population here that I don't know about? They should offer Pig Latin as one of the choices-- that would be fun.

2. I went to one of those big baby consignment fairs or whatever because my friend said that they had some great deals. So I enter and ask the woman at the counter if they accept Debit cards, and she is obviously nursing her baby. Now, nursing is a beautiful thing (I did it with mine) and she was doing it rather discreetly with a cloth draped over the baby's head (I often wish I could get away with wearing one over my head for privacy when I eat), so the discomfort I felt was totally an issue of mine and no fault of the woman's. Still, I have a hard time maintaining eye contact with someone while there is a huge mass attached to her breast. I end up feeling like Homer Simpson-- don't look at her boobie, don't look at ---DOH! On the way out, she was done feeding, but apparently wasn't aware that the stretched out neckline of her shirt was drooping down and exposing most of her boob and bra. Again, I tried to play it off as if nothing was amiss. It's not exactly the same as pointing out some food on someone's chin-- Yeah, um, you've got a little something right there...there, you got it.

3. Lost another follower but gained two. Hereafter I will think of them as my FAHR-ter followers.

Have a great Labor Day weekend. Mmmmm, ribs....

I Apologize in Advance for This Post

2009-09-01T22:54:00.000-04:00

I can just imagine my friend Christi cringing as she reads this post, just as I'm sure she does for each of my Weird Body Parts entries. Why I feel compelled to share such things with you people is a mystery to me, but here goes.

Farts. I'm gonna talk about farts people.

In my defense, I was inspired by a funny post by Jules (seriously, there really are a lot of you named Jules out there-- I'm going to have to start numbering you) about passing gas in front of her man. She's one of those hold-it-in gals, like my friend Christi. I think Christi says five Hail Mary's every time she passes gas, and she would be MORTIFIED if anyone heard her doing it. Although she and her husband have four children together, certain body functions remain secret.

I can't imagine, because Jason and I take an almost zealous pride in the horsepower and potency behind our gas. Before we got married I used to run to the grocery store or wherever at midnight because I couldn't go number two in the same apartment with him. Those days are long gone, my friend. Jason's the only guy I'm comfortable enough to relieve myself around. Really the only person, period. If we go on vacation with another couple I pretty much stay stopped up the whole trip.

Long ago I had a long distance romance with a boy I met at Myrtle Beach after graduation. It turns out the guy was a virgin, and after we did the deed, I was walking back from the bathroom and I let out a loud queef. (Is that even how you spell it?) Picture the scene in The Heartbreak Kid with Ben Stiller. The poor guy tried to be a gentleman and played it off by thumping the mattress loudly a few times and I wanted to blurt out "That did not come out of my ass!" but I couldn't and I wanted to die. (If I ever find him on Facebook that's the first thing I'm writing on his wall, in caps.) Then it happened again a few weeks later WHILE WE WERE HAVING SEX. Again, we were both too mortified to say anything and the guy just buried his head in my shoulder and kept going (what a trooper). I'm sure he was thinking WTF-- I know this chic did not just fart on me. To this day that's probably what he thinks. What a nice way to remember losing your virginity.

Again, I have no idea why I felt the need to put this out there. Blogs are like potent truth serum or something. (BTW, he's the only guy that's ever happened with. I don't know why it seems so important to make that distinction, but it does.)

Also, I've just recently acquired some writers as followers and I can just imagine how much I impressed them with this little literary gem. Clas-say!

David Yoo, I Heart You

2009-08-31T13:45:00.000-04:00

I'm so excited-- I got my copy of David Yoo's book Girls for Breakfast in the mail this weekend. It's a hilarious coming of age story that can be appreciated by anyone, but it really hit home with me because the protagonist is a Korean kid growing up in a white world. I love it when he describes himself as a banana-- yellow on the outside, white on the inside. Which is EXACTLY how I feel most of the time. Hell, I still forget sometimes that I am not white.

Reading the book is boosting my writing confidence as well. Whenever I start writing on my book, I'm plagued with all sorts of self-doubts-- who would ever want to read about some awkward little Korean girl? Everyone wants to read memoirs about women who shop too much and decide to take up French cooking. Why in the world would anyone be interested in my story? But reading David Yoo reminded me that if you tell a story well, the reader will connect with it no matter how different their perspective. I heart you David Yoo.

Also, hooray for a book about an Asian person that isn't Joy-Luck-Clubish. I mean, I loved that story, but not every Asian person came here after crossing a war zone with their babies in a wheelbarrow. I love that this book is funny-- yes, Asian people can be funny and sometimes we even say FUCK. Also, Korea is like the Rhode Island of Asia, so yay for David being Korean and writing about it.

Okay, that's my book review for the week. On to other matters... I've been noticing that every now and then I lose a follower. Now, in the past I would have become obsessive and combed through your little profile pics (all my big blue eyes still there, check...Satan, check...), but I've come to accept that occasionally some of you will leave me for someone younger, prettier, perhaps funnier. So instead of letting it drive me mad, I will instead let you go, like the delicate little follower butterflies that you are. As I release you into the wind I will be singing Whitney Houston...

And I-e-IIIIIIIIIIII, will always love you-e-IIIIIIIII will always love yoooooooooouu.....

Be glad that I don't have a video camera. Maybe Jules will oblige us with her rendition for her Out of Tune Tuesday clip.

Um, I sort of hope she doesn't.

Everything is Going To Kill Us

2009-08-28T13:45:00.000-04:00

I finally wrote another post on my other blog, that poor, neglected red-headed stepchild of a blog that I don't write on enough. If you're new here and crossover, let me just caution that I kind of like it to be a one-way mirror-- don't want anyone from over there to find their way back here, know what I mean. It's my "clean blog", with a lot less vagina talk and such.*

Anyway, I was writing about Jay going to play on his bike with some kids, and what I left out was the fact that I overheard my husband talking Jay out of wearing a helmet. The kid was VOLUNTARILY taking his helmet and his Dad was asking "Are the other kids wearing helmets? Well, just leave yours, then." Can anyone tell me what's wrong with this picture?

In Jason's defense, he was just going to be putzing around in a cul-de-sac, not doing X-games kind of stunts or anything. Still, I was waiting for the Parent Police to come visit us, just like I expect them to when Jason lets Megan "drive" in his lap when we go to our friends' house for a cookout. Granted, they live just on the other end of the neighborhood, and he drives at a super-slow speed, but still, I keep imagining someone taking incriminating photos reminiscent of the Brittany Spears ones. Megan, of course, loves it.

Jason is a lot more relaxed and I guess you could say "old school" about parenting. And yes, I know that when we were kids we all bounced around in the back seat unrestrained and any kid wearing a helmet would have gotten beaten up, but those were also the days when a pregnant woman could have a cigarette in one hand and a scotch and soda in the other and no one would so much as raise an eyebrow. I know we go overboard with our safety standards these days, but geesh, I don't want to be stoned by my peers for letting an infant sleep on his stomach (which, by the way, makes them snooze SO GREAT...so I've heard) or for letting my kids even go into a room where someone may or may not have once smoked a cigarette three days ago. Seriously, I was looking at an old baby magazine with Megan, and there was something in there about the dangers of THIRD HAND SMOKE. I didn't even know there was such a thing. Apparently, if your clothes or belongings smell like smoke, you could be a danger to the well being of infants. You bastard.

I don't smoke (which is surprising because I am usually susceptible to addictive vices that are bad for you), but I have dated a lot of smokers. Jason "quit" about ten years ago, although he is the smokingest non-smoker I have ever known. He only smokes if he is drinking, or occasionally if he is stressed. The important thing, he likes to point out, is that he doesn't buy them. Because if you purchase the cigarettes, it makes them twice as bad for you.

I don't approve of giving a kid a Marlboro shotgun or anything, but I think some people take the whole Non-Smoking movement too far. Yeah, they are bad for you, but so is that box of Twinkies you are about to devour. I don't want Jason to smoke, but I don't feel like I have the right to make that choice for everyone else. And I'm sure our love of fossil fuels and demand for beef causes far more pollution than cigarettes. I think smokers are just an easy target. Being a smoker today is almost as disgraceful as being a crackhead. Of course, I do make fun of my friend who is a smoker and won't use a microwave.

Because of, you know, the cancer.

*Update: What I meant was that it's fine to comment on my other blog, just please refrain from saying "Hey great post about butt plugs the on your other blog last week!" That is, after all, my kid's picture at the top there. Thanks!

Another Reason I'll Never Win the Golden Uterus Award

2009-08-26T13:50:00.000-04:00

I don't trust people who like to clean too much. It's just not natural. There's something dark lurking under the surface of someone who gets so much satisfaction from scrubbing and dusting. My friend Christi asked me if people expect me to have an immaculate house because I'm at home now. Yeah, you'd think...being a housewife and all, that I would actually, you know, KEEP the house...

Not that I let the place get nasty or anything. It's just that it's always, at the very least, a little cluttered. I think something must be wrong with my washing machine, because we seem to always have so many dirty clothes piled up. Ditto on the dishwasher. And of course there's the ever-present fertile field of toys. It's like that old adage about gray hairs-- you pick one toy up and three will sprout up in it's place.

