HAPPY NEW YEAR, BLOGGERS!!

And I really mean that.
I want you all to have a happy night, and a happy year.
Let's all be happy.
and wear fewer clothes.
In fact, here are my Blog-resolutions:
(totally off the top of my head, so be prepared to be confused, titillated, taunted, and lied to)

1. I would like to see less arguing in my comments box
2. I would like to see more nudity from my readers/co-bloggers
3. I resolve to write more of what I want (snort--as if that's something I need to work on??)
4. I will post fully nude photos every 6th Wednesday of the month.
5. I resolve to get my links list updated--and to
6. Spend more time reading blogs.
(hey, I have a semester starting--I'll need a good way to procrastinate)
7. I resolve to kick anyone's ass that I want to, and fuck anyone in my dreams that I want to.
8. I resolve to lose 400 pounds by June.
(ok, fine...but I resolve to hit the gym 5 times a week again)

I am in list mood.
Resolutions were never really my thing.
But it was so much fun making a list...
Now I want to make another one.

Last night around 10 or 11 pm, hubby and I were in bed,
and conversation turned to this evening.
I sighed and said, "I just want to go to bed. Tomorrow."
I started laughing at myself--
I'm in bed, and I'm all I can think of that I would like to do "tomorrow" is GO TO BED.
Wow.
That was a sad moment.
And so is this.
And...this.
Crap, I'm trapped in a cycle.

OH!
Lisa Lampenelli told my favorite joke last night, but she tells it backwards from how I tell it...
her way:
Little boy gets on an elevator and says to woman: can I smell your feet?
woman: No! (indignantly)
little boy: Oh, then it must be your pussy.
Frankly, I have to say I like my way better.
Cuz it has a higher "ew" factor.
Dude at a bar says to woman: Can I smell your pussy?
Woman, also indignantly: No!
Dude: OH, then it must be your feet.
Way.
Better.

And on that, oh-so-uplifting note,
I'll wish my friens in Greenwich Mean a happy new year,
and the rest of y'all, too.
I'll probably post drunk tonight, so watch for it.

Friday nights are for Fucking

...just in case you didn't get the memo.
God DAMN I'm horny.
Had a great workout, bowling was nearly homicidally inducive (inducing?),
and the kids are sweetly tucked away with their favorite blankets and apples with cinnamon sugar.
I am supposed to be paying tuition.
Puh.
Leeez.
As if I could sit at my computer for more than 3 seconds without first checking blogstuff.
Oh!
And looking up a friend's number.
hold that thought.
Damn internet just let me down.
It's a rare occurence, and it stings.
I shall hold a grudge against my tempetuous lover for 6.12 minutes.
Dramatic pouting and sniffles shall ensue.

Anywho.
I guess I'm stuck having everyone over for drinks and appetizers after all.
I was hoping to switch it to them meeting us for dinner.
bleh.
It's going to be a fun evening anyway.
Comedy club and dancing and, most importantly, a cab there and back.
yay for a paid designated driver!

Hm.
I was in the mood to write when I started this,
but now I've wasted a bunch of time ordering books and paying for classes,
and I'm all out of pretty words.

I've decided I hate my hair cut.
I'll go in next week and have him fix it.
he's a darling, it'll be fine.

I know I shouldn't think such thoughts, but I am...
I'm sketching out scenes in my head of torid and dark and mysterious and sighing moments.
I'm closing my eyes and feeling soft lips brush down the length of my arched neck.
I'm licking my lips, wondering why they taste like someone else's mouth--
why I smell the skin of a man.
I am not focusing on it, and yet it is focusing on me.
Thoughts, images pounding into the goose bumped skin of my arms,
slipping through the cracks in my armor, and lodging inside the thick buttery soul of my most magical dreams.
Bursts of sensual overload hit me and with each, a picture--a flash, a click; it's a slideshow.
I'm creating it, but it has overflowed and is out of my control.
hands running firmly down my bare back, cupping over my ass with a tug--
I shiver at this as if it were real.
A bare chest faces me, I can almost feel the hairs brushing against my cheek as my lips wander across warm skin.
Eyes.
Meeting.
Scenes of tenderness overlap scenes of wild abandon--sweating, crushing, clutching.
My thighs, lean and strong--
fiercely stradling
or falling open gently
or wrapping around.
hair grasped in handfuls, teeth leaving marks--
everything is mixing together...
I can't focus...
it's forcing out all other thoughts, all ability to think.
This is living.

Happy New Year.....

Trying to post at this moment is like--

trying to tie one's show while jogging,
or put on lipstick while horseback riding,
or something.
But then, no sooner do I make the observation than the air has cleared.
For only a moment, probably.

Again, I should be showering.
Again, I will attempt to take the kids bowling (didn't make it yesterady.)

My eyebrows are lovely, my hair got dyed, too.
And there was a steady supply of dinner, wine, and workout pacts.