It's not that I'm lazy. Okay, it's not JUST that I am slightly lazy-- I just have always been very relaxed about our home. I remember Mom #2 (my adoptive mother) had a ridiculous collection of porcelain figurines and Hummels. I don't know what it is about dainty French Revolution era statues, but they are like status symbols among immigrant Korean women. Kind of like goats or camels in some cultures, I guess. Anyway, I was always too afraid to play in her house and walked around as if on eggshells. I hated that. So now my house is uber kid-friendly, so much so that if you had to name a decor style for my interior it would be Early Fisher Price.

Also, there are about a million other things I would rather spend my time doing than cleaning. I try to do as much fun stuff with my kids as possible, again because of my experiences growing up. So I'd rather do crafts or play games than vacuum. Yes, vacuuming is a necessary evil, especially with dark carpet (seriously, you can see DNA with the naked eye on dark carpet), but I don't get all obsessive about it. And when I'm not catering to the needs of everyone else, I selfishly reserve my free time (Megan's nap time) for writing. And occasionally reading. It's a cruel world when you have to choose between the two.

So I will do the dishes, because damn it's expensive to just keep buying new ones, and I will sweep and mop, but I don't think my house will ever pass white glove inspection. And I'm okay with that. Maybe one day I'll have maid service and won't have to bother with it at all. Now THAT'S a hot fantasy.

They Should Make Viagra for Women

2009-08-24T20:53:00.000-04:00

The other night one of my old crushes found me on FB. He flirted with comments like "I see you got married-- and here I thought you were going to wait for me," and I'll admit, it made me smile the rest of the night. It's been so long since anyone, especially me, has thought of myself in that light.

It used to be so different. Once upon a time I was quite the hot little number, if I do say so myself. You say slut, I say "popular." Then, of course, there was always that mysterious, exotic aura that came with being an Asian woman. I mean, guys practically expected me to have a hidden vagina under my arm. And I think they believed that we travel in pairs or something, like I keep a spare Asian girl in the closet for impromptu threesomes. I tried to live up to the hype, putting on performances with trained doves and contorting my body into intricate geometric shapes-- it was hard work but worth it. I liked sex. A LOT.

That's all changed in the last few years. I know that every marriage cools down in that department after so many years, but seriously, sometimes I honestly feel like it would not bother me all that much if I was done with sex altogether. It's not Jason's fault, I think I'm just tired all the time from the kids. And then there's the self-esteem issue, of course. Hard to want sex when you feel anything but sexy.

I hope I'm just in a rut. Maybe it's hormones. Also, my perspective might be a little eskewed. I mean, for years Jason and I had sex every day. Even now we're probably still above average. We were hanging out with a couple almost ten years younger than us (God I really hate being the oldest person at a get together all.the.time.), and the guy was complaining that they had sex like once every other month-- and they've only been married for three years. That's just sad. It might not be very pretty when Jason and I have monkey love, but at least we still do.

I know, I know-- now you will have to pour salt on your eyes to burn that image away.

WTF Hawaii?

2009-08-21T11:32:00.000-04:00

I was reading about the 50th anniversary of Hawaii's statehood and how while many will be celebrating, some will be protesting and calling for Hawaii's Independence. The article stated:

About 1,000 demonstrators who would rather see Hawaii's independence restored are expected to rally outside the conference at the Hawaii Convention Center.

"We want to show how U.S. imperialism has spread across the Pacific and across the world," said Lynette Cruz, an organizer of the Hawaiian Independence Action Alliance. "It'll be fun."

It'll be fun??? Hell nah, if you want a revolution I want to see hard core coup shit, Hawaii. I want to see effigies burned and guerrillas dressed in flowery shirts terrorizing women and children in the streets. I want to see the heads of roasted pigs displayed on top of spears in front of town hall, with big fat men charging the doors brandishing tiny ukuleles.

The article went on to say that:

The protesters will be allowed inside the convention center lobby, but they can't get into the individual conference rooms without purchasing a $30 ticket.

I love it-- can you imagine if the founding fathers charged admission for their meetings? Those islanders better watch it or we'll cut off their spam supply. (I saw on Bizarre Foods that Hawaiians have an undying love for the stuff-- they even make sushi out of it.)

Moving on, my computer should be back sometime next week. They're going to totally wipe it clean and I'll lose everything, but I'm just glad I won't have to buy another computer. Now I won't have to use those chicken bones to make soup to feed my children. (Seriously, whenever we cook a whole chicken Jason is always telling me how I should take the bones and make a soup and I'm like, the hell? Yeah, that's gonna happen like I'm gonna bake you a pie from scratch, or can some preserves. Not that woman.)

I can't wait. Now that I don't have access to Word, ideas are flying into my head--isn't that how it always goes? I'm gonna spend all day making out with my baby as soon as I get her back.

If Ever You're In My Arms Again....

2009-08-19T14:25:00.001-04:00

My friend Heather has loaned me her old computer until mine is repaired. I'm grateful and all, but I tell ya, this thing is ooollllllllddd. I looked on the bottom and it said Made on Easter Island. Seriously, every time I click on something the poor modem whirrs and starts vibrating violently. So if I'm a little absent from your blogs it's because I'm afraid of catching the modem on fire if I visit too many sites. Or I'm busy straddling the humming tower.

You know when your computer reminds you constantly to back up all your data? And you ignore it, like you did when people told you to watch what you eat because one day it was going to catch up to you and you were like whatever, blah, blah, blah until one day you woke up and looked like you had swallowed a small kindergartner whole for breakfast? Yeah, well, I wish I had listened on both counts because now all my documents are probably lost. Granted, I only had a few chapters written and they weren't very good to be honest, but still I hate the thought of starting all over again. Also, now I am fat.

Has anyone tried one of those netbooks? I'm thinking anything that little and cute couldn't really work all that well. And I don't think I would be able to respect myself tapping away on a wee little pink keyboard perched on one knee. I don't do cute. It just doesn't go with, well, me.

People have been telling me horror stories about having gone through this and losing more than one computer in just a couple of years, but this is the first time it's ever happened to me. I've always been so careful, although I'll admit once or twice I have thought about claiming my inheritance from that poor deceased millionaire in Nigeria. This virus was sent to me from someone I trusted, although she claims her computer generated the message without her knowledge. It sent a link to a video that was supposed to be the funniest. thing. ever. Turns out? Not so funny.

Now I don't trust anything-- if you want to send me something you better use a safe word or something, like VAGINA. Or DIRTY SANCHEZ. I don't care if you're sending me a naked picture of yourself, I AIN'T OPENING IT. (Okay, I might open it for some of you.)

BTW, that title is a reference to an old song. I can't open up another tab to look it up, and I didn't work it in very well with this post because this thing is so slow it's hard to be clever-- just a quick in and out, no time for fancy editing or finesse. In a nutshell, I miss my pretty, shiny computer.

The Unspeakable

2009-08-18T12:00:00.000-04:00

Shit. My computer has a nasty virus. I ran around like a hysterical six-year old girl. I stopped, dropped, and rolled. None of that worked so looks like I'm going to have to take my baby in to get overhauled. Keep your fingers crossed that it works or I'll have to find the money to buy a new one. (Anyone know how many times the blood bank will let you sell your blood in one month? The sperm bank already turned me away-- I think the were racists.) Until then I am wandering from place to place, trading sordid serivces for computer time. It's sad people, really sad.

Going cold turkey from the computer has turned out to be harder than giving up coke. I'm almost over the shakes, but it's still rough. I've cleaned the house. I've exercised. I'VE BEEN TALKING TO PEOPLE ON THE PHONE.

Oh God, why hast thou forsaken me????

In the meantime, I have removed the comment moderation on my blog. So if you're that mean ass girl from middle school that rode the bus with me, or you've been waiting to tell me how you want to lock me in a dark cellar and lick peanut butter from between my toes, here is your chance. I'm not even spell-checking this fucker because I feel too exposed writing at someone else's house. I feel dirty.

Disclaimer: I Don't Actually Write On the Foreheads of Small Children. Just Old People. And Sometimes the Semi-Vegetative.

2009-08-13T10:33:00.001-04:00

Because to write on the forehead of a fully vegetative person is just fucked up. And really no challenge and therefore zero fun.

Just wanted to clear up that I did not actually write Jerrod's name on my two-year-old's head. (Dang, y'all, what kind of person do you take me for?) 1. My husband might have some objections. 2. If it stayed on too long it might raise some questions about how often and how well I bathe her. Like when you show up at work on Monday with a bar stamp on your hand. That says Friday.

Also, it's a good thing the writing was via Microsoft Paint and not in real life because as it turns out Megan woke up with a slight fever and I may have to take her to the doctor if she doesn't feel better by tomorrow (they might have frowned on the facial graffiti). Man, I've heard of channeling your energy to control your autonomic system, but this kid is already a pro at the age of two. She apparently did not appreciate the disrespect to her picture. I will have to watch out for her tiny wrath in the future.

I Told You I Was Competitive

2009-08-12T19:55:00.000-04:00

Okay, so I usually don't post awards because at first I honestly didn't know how to do the whole embed thing, and then it just seemed rude to post one when you didn't post the first ones. But now I'm seeing Jerrod's award posted all over blogs basically saying how awesome he is, and then he's like No, YOU'RE awesome, and then No, you are, and so forth.

So, being the irrationally competitive person I am (seriously, it's like he's the Bachelor or something), I immediately got a pen and wrote this on my daughter's forehead.

Top that, bitches.

P.S. How permanent is permanent marker, I wonder?

P.P.S. I was going to put Jerrod's award up here, but it smells a little off.

Is Eight Too Young For Ultimate Fighting Training?

2009-08-11T08:54:00.000-04:00

I am happy to report that Jay's first day of third grade went well. I was nervous because as you know, kids can be total shits, especially as they get older. And not to sound like an old timer, but man are these kids trying so hard so early to be grown up. I swear a couple of them had gang tattoos and the girls were using the playground equipment like stripper poles. Thanks Miley Cyrus for your totally age appropriate performance at the Nick Teen Awards.

When Jay was younger I prided myself in teaching him the correct values-- he never hit anyone (well, not after the toddler years, anyway) even when they hit him first, and especially if they were younger than him. Lately I've come to regret my idealistic philosophy-- my intentions were good but I should have taken into account what assholes some kids are. Jay is very tender-hearted and kind-- he's as big as a little linebacker but just doesn't have the killer instinct. I used to think that was a great thing, but now I fear he won't stand up for himself. As he gets older I have nightmares about kids bullying him-- it hasn't happened yet, but I want him to be prepared if it does. In fact, I've kind of done a 360 and was showing him where to punch someone if they hit him first (solar plexes, after Jason insisted that the throat was a bit drastic and was going to hurt someone-- pussy).

It reminded me of the things my father, the drill sergeant, used to tell me as a child. You know, heart-warming fatherly advice like "Break their kneecaps and make them remember you forever" and "Pick up the closest rock or two-by-four and knock them upside the head." I should explain that my father was a short man, and grew up as the little guy in several different orphanages and foster homes. His philosophy was that if you took out the biggest guy and acted a little crazy then no one would mess with you. Very interesting way to grow up, and explained a lot about him.

Anyway, his lessons were lost on me because I have always been such a non-confrontational kind of person. You might say I'm a wimp, but I prefer peace-lover. When I had my first child I wanted to raise him correctly, but that was before I realized how physical boys are and also before I knew my son was hearing impaired. Now I want him to annihilate any little fucker that messes with him.

Is that wrong? Probably, but that's reality.

P.S. My father also taught me that if you stab someone never to go straight in and out-- it's in, scramble, out. I think I was ten. When I went to my first concert at 17 or 18 (MC Hammer and Vanilla Ice-- shut up), instead of pepper spray he gave me some sort of army issue hand held gas bomb that would have probably taken out three rows. Gotta love my Dad.

Happy 10th Anniversary Jason!

2009-08-10T13:15:00.000-04:00

First of all, why does my hair look like I'm sporting a huge mullet? I promise you it was not. Second, wow that shrimp is really making me happy.

This picture was taken at dinner with friends while we were dating. When we first started dating I would have never guessed that we would still be together after 10 years. We were probably the most unromantic couple ever-- we didn't even have a song. When I realized this I tried to have a "moment" in the car with some sappy love song, but we could only stand a few seconds of it (also, we had take-out food getting cold and that takes precedence over romance). Jason did surprise me with flowers on my doorstep on Valentine's day...unfortunately my roommate automatically assumed they were for her from her ex, also named Jason, and put them in her room so I didn't even know until he was finally like, Um, didn't you like your roses (bitch)? Apparently it didn't even cross her mind that anyone would give ME roses-- talk about embarrassing for her, especially when SOMEONE told the story to everyone we worked with.

His proposal was reminiscent of the proposal scene in Urban Cowboy, I stayed up all night partying before we eloped, and for years we argued over what day exactly was our anniversary (...first week in August...?). Over the span of 10 years we have gone through financial boom and bust, and the road to recovery. When our restaurant closed, we gave each other strength, and when Jay was diagnosed with a hearing impairment we got through it together and came out stronger and better as a family. He may not always remember my birthday, or write me eloquent love letters, but he's seen the best and worst of me and still loves me. Most of all, we laugh every day. He gets me.

Sometimes I think I was mean to him in the beginning because some fucked up part of me was testing him, waiting for him to leave. He never did, and I've finally stopped drilling him with "What if I were horribly burned all over, all my limbs were amputated, and had some terrible disease that caused me to projectile vomit and lose control of my bowels-- would you still love me" scenarios. ( His answer-- yes, but he might not take me out in public that often.)

Happy 10th anniversary, baby. I made you a promise ten years ago, and you now have approximately nine more hours to find a cheap hooker somewhere-- offer expires at midnight.

Key West 1999

A Short Little Note Because I Don't Want Anyone To Try To Hug Me

2009-08-07T11:53:00.001-04:00

Don't you just hate posts that leave you feeling all awkward like that last one? Me too. Just couldn't leave that hanging out there as my last words before the weekend because you might say some nice things and I'd have to punch you in the arm or something.

Anyway, this is the last weekend before school starts for Jay. They keep summer vacation short here to keep the inmates in line. We went to open house last night and met Jay's new teacher. She seems young and sweet and earnest-- I fear the children will overpower her within the first week. Especially since the number of kids in the class has gone from 17 last year to 25 this year-- yay budget cuts! I find it odd that the school replaced all the heating and air units this summer (although as far as I know they were working just fine), but let go a couple of teachers. The kids' collective GPA might suffer a little, but apparently that is a risk the school board is willing to take.

Have a good weekend-- I will be doing nice things for my inconsolable son and taking requests for his last meal.

Striving for Inner Peace

2009-08-07T08:29:00.000-04:00

I recently found my niece on FB and although she accepted my friend request, she hasn't answered my messages to her. I don't blame her-- there's no telling what she's heard about me from the opposition. Probably that I'm the first cousin of Kim Jong Il and that I beat stray cats with a baseball bat.

It's been over a year since my father passed away, during which time I had to decide if I was going to make any claims when my father's property was probated (he left no will). After a lot of soul searching, I have decided to let it go. I may be letting Wicked Stepmother roll over me once again, but I feel like this bitterness is going to eat me up just like my crappy childhood did for most of my life. I am trying to be at peace with this part of my life, although sometimes it is very, VERY hard. Sometimes I feel my Hulk rage building up, and I try to do some yoga and meditation to calm down. Okay, so doggie style may not be an actual yoga position and eating Lo Mien noodles may not be considered meditation by some, but whatever. I challenge you to find a quicker path to enlightenment than Chinese take-out.

It's not really about the stuff, anyway. Although having Wicked Stepmother and Golden Child decide what I'm allowed to have of my father's (apparently nothing) really pisses me off. A lot. But mostly what bothers me is that they've pretty much tried to erase my existence, as if I was never his daughter. Which is what Wicked Stepmother has tried to achieve since she married my father almost 30 years ago.

Here is the video memorial they showed at my father's funeral.

What, you say you couldn't find me anywhere? Yeah, I know. The video was followed by a long speech by the Golden Child. I think most people there wondered who the Oriental girl sitting in the second row was.

Okay, off to do some more breathing and chanting.

And Now I've Heard It All

2009-08-05T17:56:00.000-04:00

Just now I was watching the local news and there was a story about a woman who saw the face of Jesus.

On her toilet.

She was cleaning her toilet when the Lord our Saviour appeared to her on the I Heart Vegas bumper sticker she has on the lid. And now that bathroom is off limits because to defaecate in it would be, you know, disrespectful.

This is almost as bad as the clip on this week's Real Time with Bill Maher, where he related a story about someone seeing the image of Christ.

On their dog's ass.

People, it's a wonder I'm not getting struck by lightening just typing this. Of course, I'm not the idiot praising his glory with toilets and dog asses. I bet Jesus is REALLY pissed off at those assholes. I'm guessing a nasty bout of syphilis is in store for them.

So I Never Went To Charm School

2009-08-04T12:46:00.001-04:00

So this morning I interviewed for a job I was way overqualified for. The conversation between me and the office manager pretty much went:

Her: Wow, you're way over qualified for this position.

Me: Yeah, I know.

Her: I mean, you could pretty much do my job better than me.

Me: Yeah, that occurred to me.

Her: You know the starting pay, right? Would you be willing to work for that?

Me: Well, it's more than I make giving blowjobs at the rest stop, so I guess, yeah.

That might be slightly paraphrased, but you get the idea. I had to try to convince her that no, I wasn't just trying to get that job until something better came along-- in fact it's been a lifelong dream of mine to work for child labor wages. I probably won't get the position because she thinks I'm overqualified, and the jobs I am qualified for seem to have a million candidates applying. Yeah, it's a little discouraging. I wouldn't have even bothered with the interview this morning except the utility companies refuse to take my nicely penned, totally legit I.O.U.'s. What happened to the good old days when you could give your doctor a nice chicken or freshly baked pie in exchange for services? Remember reading Little House on the Prairie books and thinking how cute it was when Laura and her sisters would get so excited about getting a piece of hard candy, a tin cup, and a shiny new penny for Christmas? Even my two-year-old would be like Are you fucking kidding me if Santa left that under our tree.