Wow, this is boring.
How about that shower?
Yup, I'll be naked.
So that's a good thing to talk about, right?
Pure nudity.
except for my jean shorts...
heh.

Ok, and I'm back to ducking for cover.
I guess I better end this post before somebody gets hurt.
wait, that came out wrong.
my boys are just playing at their computers, but they are somehow convinced taht I should be able to help them complete levels of games I've never seen...
they still think I know everything, and the fact that I'm a girl (and one who is less video-game-adept than most) seems to have alluded them.

ok, I'm going to go before.
some
body
gets
hurt.
Like I said 3 seconds ago.
jeeeeezus, my brain is fried.
I will be back.
(...or is that front?)

blah.

Do not expect me to know what day it is

And don't bother telling me, cuz I won't remember.
Besides which, this whole week is floating in some kind of timeless jumble--
days are non-consecutive, hours are mismatched.
Don't make plans with me for next Tuesday because I don't have a slot in my head for such a thing just yet.
But today is full of good stuff.
Eyebrow waxing, haircuts for little boys, bowling, GYM.
fucking gym.
I have fallen so far off that wagon that I can't even see my feet anymore.
Oh, that's just the tits...
but still.
I am back, and I'm ready to recommit.
Hubby's even going to start working out...
and quit smoking!!
It's about goddamn time.
He quits for a year, every couple of years...
welll, at least his lungs get a break, right?
right.

Ok, so I have actually started to compile my list of links to add,
so if you don't want me to link you, let me know.
If you want me to link you...don't let me know.
I'm kind of weird about this.
I link who I want.
period.
That's just how it goes.
If I linked everyone....well, I would't ever read any of them anyway.
I wish I could.
Ok, now I sound like some kind of bitchy martyr.
But the truth is, this has been the case since before my lame little popularity burst.
I just plain do not have time to read all the blogs I love, let alone the ones I like, or even don't hate.
So.
I read who I can, when I can.
I follow my whim--fly by the seat of whose-ever pants I'm wearing.
Just love me, and I'll love you.
We can be all Barney/happy-family about it.
It'll be cool.
Or at least luke warm.

I'm late.
or, I might not be.
I don't know yet.
Have to call the Becky.
Which reminds, me: a full report of my date with the other Becky and her Justin (case) later.
Gist: good times.

wish me happy waxing...
And Noojes, I'm seriously considering that world tour!!

Have a Happy Hump Day

Or don't.
Really, it's up to you.
I prefer to celebrate these sorts of things,
but if you're more of a suppression-type--
by all means, do NOT enjoy the humping or the day.

I should probably try a little something called "think before you speak"...
I've heard it's useful.
I do not, however, know where such a thing can be purchased, acquired, or learned.

I am FINALLY off to the gym.
Monday I rather frustratingly missed it.
Tuesday I annoyingly missed it.
And today...
will be the christening of my new little mp3 player.
I remember when I got my first one...
almost 4 years ago--
holy christ, it pre-dates the blog!!
Anyway, it was very exciting.
It held about 12 songs,
but I absolutely loved changing the play list every day.
And no one else at the gym had one...
now, they're everywhere.
But frankly, that's for the best because it lowers my risk of overhearing such conversations as "protein shakes make me poop funny" and "my biceps are 10 times the size of my calves, but who cares!"
Damn muscle-heads.

I took my boys and my two neices (7 & 9) to the cesspool that is McD's.
There were way too many kids there.
Most of whom had severe tourett's syndrome...
oh, wait--that was me.
They did, however, scream a lot.
I actually got a headache from it, and I'm pretty hearty.
I take fewer OTC drugs than anyone I know (short of homeopathic/hippie types--but I still ingest less "fix-it" stuff than even those fellers),
and the only prescription I have is for my thyroid.
Which reminds me--
it has been cited as a cause of memory loss.
I would tell you how deeply this upsets me, but I've forgotten the details...
sad, but true.

I also finally figured out my schedule for the coming semester
(although, now that I mention it, I don't know what day classes start...)
and I've been able to fit two classes in.
I get to leave here no later than 7am in order to make it, too.
yay.
but at least I only have to go 2 days a week.
And it looks like the walk between the two buildings is only a fucking mile or so, but at least I have 20 minutes between classes.
I'm just excited I could fit two in without having to drive over there 5 days a week, so I'm cool.

Also, people shouldn't be allowed to change their voice mail message without MY permission.
She always has funny ones...
and today I called.
My heart nearly broke at the dry words which reached my eager ear.
Such a let down.
I bitched her out thoroughly,
and should have something better to listen to shortly.
Yeah. I'm a cunt.

Ok.
off to sweat, then home to shower, then off to sweat some more.
wait.
no.
not sweat.
EAT.
with bloggers.
They are only the 2nd & 3rd bloggers I've ever met.
Not only that, but they basically kick all sorts of ass,
so you'll understand my anticipation.
Housewife out.
Oh, and one more thing--
I'm hosting my reality show.
Screw Rachael Ray.
(no, really...you should...)