I probably do need to get out among real people more. The other night Jason was telling me how "insociable" I was, and I was like That's not even a word, and he said Well it is now thanks to you because that's how unfriendly you are. We had been discussing the fact that the other Oriental chick in the neighborhood was moving out, and how I had never really gotten to know her. I was like What the fuck? Why don't you go hang out with the old white guy on the corner who always ignores us when he's outside doing yard work? Basically, everyone figures hey, I'm Asian, she's Asian-- enough said. We should automatically bond and be like Laverne and Shirley.

We were watching Gran Torino last night and I couldn't help wondering if that was how I was going to end up-- just growling and snarling at people in lieu of conversation. Maybe I could work on my people skills a bit.

BTW, I think it's great that Clint composes his music now and all that (even though it all sounds the same-- like a 90 year-old plucking the keys after taking two or three Valium), but really, the singing at the end was a bit much. Parched, angry old man voice is not condusive to self-reflection.

P.S. I had no idea until I read your comments how many of you are into butt plugs. Wow.

Waiting for Google's Judgement

2009-08-03T13:45:00.001-04:00

Okay, so I finally sold out.

You may have noticed that I put some ads on here. I figured what the hell, it may not put my kids through college, but maybe in 6 months I will have amassed enough to go out to dinner-- woo-hoo! I figure it's kind of like those crappy tickets they give you at Chuck E. Cheese-- they make your kid spend about $30 on games so he can accumulate enough tickets to purchase the cheap plastic dinosaur that retails for about $2. That's after they make you stand in line forever behind the kid with no adult who is trying to decide how to spend her 3,000 tickets-- I'll take the Hello Kitty eraser (10 pts)...and the flower tattoo-- no, the yellow one (5 pts).... This is why they sell beer by the pitcher at Chuck E. Cheese. Oh, and those florescent stamps they tag you with when you come in? It's not to prevent a stranger from taking your kid, it's to make sure you don't leave without one.

So I'm waiting for Google to finish "crawling" my site (sounds like lice or something) so that it can make an assessment as to which ads would best complement the content. Should be very interesting to see the outcome. In the meantime they'll post public service announcements from what I understand.

Jason is all excited about our little getaway anniversary trip to the mountains. Our anniversary is actually on Aug 10th, but we're waiting until mid September to go-- works out better for everyone's schedule. Except now Jason's mom is saying that the weekend we want to go might be during Nudestock-- it's THE nudist event of the year. A chance to see some naked people from all over, as opposed to the usual saggy old balls she has to look at, I guess. Hopefully the dates will work out because I don't want her to miss that. Jason has looked at about a thousand different cabins so far-- they all look the same to me. He lives for these little excursions, like a kid at Christmas. I don't really care about the details, I'm just looking forward to a little down time. I want to do nothing but eat and read and sleep, and the only ass I'm going to be wiping is my own. You wouldn't think that was asking a lot, but believe me, in my world it is.

P.S. How many times a day can the Pioneer Woman post? Thanks a lot Penne for giving me someone else to obsess about!!!!

I Could Write About Anal Adventure

2009-07-31T13:42:00.000-04:00

So apparently the really boring stuff I write is what people want to pay me for. Which is fine by me-- I'll write about paint drying if it'll pay cash.

I'm super excited because somebody is going to pay for an article of mine. I feel like I'm on my way finally. Now that I've started to acquire some published work, I've been looking through my trusty old copy of Writer's Market in search of other publications to solicit. Here's a few I've considered so far (these are actual magazines-- I could not make some of this shit up):

Sticky Buns: They are looking for "anal adventure; very sticky"

Buttime Stories: Similar to the above, with the stipulation that they will not accept anything with "degradation." For those who enjoy a clean, respectable ass fucking that they can feel good about.

Miniature Donkey Talk: Turns out it's actually about miniature donkeys, so get your mind out of the gutter!

Moody Magazine: I should be a shoo-in for a column here.

ALIVE! This is a retirement magazine, so you can understand the enthusiasm.

The Accurate Rifle: Which surprisingly does better than it's sister publication, I Can't Shot Shit With My Inaccurate Gun.

Musky Hunter Magazine: Comes with a scratch and sniff insert of female deer piss.

Portable Restroom Operator: I'm thinking this is a good one to keep in the bathroom.

I hardly know where to begin.

P.S. #1 thing on my list of things that are pissing me off today: the stupid mouse to my computer. Just...won't...go...where...I...want..it...to--wait, almost had it....AHHHHH!!!!! Piece of shit!!!!!

Weird Body Part #7

2009-07-30T22:46:00.001-04:00

Okay, I guess I am over my bout of performance anxiety. That and Jason is out of town tonight and there is only so much to read on Facebook. (I should be surfing monkey porn or something instead of looking at everyone's cruise pictures and quiz results. I lead a life of excitement, I tell ya.)

I was reading over my last post and thinking how preachy I sounded. You were probably all like I just come here for the penis jokes and skimming over it like I know some of you (CHRISTI) are wont to do. So you may have missed my little story about how I struggled at first to nurse Megan because of my freakishly big side-show nipples. (Seriously, it seems like the older I get, the more unbalanced the boob mass to nipple ratio gets. It's like the Nazi invasion of Europe or something.) Anyway, I was remembering how the worst part was having the nurse tell me to stimulate my aureoles so that they would get erect and easier to fit. And in case you were wondering, yes, feeling yourself up in front of some stranger in scrubs is just as awkward as it sounds. Especially when she dimmed the lights and turned on some Barry White...

Not that my breasts have ever been spectacular, but they were at least cute and perky once. I could work with them, with the help of some majorly padded bras that could pretty much stand on their own when taken off. Poor Jason, he must have felt like the victim of false advertising the first time he saw me naked.

Now, as the rest of me seems to be expanding, my boobs appear to be shrinking. Not funny, God. Not funny. At. All. When I was shopping for strapless bras for my friend's wedding I had to buy an attachment to increase the girth because apparently anyone with a circumference of 38 should have a larger cup size than a FUCKING B!! I felt like the whole lingerie section was mocking me. Stupid Fruit of the Loom crappy boy shorts.

And Princess Consuella Banannahammock, to answer your question, I think that mothers giving their breast milk to others is a noble and beautiful thing, but... blech! I mean, I know it's nature's goodness and all that, but--blech! And you should have seen Jason's face every time he saw a bottle of it in the fridge-- you'd have thought I was storing urine samples in there.

Blech!

The Mama Wars

2009-07-30T13:36:00.001-04:00

Why are we as women so quick to judge each other? And by judgement I'm not talking about the kind that leads us to call Angelina Jolie an emaciated, plane-flying, child-popping whore-- because I think we can all agree that assessments like that are absolutely valid and not shallow or immature at all. And are totally not borne out of jealousy.

I'm talking about the Mom wars we have amongst ourselves, like the ongoing feud between the working moms and SAHM (I didn't even know what that meant for the longest time and just assumed it was a techie thing). Having been on both sides, I don't see a right or wrong answer on how to best raise your kids. I hate that now that I'm at home I get dismissed as stupid or not having anything to contribute (this from people who don't even believe in evolution-- don't even get me started). But I think it's ridiculous for some stay at home moms to get self-righteous and think that they are better parents than their working counterparts, or that they love their children more. Can't we just accept that out of a population of billions that maybe every situation is different?

I think part of the reason we are so quick to condemn the other side is because secretly we all have some ambiguous feelings about our choices-- are we doing the right thing? Let's face it, if you have a uterus you're pretty much doomed to question yourself. The Battle of the Lactators vs the Bottle is an even more brutal debate-- I pretty much breast fed my children for fear of being stoned by my peers. There's so much pressure to breastfeed until the kid's either old enough to ride a bike or your nipples fall off, whichever comes first.

I breastfed Jay for six months, but I was never a public milker. Not that I have anything against those that do, I just never felt that comfortable popping a titty out in front of strangers. (Although Jason tried on more than one occasion to get me to breastfeed like on the counter at Starbucks or whatever in hopes that they would protest and we could sue them.) With Megan, there were two issues: 1. my milk never fully came in because she had to stay at the hospital a few extra days because the nurses said she was a little yellow ( I think they were racists) and I was instructed to give her formula to help the jaundice treatment 2. This is kind of gross, but at first I thought my nipple was going to be too big for her mouth. I'm not kidding-- the kid had the smallest little cupie bow mouth ever, and I think I've already mentioned my Jumbo Pencil Erasers before. (What kind of fucked up plan was that, Mother Nature?) The nurse had to help me try to stuff my freakishly big nipple into poor little Megan's mouth-- I'm sure she laughed her ass off telling her coworkers later. Humiliating? Yeah, just a little.

So I had to supplement feedings with formula, and I have to say, the bottles were NICE. She slept sooooooo good with the formula. I still breastfed her, but probably not as often as I should have. I probably could have tried harder to increase my milk supply (that just sounds so weird to say), hooked myself up to one of those double iron pumps they have at the hospital-- they ones with so much power that the lights flicker when you turn them on. But I didn't, and now Megan will probably need to go to summer school and will always know that I did in fact love her brother more than her.