Wow.

I mean, SERIOUSLY.
I've just sort of realized that I have become ultra-defensive lately.
Blah, blah--you've all heard my sob story a thousand times.
I insist that I'll stop focusing on the negative
(even though that is still the only way to properly develop film...)
but then every time a comment lands with anything but the lightest of butterfly kisses--
WHAM!
(no, not the band)
I'm back into my posturing and whining...
Sorry.
My husband could tell you all that I'm a huge baby when it comes to conflict.
So, yeah: anonymous fuckers can still piss up a rope.
But...I'll try not to be so damn ready to fight when a linked up person is slightly disagreeable.
No, that's not a promise.
It's not so much that I am not good at keeping promises,
it's that I can't remember that I made them.
So.
There.

Thanks to all the lovely folks who rushed to my defense...
you're marvelous.

I had a dream last night.
And when I woke up, I decided it was a revelation.
I thought about it all morning,
and then when I told my husband about it tonight--
I realized it was CRAP.
In the dream, there was a reality show:
some kind of boot camp for non-cooking wives.
And in my unaccountable hallucinogenic state I believed this was a hot idea.
Marketable.
Snort.
And, no...I don't imagine this will be another Maine.
(blame that one hit wonder reality show on him...)
I had it all planned out, in my head.
I'm just glad I chose someone who loves me unconditionally to pitch the idea to.
heh.
He was even kind enough to pretend I am not a fucking half-wit.

In related news,
my best friend's mom just sent Christmas pictures.
I had forgotten how hot her brothers are.

Why?

Why do some people behave so?
Why do they think they are better--
or in a position to pass judgment?
I do NOT go to their sites and tell them how to write, how to talk, what to do.
And why don't I?
Hm...let's see.
Maybe because I am happy with my life and don't need to go looking for people to hurt, in order to make me feel better.
Maybe because I'm mature and settled.
Maybe because I'm sensitive and caring.
This blog.
It is FOR ME.
It is a place for me to let my head spill out of my fingertips,
to purge my thoughts.
If you don't "get" it, or like it--
go away.

I think it's funny that people would deign to judge me, based on reading one (or several) posts.
I think it's bizarre that they would feel the need to be blatantly cruel.
I think it's sad that they don't understand how simultaneously hurtful and irrelevant their comments are.
I am sorry for devoting so much blog space to the negative.
I can't decide whether I hate Blogger for sending me this avalanche of traffic,
or appreciate the few new friends I made.
Some fantastic people came my way...
but some moved on.
Whatever.
This blog is not my life.
I have beautiful children and a wonderful husband and adoring friends.
I have.
Everything that could be dreamed of...
But.
I still grow frustrated by the need of others to splash hurtfullness on my pretty little cove...
Each one digs a hole into me.
I wonder what will happen when the hole reaches the other side?
ah, but I guess it never will.
Because for each shovelful that is tossed carelessly to the way side,
I am showered with a dozen more.

Well.

Whatever.

At least I got to spend time with a dear friend today...
The one who has been my muse for so long I almost couldn't write alone.

Not in the mood...

but which mood is that, exactly?
I don't know.
Don't ask me.
I should turn on some music, though.
Silent house, holy house (batman)--
and here I sit.
(pen in hand? no... in bathroom stalls across the land? occasionally...)
maybe it's a day for fiction,
rather than the stories of me.
Maybe I'll skip the one about how one of my two dinner guests on Christmas neglected to mention he's a vegetarian so I cooked pot roast...
Even the veggies were cooked in the pot...with the roast.
So he had mashed potatoes, sans gravy.
It was only my husband's youngest brother, so it's ok.
He's a cool kid.
Total hippie, bordering on loser, but with a good chance of happiness.
Anyway.
And then there was the game my husband discovered.
Some online Warcraft game...
I was smiling and nodding for the first 7 hours or so,
but then my temperature began to lower.
It was downright frosty by hour 12.
That was Christmas Eve.
So on Christmas DAY, when he sat down and logged in...
well.
I said, "Hey honey? I hope that game came with a prostitute."
"Haha, no nothing like that, but did G. show you they can dance?"
"Yes, but that's not what I meant. I meant...maybe it should have included some vouchers for dry cleaning and restaurants; a punch card for an escort service."
He looked a little uncertain for a moment--
how mad is my wife?
I smiled and he closed the lid of his laptop.
"I was...just gonna play for a minute..."
UH HUH.
Sure you were.
Oh, don't get me wrong--
he deserves his relaxation.
It was just bad timing.
Like I said, X day was great.
Cuz he knows what's important
(even if I have to remind him occasionally.)

So...

how about that music?
There. That's better.