We get enough crap from people, like our mother-in-laws, about our parenting choices. I think we should cut each other some slack. Of course, this should pertain to ourselves as well. Lately I've been feeling like a second-class citizen or something as a stay-at-home mom. I know I should be proud, that I'm doing the hardest and most important job in the world. I realize this and yet can't help feeling embarrassed when someone asks me what I do. Of course, when I do go back to work I know I will be beating myself up with guilt every time I miss a school function or think about Megan spending more time with a daycare provider than with me.

I guess the men are right-- there really is no pleasing us sometimes.

P.S. Jason's ultimate fantasy is to be a stay at home Dad.

I Think I Have Performance Issues

2009-07-29T15:06:00.001-04:00

Do they make Viagra for writers? I don't know what it is, but my posts seem to be coming out with less frequency. For awhile there I felt like I was really hitting my stride, but now everything seems to be all awkward and forced and I feel like I'm just trying to get to the finish already, maybe put in a video to speed things along. (We've had three dirty movies in the past ten years or so-- by now we can quote the dialogue just like Jason does with Braveheart, or Mad Max. The only one that isn't too scratched up is College Cum Fest-- and by the way, I have my doubts about those girls being actual college students.*)

I suppose I'm feeling a little performance anxiety now that people actually read the stuff that I put out. Maybe if I pictured everyone naked?

Anyway, in my last post I mentioned religion briefly, and as I've said before, I have a great respect for the spirituality of others, but occasionally the hypocrisy of some causes me to rant. Take for instance the fact that we still have blue laws here in Georgia. It's 2009 and we still can't legally buy alcohol on Sunday. It's worse across the border in South Carolina-- they can't even go to Walmart before 1 p.m on Sunday. Because although purchasing a grill on the Sabbath might seem harmless enough, one can never be too sure when it comes to one's immortal soul. Just ridiculous, people.

Also, is it wrong that every time I see the people carrying the big wooden crosses along the side of the road I think how great they'd be at moving my king sized headboard? Jesus wants you to move my bedroom set!

There's something wrong with me.

Posts like this are pretty much why I stopped putting links to this blog on Facebook. (Can't have my children's fifty-something former babysitter reading this!) Speaking of Facebook, enough with the super philosophical quotes already-- this is Facebook. You know, where you just took a quiz to see what stripper/pimp/whore name you'd have. And stop with the ambiguous shit like "Mary Jo is deciding...." Deciding what??? YOU ARE NOT A FUCKING ENIGMA!

Okay, I may spend way too much time on Facebook.

* This may fall under the category of information I promised Jason I'd never share on the internet. Yeah, I'm pretty sure it does.

If I Was Going To Have a Mid-Life Crisis Affair, It Would Totally Be With Meg Ryan

2009-07-27T15:08:00.000-04:00

I started out writing a post about some racist comments I heard lately (sometimes white people forget that I'm not one of them and I get to observe them doing all their secret handshake stuff until suddenly someone's like Whoa, who brought her? It's okay, she's cool-- she won't nark on us. Not cool, dude, not cool at all.)

But this afternoon I got sucked into the last half of some movie with Meg Ryan and this adorable younger guy she has this connection with. Her character is a woman who everyone dismisses as "just a housewife" (hitting close to home), and he's all funny and sweet and heartbroken, and I was thinking, jeez, if I ever had an affair I think I'd want some bashful, semi-geeky twenty-something year old adoring me. Before long I was bawling my eyes out because the Meg Ryan character has cancer, and next thing you know I've come to the conclusion that in fact, it's Meg Ryan I'd like to have an affair with.

Seriously, I've always had a girl crush on her. So cute, but not so beautiful that I'd have to despise her. When we were thinking of names for Megan we almost chose Ryan as the middle name, then I realized she'd be Meg Ryan and that was just a little too single white female even for me.

Even if you're completely happy in your marriage, if you did have an affair, what kind of person do you think you'd have a clandestine tryst with?

Jason and I have figured out that we've passed our prime so anyone who would have an affair with us would probably be grossly unfuckable. Which is why we don't cheat. That and, you know, our undying love for each other and all that.

Anyway, so much for my thoughtful commentary on social issues. Which is why I would totally suck as an activist-- too easily distracted by a good movie, or a really good hot dog (Hebrew National, with onions, relish, ketchup, mustard. They cost a little more, but the rabbi blessing is totally worth it.) Basically, I expect the obvious rednecks to be ignorant, but when the so-called "decent" people use the N word, it still hits me like a smack in the face. These are people who go to church every Sunday and wear the neon rubber bracelet to remind them that Jesus died for them, yet talk about people of color with such hate and contempt it's unbelievable. Like the Jesus bling makes it all okay. Head. Wanting to explode.

BTW, if this post reads half as disorganized as I suspect, it's because I spat it out in record time before Megan woke up from her nap. Hope for better stuff later in the week.

100, Bitches!

2009-07-22T09:24:00.000-04:00

Yay me, I've passed another milestone-- I got my 100th follower. To some of you this may not be such a big deal (fuck you), but I'm not ashamed to say that I am doing a little celebration dance in my chair. I think this bumps me up into the lower middle class of bloggers. ( I know that respectable bloggers don't need silly validation like posting followers, but I still get a big kick out of seeing you guys, my little plastic flamingos. I'm needy like that.)

Kristine and I were just commenting about the fact that dooce (and no, I am not posting a link-- bitch does not need my help) was just named the 26th most influential woman in media by Forbes magazine, a list that includes such names as Diane Sawyer and Oprah Winfrey. O-P-R-A-H. I have been rolling around on my livingroom floor howling in agony-- why, why?? (Why won't my dog let me balance shit on his head???) I know, I know-- she's freaking fabulous and funny and awesome (okay, why don't you just leave already), so why can't I be happy for her? Like the blogger of Julia/Julia fame-- why can't I rejoice her success instead of screaming and throwing things at the tv whenever I see that commercial? I'll tell you why-- because I am a warped, twisted little soul, people. Light a candle for me.

Actually, I read dooce religiously. When I view her blog I'm conflicted, kind of like how Bill on TrueBlood must feel-- I want to simultaneously adore and drain the life out of her. (Am I the only one who wonders if vampires ejaculate blood?)

Anyway, Summer (lucky follower #100), I did have a nice prize in mind for you, but the penis straws are currently en route to Miss Yvonne as I type this. I was a little paranoid when I put them into the manila envelope, holding it up to the light to see if you could detect penis straw outlines, and even considered putting them in bubble wrap because I didn't want the tiny little testicles to get crushed. But 1. I couldn't think of a discrete way to transfer the straws into another package at the post office and 2. I got the postal worker to stamp "Fragile" all over the envelope after explaining that it contained "...um, plastic novelty straws..." I'm sure my beet red face was a dead giveaway.

I can't wait to see what Miss Yvonne and Courtney do with them-- I think they're having some sort of penis straw duel or something. Should be awesome.

Amish People Don't Appreciate Blow Job Conversations

2009-07-21T08:34:00.000-04:00

It's been a busy weekend. I had a great time visiting with my best friend, Christi. We went out to eat Friday night, then went to Rhinehart's Oyster Bar for some drinks. Laughed our asses off reminiscing, but I was a little uncomfortable because of the woman seated next to me, who looked like this:

I'm not kidding. And of course Christi wanted to talk about things like the number of guys we've slept with (only two, baby! I love you Jason!) and the two we have in common-- Mr. Squashed Beer Can Looking Penis, and the other guy, her What If. Who I technically did not sleep with, because blow jobs don't count or else everyone's list would be printing out like ticker tape.

Wow, that last paragraph does not lend well to my image. There is a long story behind both of those, and the moral is, we can laugh about it all. Just not so much in front of Amish chic at the bar. Back in my twenties I used to go to Rhinehart's quite a bit-- back then I remember a lot of Bikers and restaurant people hanging out there...boy things have changed.

Christi also enlightened me on a new technique of removing eyebrow hair. Apparently a woman uses some sort of thin string, which she holds between her teeth, to take off unwanted hair. I'm not sure quite how it works, but I'm picturing an intricate cat's cradle sort of thing, and she's plucking on the string like a hillbilly instrument, all the while flossing her teeth in a frenzy and shaping your brows. Nice.

Good new-- I have the official thumbs up for my column in Hearing Health Magazine. So sign up for a free subscription so you can start your Kim collection today. (And if you happen to read this and are affiliated with the magazine, I was totally kidding about the whole blowjob thing. Totally.)

Also, I didn't give you a shout out last time, JERROD, because I was waiting to do it for your birthday-- duh! Happy birthday-- everybody go over and show him your tits.

P.S. If you know Christi in real life and read this, her number of bed partners is 3. (You're welcome.)

If This Post Were An English Assignment You'd Be Screwed Trying to Find the Main Topic

2009-07-15T22:10:00.000-04:00

I think I've mentioned before what a procrastinator I am. I will wait until the last minute and then totally freak out and bite Jason's head off for some unforgivable offense like asking what I'm doing. Believe me, Kate Gosslein has nothing on me when I am feeling the pressure and know it's my own fault. I'm approaching some writing deadlines (that sounds way more important than it actually is-- I'm no Lois Lane, believe me-- these aren't big assignments but they're big to me. And yes, they are the same articles I've mentioned before, I just didn't actually write them when I should have). But I didn't want to leave my last post hanging indefinitely like I was hinting for accolades (I am). So, I'm throwing together a slew of random shit for you here. You're welcome.

First, I was kidding about the giveaway because it was so lame, but was surprised by your enthusiasm for my penis straws. I had decided to leave it up to chance and give it to the 100th follower, which would have been extra nice if it turned out to be a guy. But then I realized that these straws deserved to live a full and complete life after having been stored away in a closet for so long. And who better to celebrate their golden years with than Miss Yvonne-- I can totally see her exploring many new and inventive uses for them, perhaps stuck in the pot of one of her livingroom plants? Like those things that tell you when they need to be watered or something. So, if you still want them, Miss Yvonne, email me your address. I know that you will give them a good home.

Second, I haven't given any shout outs recently to all the great blogs I've been reading. I read so many now that I'm worried about forgetting someone. This chic is funny, and so is this one, and I like this one too. There's too many to name them all, just check out my blogroll when you get the chance. Oh, and this one is brand-spanking new. Stop by and leave some nice comments-- you remember how excited you were when you started getting comments, right?

Third, Jules just told me that my blog is now blocked on the computers where she works. My feelings are conflicted on this one-- on the one hand I feel like a badass (in my baggy t-shirt and cut-off sweats). But I'm sad people can't waste time reading my blog while at work-- I should email some union people about this.

Fourth, the boy has tonsillitis. Which has not stopped him from running around the house doing kung fu (which actually looks more like interpretive dance kung fu, which is why we are going to enroll him in a martial arts class ASAP). I swear, nothing short of horse tranquillizers takes down 8 year-old boys.

There, I guess that's enough rambling for now. This weekend is the Drag Boat Races here in Augusta. It's a big fucking deal here in Dixie. Kind of like Nascar, but instead of watching cars go around the track 250 times (why????), you watch two boats fly across the water for 2.5 seconds, and hope one of them crashes spectacularly. I just don't get it people.

The 100th Post

2009-07-14T08:40:00.000-04:00

Wow, who would have thought I'd have kept this blog up so long? Certainly not me. I'm a little notorious for not finishing stuff (if I weren't too lazy I would drag out the ten dozen skeins of yarn I have packed away for those projects I was excited to start but never did. Oh, you bitches are so all getting scarves for Christmas.)

So, what to do to mark this historic occasion? A giveaway maybe? How about these lovely penis straws?

I bought them many, many years ago as a gag gift for a friend, and never actually bestowed them on her. Now we don't see each other anymore and these things have been stashed away on the top shelf of Jason's closet forever. Every time he goes to get a sweater penis straws rain down upon his head. How come all this crap ends up in MY closet? Are you serious? I'm not putting that stuff with my things. You're the dude, dirty movies and toys get hidden away amongst your stuff-- that's just the way it is.

Looking at these things again, I have a new appreciation for the fine craftsmanship and attention to detail that went into the making of these beverage utensils. Note the prominent veins, and the manufacturer even took the effort to make the testicles crooked. Now that's quality work, my friends.

Which makes me think about the fact that although there is a lot of pressure on women to have attractive genitalia, it's pretty much a given that the male reproductive organs are an ugly sight to behold. I mean, there's no way to pretty up a pair of dog brains, let's face it.

This is not exactly what I had in mind to write about for my 100th post.

Anyway, I'm glad I stuck with it. I know on my profile it says I've had this blog since 2007, but that was just the result of a drunken night of rambling that ended up being like 20 pages long and deleted. This year I decided, after much prompting from Christi, to really undertake this thing. It's unclear exactly what's supposed to come of it-- if it's anything good she gets 10% (ha, try to get that to hold up in court!), if it's nothing then she owes me dinner.

Either way, it's helped me grow and filled a creative void in me. And it's let me connect with people, something I have a hard time with in real life. (Seriously, does EVERYONE have like 200 friends on Facebook? I have 35 and that's 20 more than I actually talk to.) So happy 100th, blog. You have served me well.

P.S. It has occurred to me that this blog represents about 1/3 of a book. Not that I'm saying it was misdirected energy or anything...(It's not wise to anger the blog.)

P.P.S. Sometimes I think Spellcheck just highlights shit to be an asshole because often it will give the EXACT same spelling of the word in its suggestions.

I Got Nothin'

2009-07-13T13:39:00.000-04:00

I can't seem to collect my random thoughts into anything coherent today. So, in lieu of anything witty, I give you this:

I think this image needs no commentary-- I just want to know how the hell he got perched up on that pedestal.

My best friend Christi is driving up from St. Mary's (outside Savannah) to visit this weekend. So excited-- she's one of the few people who can answer definitively that I am in fact an actual living, breathing person and not some clever bot. We've been best friends for about 18 years now, longer than either of us has been with our husbands. If I had a moat around our house (I can't seem to talk Jason into it, although I think it would be brilliant), she's one of the few people I would lower the bridge for, as opposed to the bubbling vat of tar I'd like to pour on most visitors. She's seen me drunk on stage at a bar for a Bimbo contest, I've seen things pass through her vagina-- that's the kind of bond that stands the test of time people.

I'm looking forward to dinner without the kids and husbands, and not just because I don't want to share my hibachi. (BTW Christi, Japanese steakhouse okay?) Maybe we'll get matching unicorn tattoos...or not.

Okay, just so this post won't be so pitifully short, here's some pictures of the kids:

It's Wordless Wednesday, right?

Apparently Libby Will Do Anything to Avoid Defeat

2009-07-11T11:54:00.000-04:00

Actually, I have been bursting at the seams with excitement for Libby and Ryan, who are about to take home their new daughter. The news of the long-awaited adoption has brought hardened bloggers all over the Internet to tears, and I can hardly contain myself-- I have been using exclamation marks with alarming fervour these past few days and dying to share the news with everyone I know, but they would probably think I was a little crazy when they asked who Libby was and I answered Um, my imaginary blogger friend?

The best part is, hopefully this will mean a great improvement from Libby and Ryan's last Christmas card:

And now she will have to create a pseudonym and create another blog where she can blissfully write about every detail of motherhood, like her other site about all things American Idol, written by her alter ego, a gay Puerto Rican man named Juan. I'm so happy for her and can't wait for all the poopy posts.

If Bill Cosby and Nellie Olsen Had a Really Ugly Love Child, This is What It Would Look Like

2009-07-09T11:03:00.001-04:00

I can't believe I'm posting this hideous picture of myself, but I just had to share with you how thrilled I was to pay good money to have this done. So here I am, in all my double-chin glory people. Needless to say, this will not be my pic on eHarmony.

It took the stylist over an hour to curl and pin my hair up, and she used 51 bobby pins. I have a lot of hair. The end result was not as bad as I feared, but I still looked like some kind of pageant reject. Then it was off to get my first ever pedicure. I know, I know-- I should have my rights revoked as a woman. I told you I am not a girly girl.

It was a little strange sitting there in the massage chair with my feet soaking in scalding water. First, the chair was not made for short people so I was perched on there with my feet dangling like that Lilli Tomlin character, the little girl in the big rocking chair. (Please don't ask if you don't know because it will make me feel really old.) Second, I was morbidly fascinated with the length of the toenails of the lady sitting next to me. They were huge-- I'm not talking fashionable french-manicure kind of long. Her big toe looked like it belonged on a dead troll or something. It made me think of the character in the Dune books, Duncan Idaho. Jason's a big fan of the series and told me about Duncan, master of combat, using his big toenail as a weapon to slice open the throat of his opponent. Impressive.

It felt strange to have an Asian woman bowed at my feet, clipping and scrubbing them (which was not as painful as I had imagined, I think in part due to the boiling cauldron of water I had been instructed to soak my feet in). When she had finished painting my toenails, I had to wear a pair of their cheap foam flip flops because of course I hadn't worn the appropriate shoes for a pedicure. The first flimsy pair broke right away, so I had to get a second pair and walk through the mall ever so carefully, high-stepping it like I had on big flippers. Combine the neon flip flops with my over-the-top diva hair, and I looked like the craziest Oriental woman ever walking through that mall.

Oh, and in case you were wondering-- of course it rained that night. Of course it did. But the ceremony was nice anyway, although we had to pose for a million pictures. And the only thing I hate more than having my picture taken is being subjected to a round of hugs from squealing women. The bride pretty much spent the whole night being photographed-- she didn't even get to eat. When I was gathering my things to leave up in the dressing room, she followed me in barking to her new husband, "Get away from me-- I am so annoyed with you I can't even stand to look at your face!"

Yep, sounds about right.

Lycra is My Friend

2009-07-08T08:17:00.000-04:00

Okay, so I am almost ready for this wedding today. Dress, check. Shoes, check. Makeup, check. (Liquid eyeliner people-- fancy. Hey, that's me stepping it up several notches-- I have no eyelids so a complex palette of eyeshadow is a moot point.) Undergarments, check. I bought a girdle-- don't tell. (Warning: contents under pressure. My belly's going to be packed in there like a can of biscuits.) Oh, and I love big girl panties-- Bridgette Jones was onto something. I may buy these babies in bulk 'cause they are comfortable and give you just enough support. Plus, they don't go up your ass. Jason's eyes shriveled up like raisins when he saw them, but he'll adjust.