I had some deep thoughts, while I was browsing tracks.
They slipped off my shoulders, and into the cool, murky water of forgottenPastGone
I wish I could remember...
something about wishing I could feel a certain way again,
and something else, about wondering...SHIT. Wondering something.
Building a house.
Alone.
I can see him, all my years getting mixed up--
which one was his?
And the cold of the air that year, I know it was the year it was colder than...
cold, colder, coldest--
the most superlative of all cold weather.
And yet.
We walked through Old Port, looking for Jamie's band--
James, to him...and I forget most of the time to wonder what Jamie thought of me, then.
The girl he rode the bus with for most of grade school and jr high...probably high school, too.
yeah, high school.
And then I called, and he answered, and I knew it was him but I didn't know how,
and asked for his roommate.
Then, months later, his roommate and I looked for him.
Sparklers and styrofoam-encased hot chocolate (but surely, in that MINUS 60 degrees weather it did not stay hot long...)
Laughing and looking.
Arms entwined.
We're in Guam, we're in Guam--wait, Guam's warm, right?
It didn't work...the cold still stabbed, sliced, wound through us.
Stumbling, runny-nosed into the next venue on the list--
is this it?
Finally, it was.
And we huddled in a too-large space, for an unknown band in a festive-but-cold night,
waiting.
Listening.
Talking...smiling.
You should move back here...I'll marry you...
Which year was that?
The wrong one, I'm sure.
The too late one, the too warm one--
warm inside, with a black turtle neck and in such a familiar place,
but with the fewest familiar faces--
and some who didn't belong at all.
Everything was upside down and inside out...but not necessarily backwards.
I think we thought it was the other night...
the first one.
On that night, I was only trying to seize the day,
to embrace the opportunities that life threw at me.
Because I had learned not to treat them recklessly.
I had learned...to grab what I wanted and run with it.
To plunge my hands deep in the grain barrel of life.
So I took his face in my hands and we stumbled to that attic.
One year later on the same night I made a new and unrelated promise--
for a beginning...and an end.
I didn't even know there was an end until I had cried a gallon of tears in mourning.
Oh, thought I, good bye to that life.
And so, he builds a house.
Alone...but in solitude he'll gain strength.
Well, I believe that he will.

I can't stop looking at the scar on my hand, from the burn the other day.
The skin is red and puckered.
I want to flatten it out...smooth it.
No, I'll not iron it, sillies.

I do have babysitters set for my double date with a fantastic pair of bloggers on Wednesday, and my as yet un-set plans for New Year's Eve.
I hate how it comes so close to Christmas...heh.
It just seems to sneak up on me, so!
We try to plan ahead, but there aren't a lot of places advertising before Christmas,
and whatever.
I'm just excited for my evening with Becky and Justin.
They don't know it yet, but I'm making them sign confidentiality agreements.
Hey, I got a rep to protect!
(please...say that like Johnny from Grease 2...)

Well, so there was your fiction.
I think I'll go watch 40 Year Old Virgin.
yes, I've seen it.
I finally watched The Village last night.
WOW.
That kicked ass.
And you know what was great?
From the very first scene I was guessing that it was modern day.
Their language was too awkward, too forced.
And I knew that it was intentional.
I loved it.
I loved that Wah-keen didn't die...
which reminds me of how sad I was when his brother died.
Dude.
he was fuggin HOT.

Next time I get to be God for the day,
I'm bringing a few folks back to life.
Possibly only so I can fuck them raw, but that's my business.
Cobain, Hendrix, Morrison...River.
Which reminds me (actually, no, watching "Here Comes Santa Claus" initially reminded me...cuz the Winter Warlock starts going by his first name...)
it reminded me that I used to want to name a daughter "Winter".
whoa. And I'm listening to "Daughter" right now...
TRIPPY.
I think I'll start going by "Winter" now.
Winter Jones.
Winter Smith?
Winter McGee.
Winter --
I just realized that probably my biggest handicap in writing fiction is making up realistic names.
Can't.
Fucking.
Do it.
So, don't be surprised if I use your name for a character sometime.
Yeah, YOU.
Or you, or you over there!!
nah...you'll be the main character...have to change the name to protect my guilty day dreams...
There was my first love, and my last love.
They shared a name.
every time I twist a stem off an apple, it's the same letter...
all my loves have shared that letter.
Or am I only counting those that do?
Am I minimizing the impact the other had on me because of the alphabet, or their mother's first kiss to their once-bald little fuzzy scalps as she whispered their names for the first time?
Either way.
Greatest loves.
Letter.
Blah.

I'm putting myself to sleep.
How 'bout you?
Fucking remind me to change the homepage of this computer, please...
neices coming for two days.
don't want.
them to see.
BLOG.

asleep..me....fuzzy...warm, happy, love, etc.
eyes closing.
breath slowing.
fingers, on keyboard--heavy.
should stand.
bed.
find.
it's not lost--why find, silly lisa

bon nuit mes amours--

...and to all, a good night.