It started to rain last night. I am praying to Shiva and Zeus and anyone else I can think of that it doesn't rain tonight. My poor friend has put so much into this wedding (she really has no family left to help her), and like I said before, she's got Mother Nature to contend with already. (Okay guys, skip over this part.) She's passing big golf balls, and is terrified she is going to bleed on her wedding dress. She already had an accident while out running errands yesterday. Yeah, I know-- that is going to be one magical wedding night.

I'm getting my hair done at 2 today. The last thing the bride needs to worry about is me doing my own hair, so I'm letting the professionals coif me. I will probably end up looking like Wolfgang Amadeus, or a geisha. Either way my head is probably going to look HUGE. Awesome.

It's Okay, No Need to Take Away My Shoelaces or Anything

2009-07-06T16:58:00.000-04:00

Hate to end the day on such a down note. It'll be fine, I'm just disappointed. But thankfully Jason makes enough to support us, I'm just ready to get back out there. (Okay, technically, I want to work from home, but you know what I mean. I wanted to try sleeping with myself to see if it got me a promotion, then I could sit around and talk about what a slut I was to myself.)

We are lucky, all in all. And things will work out. Thanks for all the support guys.

The wedding is only two days away and surprisingly I have not lost any weight. Oh well, I'll just have to work it in all my "apple" glory (that's the color of my dress, and that's exactly what I look like in it). Today was the bridesmaid luncheon and of course I was seated across from the matron of honor. She did not shut up for TWO WHOLE HOURS. I thought my eyes were going to roll back into my head and I was going to keel over at some point. If the server hadn't taken my salad fork I swear I was going to start stabbing her with it.

So, me being the procrastinator that I am, I still need to go out and buy my shoes and a good strapless bra. Jason suggested I just go braless-- could there possibly be a more shining example of how clueless guys are? We do not need my Jumbo Pencil Erasers drawing all the attention away from the bride. By the way, she told me she just started her period last night. Poor thing. But at least now I won't have to offer to make a small incision on the inside of her thigh at the reception. (You know-- for the marital bed.)

We'll see what happens in two weeks when dude gets back from India, hopefully without any newly acquired malnourished looking children in tow. In the meantime, looks like I'll have plenty of time for more Weird Body Parts posts-- yay!

Oh, hey, I almost forgot-- the rafting pictures came in. They are hilarious-- you've got to check them out.

Weird Body Part #6

2009-07-01T09:43:00.000-04:00

I have a Chub-Nub.

That's what Jason calls it, channelling his inner Ewok chant. Or Chunky Monkey, without the bananas. People, I have a fat mound.

My mound wasn't always overweight-- it used to be quite normal once upon a time. Now it looks like I've been getting collagen injections on THOSE lips. I guess it stands to reason that as you gain weight, so shall the various regions of your body. I've accepted that my formally dainty feet have morphed into Flintstone clubs, but this-- this is just undignified. I just hope that my little inflatable raft doesn't keep growing, like old men's noses. That would be one hell of a camel toe by the time I'm 60.

I guess it could be worse-- I once saw a centerfold in an old boyfriend's Playboy, and although this woman was gorgeous and fit, her junk hung down like Basset Hound ears (yes, they hung low, and I do believe she could tie them in a knot, possibly a bow). We're talking major roast beef slices. The disturbing part? The way my ex came to her defense and was all Maybe she's had kids and you should leave her alone. Oh, my bad-- let me leave the two of you alone for awhile.

Back in the day, one of my friends and I were in a bar bathroom (it was small and didn't have stalls, just one private toilet). We were taking turns peeing, and because we were so drunk, couldn't stop laughing at the sight of each other's stuff. Our body parts were like total polar opposites-- if we were comic book heroes we would be each other's arch nemesis. She would have been Super Clit, because her lips had like 0% body fat (I think they do lunges) and she had this ridiculous clit sticking out like a thumb. Or this dog's tongue:

Only her stuff was way cuter, of course. I was kind of in awe of it-- wow, she must have orgasms just by walking across the room, I thought.

Anyway, I was going to write about lots of other stuff today, but I decided to save it for more productive things, like an article, so this is what is left for you guys. Um, you're welcome?

I really need to get another memory card for my camera so that I can just post big ass flower pictures on days like this.

It's Like That Seinfeld Contest, Only Nobody Has To Stop Masterbating (I Think)

2009-06-28T23:58:00.001-04:00

I think my guest post for Libby should be on her blog today. It's about me accepting her challenge to renew our contest again. I know, I know, it's sad and this is probably how that whole big ass ball of twine got started in Minnesota, but what can I say-- we're competitive about things that don't matter and it gives us a reason to (live) blog. In all fairness I told her that we wouldn't start until she got back from her Civil War re-enactment/ Renaissance Fair vacation.

Speaking of blogging, I can't believe some of the negative comments people leave on a couple of the other blogs I read. Now, I love discussion and think that to surround yourself with only those who agree with you would be boring. Case in point, my husband insists on listening to talk radio during the day so when he comes home he's usually ranting about Nancy Pelosi or whatever. We disagree on a lot, but we can talk about it like adults. If I had to put a label on myself, which I hate to do, I guess you could say I'm more Libertarian. I don't think the government should get involved in your personal life, and when it comes to defense I think we should hope for the best but prepare for the worst. Like most people, I fall somewhere in the middle of the spectum.

My point is, you can disagree with someone without cursing their entire family and wishing horrible diseases on their future grandchildren. There's got to be something in between total agreement and raging white hatred, right? Fortunately, I've had only the nicest of comments so far. But I'm sure eventually I'll get my share of crazy, especially with the kind of searches Google keeps directing here.

Now, on to other matters-- I can't believe the news about Billy Mays! What a terrible freak accident-- now I can add falling luggage to my list of phobias. This one saddened me more than MJ for some reason, I guess because Mays was so vibrant and in his prime, while MJ has been on a downward spiral for some time. Someone said something on FB about Mays and the Sham Wow guy being gone-- what happened to the Sham Wow guy? (I always thought he looked like a crazy meth dealer to be honest.)

The wedding I'm in is almost here, and I'm freaking out about standing in front of everyone in my strappy little bridesmaid dress. Normally I stay clear of fad diets, but I'm short on time. A friend of mine lost a fast 8 pounds on some kind of fruit flush diet-- I think you shove a cantaloupe up your ass or something (she was a little vague with the details). I'm desperate enough to give just about anything a try...although maybe I'll start with a mango and work my way up.

I'd Like To Request a 24-Hour Vigil Be Kept Around Madonna-- But Only If She Stops Talking In That Fake-Ass British Accent

2009-06-26T12:49:00.000-04:00

Because really-- who does she think she's fooling? I liked her better when she was rolling around on stage in a wedding dress, before she got all exercise crazy and Julie Andrews. Oh, and apparently, according to her divorce proceedings, exercise kills your sex drive. Which is why I don't do it-- because I love my husband and I'm thoughtful like that.

I'm starting to think Mark Sanford is putting hits out on celebrities to divert attention. Really, Governor Sanford, did you honestly think that you wouldn't get caught? I mean, how many diplomatic issues could South Carolina have to work out with Argentina? Most South Carolinians don't even KNOW where Argentina is for fuck's sake. And hiking the Appalachia Trail? That's the best shit you could come up with?

I personally don't think that who a politician sleeps with (as long as they are consenting adults) should have anything to do with their ability to hold office. Stealing, violence-- things of that nature, yes. But if we excluded adulterers from jobs there'd be no restaurant managers left in the country and Washington would be run by all the unfuckable politicians-- like Ross Perot.

Now, having said that, I do feel some satisfaction when a particularly pious and condemning member of Congress or the religious fanatics gets outed with his gay lover and an ounce of meth. Because everyone should know by now that the most zealous haters usually have something big and hypocritical to hide.

And I am a very big proponent of being faithful in a marriage. But let's be realistic-- people fuck up in their personnal lives but that doesn't mean that they can't still perform their job. To be honest, I'm more disturbed about his I'm-Not-Taking-This-Money-On-Principle stand. Are you crazy? You don't turn that shit down! Especially when your state ranks among the lowest in academic performance and unemployment rates are so high. Always take the money left on the dresser!

Now, I'm off to watch some MTV, because I heard a rumor that they're showing actual videos today. Then I'm off to David's Bridal to see my friend's final fitting of her gown. She texted me yesterday that she has our toenail polish, so that all our toes will match. And we're also putting one stick-on crystal on one of our toes. Because, you know, any more than that would be just tacky.

PSA: Tampons Will Not Make You Blind Or Cause Your Penis To Fall Off If You Touch Them

2009-06-25T13:31:00.000-04:00

Some people are very comfortable discussing sex with their kids (ew) and their parents (double ew). Despite my flagrant potty mouth here, I only feel at ease discussing such things within my own age group. (And yes, Jason, that includes you because contrary to what you may think, three years does not make us Harold and Maude. So when I asked if you were sad about Farrah Fawcett, and was she on your wall back in the day and you answered No, that would have been before my time-- she's more your generation ? Bite me.)