Sigh...
smiles and stretches for me.
What a peaceful, soft day it was.
I got what I wanted:
even though hubby has been swearing every oath he can think of that he would NOT buy me another...
for the third year in a row, I got an mp3 player.
Last year, it was a FORTY Gig thing.
Wonderful, but GIANT.
cavernous, echoey with my pitiful collection of music.
A few weeks ago, the earphone jack in (jack off!! woot!) stopped working.
Everything else about it is fine, just no sound comes out.
Fortunately this meant I was still able to transport my library from it onto my hard drive, which is newer than it.
(are you still with me? I know...it's rather long--shuh, that's what SHE said!)
So anyway.
I got a 1 GB creative nomad nano--which is plenty of space and is TINY.
so, yay.
besides my gorgeous silverware and some shirts and fabulously pictorialized cookbooks and--
oh, yes...there was that lovely afternoon love.
mmm...for which I had even managed a relaxing shower, for the first time in forever,
(so my usually bushless-bush was getting a little bushy)
and I was able to get all that taken care of.
Felt good.
...and feels good.

anywho.
Kids were a dream--
happy and excited and not over-tired.

More later.
Or tomorrow.

Merry Christmas!!

I don't want to jinx myself...
but so far, this is shaping up to be one of the best Christmases since childhood.

I burned the hell out of my hand, while making Christmas cookies the other day.

I am shocked at how little I have to do today...
I think I'll make clam chowder, and blueberry pie.
Maybe some homemade rolls or bread.
That'll be a luuurvly dinner.
I'm almost not homesick.
My mom is preparing for their huge Christmas Eve party...
with my cousins and aunts and uncles, just like when I was a kid.
I miss holidays at home, but not as much as I used to.
It's such a strange time, those transition years between old traditions and the smooshiness of new ones--
not yet solid, not yet traditions at all, just trying things out.
Seeing what fits.
It's a good life.
I think I'll go shower, and do some cooking...
Maybe watch a movie.
I can hardly stand the anticipation--
I want to be santa, NOW.

I wonder why my right hand is a different color than my left hand.
It probably means I'm dying.

but mostly, I have nothing to say.
I am filled with joy and peace...

Truly, I hope everyone is having a wonderful day, whether it's a holiday for you or not.

Wine in the afternoon, makes for a sleepy evening

It's true; don't question.

What a glorious fucking day it was, though.
It was nearly 60 degrees outside,
and I had a late lunch with my best(est) friend,
Wine included.
The food was exquisite, too.
And did I mention the dry, marvelous taste/smell of the wine?
Mm....well, I should have, if I didn't.
Did I?
Yeah.
I did.
Better yet, my kids played nicely (read: far away on some distant floor, in some distant room) while I baked all the cookie dough I had made earlier.
One batch Chocolate chip Coconut, one batch "The Best Sugar Cookies"(ever).
They are giant and fluffy and make my loins burn with desire to be more skilled at cookie decoration.
For they do deserve it, oh yes.
They are sort of like the Me of cookies...
Yeah, they're that good.
heh.
It's ok: I'm only pretending to have an ego.
Because it cracks me up.
In fact, I've gotten so lardish in my old age that I can't even fit in one seat of an airplane.
well...not if I'm trying to lie down, comfortably....
My trainer offered me a spanking for missing a couple of workouts, speaking of my battle against lard, and I was struck mostly by the incongruity of my reaction.
A sweet and simple, "I know, I had sick kids; I'm sorry."
What the fuck??
I just realized that I do still know how to behave myself.
It's rather humbling.
(and frightening...)
I also called my tits "protrusions".
Oh yes.
I DID.
As I pulled a cable from my right side across my body with my left arm,
he told me it would be ok if I bent my arm a little, because:
"You have..uh..."
"Protrusions?"
"(chuckle) Yeah...protrusions."
He and I?
We don't quite know what to make of each other, I think.
I mumble a lot.
And giggle when I suck.
Er...
not that kind of sucking.
That is entirely out of the question.
Vows, etc.
Not that I'm saying I would want to.
But.
Butt.
Butte.
I fucking heard from Whitey himself last night, by the way!
Blew my fucking mind.
That kid (he's ten days younger than me, so I'm entitled.) writes like a steamroller.
I mean, shit.
His words don't so much flow, as rush--
like the Mississississippppppi (fuck, I love that word!)
or the Rio Grande.
in the spring.
And my brain is the river bed, the rocks, the sand, the little fishies.
Yeah, he's that good.
(and I have split personalities, apparently.)
Cold, hard reality in technicolor.
If that little fucker (he's tall...what the hell is the matter with me??) doesn't publish hisself a book, I swear I'm gonna do it for him.
Go.
Read.
Right or wrong, he's a solid wordsmith.
Solid.

My nose ring smells funny.
Which strikes my elbow with a dull ringing ache...

Dude on the radio today: happy new year, helen.
Helen, the DJ: Are you an atheist?
Dude: naw, I'm a pisces.
(he was as serious as that heart attack I'll probably have from all the lard...in my ass....oh, wait...my heart's not in my ass. And neither is the lard. I keep it in a jar by my bed. Yes, for kinky purposes, nosy neighbor.)
Anyway, it made my day.
Hey, it was early...
The wine and the conversation and the cookie decorating with one of my very cutest nieces were the things that really made my day.
I got so gyped by not getting a daughter.
I'm still more than a little pissed about that.

Ok, I think I'll go finish watching Arrested Development and see if I can talk my husband into an ammendment to my list of celebrities I get to shag silly if I meet them.
Always one step behind, goddammit.

Wispy thoughts, half a list, and a two-birds/one-stone Meme

The wispy thoughts first...
See, sometimes I fear I may talk too loud--
I cringe at myself, at my boisterous alter ego, sparkling and snorting and limelight-loving.
I may talk too loud...
but I worry that I don't talk loud enough
(or that I should really be using "loudly")
becuase if i was...
Talking loudly enough,
wouldn't the world be a better place?
If everyone laughed more and loved more?
but then I realize, that adding volume does no more to help someone understand that way of life than it does when you're yelling english at someone who only speaks german...stupid americans.
hee.

Laundry
Cookies
Trainer
Xmas Cards
call J
call A
call M
(ok, there's no "M", but I couldn't resist spelling a word!!)

I guess that's more than half of a list, but when I opened blogger, I was only thinking that's all I had...
whatever.

I opened the door,
and there he stood--
with his heart on his sleeve, in his hands...
on a silver platter.
In that one moment, I broke apart into a million pieces.
I know it souds trite, or cliche, but it's true.
As time whirled around me, I counted them in slow motion, my pieces.
Each one electric and jagged, my lips moved;
counting so high takes great concentration.
All the pieces realigned then
(without giving me a chance to marvel at the wonder of having broken into such a clear, exact number of pieces, when the pieces themselves were neither clear nor exact...)
and I took my next breath.
All of me was flung out the door to wrap around him and draw him in--
as I stood staring, half whispering, "Come in."

(end haunting thoughts and half-dreamt dreams...)

Ok, so two lovely folks tagged me for the same Meme,
which should probably mean they cancel each other out and I don't have to do it,
but it sounds fun, and (the main draw) easy.
I am generally anti-Meme, for the simple reason that it takes too much focus and I can't be bothered with FOCUS.
But I am far more vehementally opposed to "My Space" and I just signed up for a page there, so I guess I can do this.
No, I won't be using it.
I hate that motherfucking organization.
It's like a cult.
Or high school.
Don't get me wrong: I loved high school while I was in it.
Lots of fun.
HOWEVER.
I'm way too mature to hang out with...uh, yeah. I'm just kidding.
It's not maturity, as such, just...age, I guess.
I'm too old.
don't like their slang, their "U R a Q T" crapola.
Words, folks--USE EM.
Anyway...
I had great fun filling out my profile info...
Oh!
And the most valid exuse of all:
I did it for Doug Stanhope.
I want to be one of his groupies, but I'm too lazy.
This works for me.

Back to the Meme(s) at hand...
So here are Five Strange Habits I have:

1. If I have a hangnail, I flip it back and forth INCESSANTLY with whichever finger reaches it best (preferably on the same hand) until that finger is cramped. Eventually I find nail clippers and rid myself of the temptation. Nervous tick, what can I say?

2. Calling everyone in my house "honey". If my parents are visiting, I end up calling them "honey" or "hon", and if I'm babysitting other kids they get it, too. (which fortunately doesn't happen often. shudder.)

3. I did not own (or use) a brush, comb or pick for almost 15 years. I would comb my fingers through my hair while applying conditioner. This changed recently, but it's still only brushed once a day, and that is moments before my shower.

4. Habits...hm...this is probably no shock to you, but I give terribly long drawn-out goodbyes over the phone. I have to sumarize the conversation and affirm any plans that were made...it bugs the shit out of me.

5. gah. one more??? um...I am a turn-signal afficionado. No...more like addict. They are important. Use them. I am a very courteous driver, and the only traffic law I have trouble with is crashing through speed limits, but whatever. At least I don't tailgate or change lanes without signalling!!

Wow, that was painful.
I'm finished.
spent.
over.
OUT.

Someone said I should be sleeping...

but the words didn't match the grooves in my ears,
or was that that soles of my feet?
Well.
There was discord.

I am heading
for the bedding
which lies atop my bed.
But right now
I'm chilly and needing to write.

That was my half-heart, full-farted attempt at a poem.
Because I thought those first two lines would sound so silly and soft,
if rhymed.
and they did.
But thenI was too sleepy for more.