The reason I'm bringing this up is that I'm starting to become uncomfortable buying feminine products with my son along. I know-- ridiculous, right? I just am not ready to go into a full anatomy lesson with him yet-- it hasn't been that long since I finished with Jason. Seriously? I know that you guys aren't exactly performing a clinical exam down there, but how can you not know that there are 3 separate holes? Also, Tampons 101 could take up an entire semester. 1) They are perfectly clean until used, so they will not soil your toothbrush when they are on the counter, still in the wrapper. 2) I'm pretty sure everyone at the grocery store knows you don't have a vagina, so it's okay for you to go buy them. 3) No, the Super, Regular, and Lite do not indicate actual Vagina Sizes. 4) No, they do not instantly deploy like a parachute (Poof!) after insertion, despite the impression given by the umbrella-looking demo on the commercial.

I have no idea what Jay thinks tampons are for. When he was a toddler he would sometimes get into the box and play with them like Lincoln Logs or drumsticks. By the look on Jason's face you'd think I was letting our son play with fresh placenta or something. (Reminds me of a story Jason told me about how his mom used to have one of those old school douches that hung in the shower, and when he was a kid he used to pick up the end of the long hose and pretend it was a microphone. Gross and yet hilarious all at the same time.)

I know that we will have to have an early version of "the talk" with Jay here shortly, especially since after watching something on Animal Planet he now thinks that giraffes shit out their babies. I'm just not looking forward to it and have no idea how to go about it since my Dad's idea of the sex talk was posting apocalyptic articles about sexually transmitted diseases on the refrigerator. Did your parents sit you down and have this talk with you? I'm curious.

P.S. On one of the Google searches leading to my blog, someone typed in "indian woman forcing husband to fuck." The hell?

This Is Not Good

2009-06-24T08:15:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I was checking out people's google searches on my sitemeter account when I ran across "*the name of my other blog* kim ******."

Uh-oh.

That was very specific, and the only people who would know that name and might have to search it to find it again are editors from two of the publications that I really want to write for. (Because they're awesome!) That's why I've taken such pains to leave no tracks on that blog that would lead anyone back here. Not that I'm ashamed of you guys or anything, it's just that some of the stuff on here might be a shock to the system of good and decent people. I was reading over some of my past posts and dying a slow death inside as I imagined what this person must have thought. Curse you google-- that search was very precise! You couldn't just take them straight to my other blog? Google is an asshole and apparently wants to fuck with me, as shown by it's recommendation of my blog to someone who searched "vagina show." Very fucking funny, google.

You might have thought that that incident would have caused me to stop using the f-word on here now, but I figure eh, the damage is done. This is why I suck so bad at dieting-- might as well eat the whole burger now, right? Also, the reader looked for 24 minutes (wow, I don't even look at my stuff that long), so maybe that means they like me? A more likely scenario is that they opened another tab and forgot that my blog was still open. Or it could indicate they were morbidly fascinated and appalled and couldn't look away from the car wreck.

All those stories come to mind about bloggers who lost jobs, friends, and dignity after their sites were discovered by the wrong people. I guess one can't hope to frolic wantonly, throwing about penis and vagina anecdotes without any reprocussions. Our parents were right-- those things always come with a price.

I feel like I just sent my husband a picture of my tits, only I hit my grandparents' number instead. Excuse me while I go find a nice rock to hide under.

Just a Quickie

2009-06-22T13:01:00.000-04:00

Because I'm supposed to be writing a guest post for Libby to use when she's out of town. I was already going to say yes when she asked me, and thought that the threat to have me deported was a little unnecessary. I was like Um, Libby, I'm in this country legally, and she was all Whatever you Commie-- you just hate me because I work in journalism and why don't you let my people go already!

So anyway, I contacted her sister asking for humiliating photos, but apparently Libby must have something really good on her because she sent me an urgent message saying that the whole family was scared of Libby and that they hadn't seen Uncle Henry since that time he made a joke about her stumpy toes... and then the line suddenly went dead.

I've got to come up with something else to write about now, and I also have to work on those articles I told you about before (you know, the ones I won't be getting paid for but it will be totally worth it because one day I will have a whole shitload of stuff that's published that nobody's ever read).

Oh, the guys had a great time at the mountains, by the way. Jason bought a disc of photos but for some reason they are going to take 2 weeks to get here. (What?) So I'll write about it then. Suffice to say, Jay really needed a shower when he got home because Jason had let him wear the same clothes THE ENTIRE WEEKEND, even though I had packed enough for a month-long epic voyage. When they got home Megan was playing with Jay's Spiderman and Wolverine, making them give each other sweet kisses and hugs, which my husband found very disturbing. I suppose we kind of balance each other's blunders out and together we equal one suitable parent.

Anyway, hope everyone had a great Father's Day. (And this didn't turn out to be such a quickie after all, I guess. Kind of like when your husband tricks you into a quickie blowjob and halfway in you know he's totally concentrating on baseball and french fries and you fell for it again.)

If I Didn't Have A Vagina I Wouldn't Believe I Was A Woman Sometimes

2009-06-20T21:03:00.000-04:00

Did I tell you I'm going to be a bridesmaid for a friend's wedding in July?

Did I tell you what I hate most about being a bridesmaid? EVERYTHING.

I am so not interested in all of that stuff-- I could care less about the invitations matching the napkins and the doilies and whatever. I think when my friend asked me we both knew that it was a bad idea.

Take for instance today-- I came this close to missing the bridal shower because I could have sworn it was next Saturday and not today. So I ran over to Target and bought an ottoman that was on her registry and on the way to the shower I was thinking, Shit-- who gives a big ass ottoman for a present? I think that's the kind of stuff you give at the wedding and you're supposed to buy stuff like lingerie for the bridal shower. Too late now. Also, I'm HORRIBLE at wrapping gifts. I know some women really get into all of that and crease all the edges and get a coordinating ribbon and whatnot, but how the hell are you supposed to wrap an ottoman? So I end up walking into the joint lugging that thing like a dumbass and plop it down among all the pretty little boxes covered with flowers and doves and crap like that. Everyone's wearing these plastic beaded necklaces and I'm all, "Hey, do I have to show my titties to get one of those?" and apparently it's not that kind of party because the groom's family is there and my friend is so nervous she's taking half a Xanax in the kitchen. She's had three cold sores just in the past month from all the stress, poor thing. She's going to have bald spots by the time of the actual wedding-- I still say eloping is the way to go. My only regret is that I didn't have Elvis presiding over our nuptials.

As an added bonus, I kinda can't stand the matron of honor. She's one of those people who NEVER SHUTS UP and relates everything back to herself. Every time the bride opened up a set of pans or whatever, she had to share with us her particular experience with that item. Oh, you looked at that same set when you were registering for your wedding last year? I REALLY DON'T GIVE A FUCK. Every. Single. Present, people. Also, she's a one-upper. If you've had mono, she's had malaria. If pollen gives you sinus trouble, it gives her tiny brain clusters. And I thought she was going to shit in a circle around the bride to mark her territory as the BFF. Look, I'm just here for the sausage balls, okay? I'm not interested in challenging your status.

I'm a very outspoken supporter of gay marriage and everything, but are you guys really sure you want to take on all this crap? I mean, can you imagine how much cattier the bridesmaids at a gay wedding would be?

P.S. Whoo-hoo! I got bored-looking girl to follow me!

My Innocence Is Gone

2009-06-19T21:40:00.000-04:00

Today Libby enlightened me on sitemeter. At first I was horrified at the whole Big Brotherness of it-- you mean she could tell when I viewed her blog 56 times a day during our contest? (Which may explain why she told me that she didn't really live in Utah, that was just a cover, and was all "Let's just be friends.")I told her I felt like I had been tricked like when you didn't know you were on three way calling and totally got duped into gossiping about the silent person listening in. I think they call it entrapment.

But the more I played with it the more I started to praise rather than curse it. It was pretty cool to see how people ended up at my blog ('cause I was going to post a poll asking that, like the annoying way the cashiers at stores ask you for your phone number and zip code and for fuck's sake I just want to buy some damn craft foamie things for my son's class party already). I saw that someone had found me through Social Luxe Lounge, and I was curious what that was all about so I checked it out. Apparently it's the site that gives out the blog awards you vote on, and I was browsing through it when I found MY blog nominated under the Guilty Pleasure Blogs. (Kind of sounds like I peddle sex toys or something.) I don't know who nominated me-- I swear to Buddha it was not me (though I wish I'd thought of it!). A big thanks to whoever nominated me, be assured that your place in heaven is secure now. Wow, I'm really flattered. I don't have a snowball's chance in hell, but I'm psyched nonetheless.

If you want to make my loss a little less humiliating, please click here and vote for me. Guess what- you can vote once a day until the end of the contest-- so go ahead, vote like you're voting for Danny Gokey.

That sitemeter thing is hypnotic-- it's especially bad because Jason is not here to keep my obsessiveness in check. It's a good thing I'm not smart enough to rig a small GPS system onto Megan so that I can track her location throughout the house like a lab mouse. I'd totally be catatonic in front of my monitor then.

This is ten times worse than the followers thing-- before I just wanted to get that chic who looks really bored to come follow me. Now I want to know how the hell somebody can look at my site for 0 seconds. 0 seconds-- really?