Today I had the bright idea to take my children inside to eat at Wendy's.
They were a little wound-up, but in a good way.
Discussion turned to "finish your chicken so you'll grow big and strong."
which then led to a question from Oliver:
"Are all moms smaller than dads?"
I answered this, like I answer the kaleidescope of questions they hurl at me, daily--
as clearly and concisely as possible.
"No, not always."
Then added my always-regretted little footnote--why I do this is beyond me.
It never fails to lead to exasperation, at the least, and mortification as it did today.
"No, not always. We have big men in our family."
Max pipes in, "We have big PENISES in our family!!"
Nice and loud.
Good times.
Hey, at least he didn't say we have small ones...
Christ.

I am just full of great ideas, sometimes.
It's like I work in a lightbulb factory.
...but then, other times it's as if I could get fired from the M&Ms factory for throwing away the Ws...
Yeah.
It's a possibilty, it really is.
I'm flakey.
And after I learned that Einstein was flakey, I decided that I must be a genius.
Which is why I have a 3 car garage.
(to store my ego.)
heh.

See, here's the problem with not being asleep right now:
My eyes are open.
My fingers are moving.
But...
it's not exactly like being awake.
oh, it's similar alright.
but my bed is laughing at me right now--
taunting me.
daring me!!
how do I use exclamation points when I'm yawning?
that's quite audacious of me.
I should.
go.
now.

Good.
Night.
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Braless What, now?

Oh yeah...Tuesday.
Two for tuesday.
Two BOOBS for TWO-esday.
It's like a joke, only funny.
Or is that supposed to be "not funny"?
Whatever.
I know this shirt celebrates the wrong holiday,
but that's life.
What's life?
A magazine...

Ok, so if you're new, the recap is this:
Tuesdays are boring, lifeless days--
without a pulse, without soul, goddammit!!
They are far less torturous than Mondays,
but in reality a rather tortuous route to Friday...
So.
I decided to spice up my life by going braless on Tuesdays.
eventually I bowed to the immense pressure of my enormous male audience
(ok, there were like 5 guys reading at the time--hi boys!)
and...I'm pretty sure all it took was one suggestion--
Hey, I take dares, but only when I want to.
You can't get me to do something I wasn't already dying to do, just by daring me.
This is purely in the "FYI" category, and is only marginally related to the anecdote at hand.
Er...what was it, again?
Oh yes.
Braless Tuesday.
Anywho, I posted a photo, and the rest--as they say--is (I can't say it...too corny, even for me...)
I posted a photo and the legend was born.
There, that sounds better.
...if not a bit over the top.

God Bless the U.S.A


(No, really, it sneezed!)

Happy Anniversary to my Blog

3 years ago today, I wrote my first post.
After checking my archives, I see that I didn't become a daily poster for another 2 or 3 months, and now I can't go a day without it.
I get the shakes if I try.
It's not pretty.
I had semi-planned to do something semi-exciting,
but alas.
It is not to be.
I made a calendar...
A Braless Tuesday calendar.
and the prototype isn't here yet, so I'm not unveiling it.
It looks good on the computer, but I don't want to take any chances.
If the pictures are grainy or distorted, I don't want to be pushing it.
I was going to do like a little contest or drawing or something to give away the first calendar, the one I should be getting in the next couple of days.
So, I'll probably still do that, but it won't be today.
I'm a little pouty over this, trust me.
There will be a matching book, too, but that's not ready yet.
More about that later.
The proceeds from all sales go to the Lisa's Tummy Tuck foundation--
a great cause to support, trust me.
Having kids really messes with some of our bodies (those of you without battle scars, keep it to yourselves!).

So.
Wooo hoo.
Happy 3 years of blogging, crazy girl.
Thanks, it's been fun.
What are your plans, now?
Oh, I'll probably blog for 3 more years, and then sink into a vast field of depression because I have neglected to devote my energy to an actual writing career...
Well wasn't that uplifting??
Crazy girl.

I hate pressure.
It really pisses me off.
Unless a laceration is involved, or David Bowie.
So, I'm feeling pressure today because it's a holiday.
According to the Braless Tuesday Calendar it is!!!
Ok, I'm freezing, and I just realized that I have to go to the store.
I was going to skip it, in favor of catching up on email and bloggy stuff--
maybe even finally adding the links of all my new favorites so that I won't forget to read them.
however.
I must not procrastinate further.
If I do, I'll just end up being forced to take my kids shopping and that's not something I'm willing to do.

Ok.
Maybe I'll write something later...
An ode to my bloggity blog, or something.

***Update 12:14 pm***

Ok, so now that I'm slightly less rushed,
and slightly more showered...
I realized I have just gone about this whole post WRONG.
What I would like to do is reminisce...
I have "met" some of the most amazing people through this experience,
and come to love them and admire them and stalk them...
well, ok, that last one only applies to one person, and she's dropped the restraining order...
at least that's what I heard.
ahem.
But truly, I have been so inspired by the blogs I read--
There are people whose words have filled my heart, my soul, and my back pocket.
They have made me laugh consistently, cry occasionally,
and take off my bra a lot more than necessary.
er.
No really, they did.
Not my fault.
Anyway, I would highlight some of my dearest friends, but I know that at least some of them don't really want the extra attention.
So, I'll say this:
read the blogs on my sidebar if you're interested in wonderful people.
No one remains unchanged during this process, and so neither have I.
My blog has evolved, my way of interacting with other bloggers has evolved,
and my writing itself has evolved.
Who the fuck invited Charles Darwin??
I once played his wife in a film my cousin made for her 5th grade project...

ok, have a balmy, calmy day.
and know that I love you, and often think about you when I touch my--
nose.
what???

Odd decision, really...

I'm pretty sure that's a quote from Notting Hill.
Or maybe Four Weddings & a Funeral.
Hugh Grant said it somewhere, I'm certain...
or nearly certain.
Well, whatever.
I made an odd decision tonight.
The handsome husband needed to come to his brother's office to do some computer work for them, and he was soliciting for company,
so I volunteered.
Why oh why?
I've been screwing around on the receptionist's computer for a while,
but surprisingly enough, I'm bored with it.
No, maybe not bored.
It's just that it's really hot in the foyer, and her GOD DAMN chair is up so high it hurts my back to type,
NOT TO MENTION
(although I am, so what the fuck is up with that expression??)
the fact that I feel very strange about blog cruising from somone else's machine.
Feels almost as self-conscious and awkward as doing a post on someone else's blog.
So.
There you have it.
I abandoned the whole ugly scene in favor of playing Solitaire--
with a real live deck of cards, even!--
for just a bit, but the sweet siren of the blog world called me back.
That, and I know I'll be off running errands all morning, so I better fucking post now, or risk worrying about it while I shop.
And we can't be having that.
Did I mention this chair is bugging the SHIT out of me??
and her ading machine was left on, with some number on it--
it's mocking me.
It looks like the same number that is flashed during the opening credits of The Office,
but I imagine I'm the only one crazy/lame enough to make the correlation.
(one "r" or two, there?)
Ack.

Spent much of the day in bed, watching the first two Lord of the Rings movies.
Only to find out the live-in bro-in-law has all 3 on special edition, etc, etc.
DAMMMIT.
Actually, I'm a little giddy at that news, since I was lying there watching The Fellowship, plotting a marathon day of watching them all.
It's such a congruous story, that it's hard to watch just one...
like potato chips--Lays was it?
(no one can eat just one!)
I will pitch the plan to the girls, and see who's in.
I am thinking New Year's Day...
oh yes, it could be graaaaaaaaaaand.
Too bad we haven't gotten our projector yet.
At least D has a new big screen.
That'll do.

Anywho.
So I made up for last night's breakfast-for-dinner by cooking a fabulous dinner tonight.
I won't bore you with the details.
But I do wish I could be addicted to something less harmful than food--
like crack.
Siiiigh.

It's snowing...
just noticed.
Hopefully hubby's stupid project will be finished soon.
And.
hopefully I'll remember to do all the things I need to do tomorrow.

Another day, another "doll, get me a coffee--black"

That's the name of my next novella.
Or at the very least, it's the name of this post.
ha.

Ok, I think the thunderclouds of doom have passed.
I suppose pms and stress, though great rhymes partners,
do not work well together in practice.
Let's just say I wouldn't recommend the combination.
I also will try not to underestimate the power of a good
solid
hot-steamy
romp.
Talk about a great release of tension.
I don't think we've gone that long without sex since the twins were babies.
I don't remember if we ever had sex then, but I'm pretty sure we did.
Oh the foggy years...

So, the great, mysterious haircut...
well.
I have a confession to make.
The reason I haven't scrambled to post a picture is this:
it didn't turn out quite how I had hoped.
The guy did a great job, it's just that I have difficult hair.
And I'm talking difficult like the LSAT, or GREs.
Difficult like Med school.
Difficult like a 2 year old, without a nap, on an empty stomach, in a candy/toy store.
So, it looks fine.
It's just that I've had this haircut before and it's not really tootin' my horn.
I don't really care, either way.
As much as I ham it up on here, I am super low-maintenance in real life,
and about as self-conscious as a statue.
So, really, I'm cool.

I finished up a few more people on my Christmas list today.
I really love shopping for people I love.
It's so fun to find things I think they'll love, or like...

Today the weather was strange...
it was like it really wanted to snow,
but its mom wouldn't let it...
Please, mom? Can I? Can I? Pleeeease?
I can see little boy weather, hopping from one foot to the other,
big eyes upcast...shuffling off, disappointed.
Not today, son. Maybe tomorrow.

Oh come, on if there's a Mother Nature, surely there are bastard children running around, making messes for her to clean up, squabbling with each other, and asking her advice.

I am leaning back in my chair, eyes closed.
I am braething deeply in, through my nose,
then slowly out.
I am letting all the negativity roll off me like drops of water.
There is so little of it, really, in the beauty of my life.
I can't promise that I'll never let what strangers say get to me--
but I will be making some changes to my commenting system.
I am too tender of a soul to allow it to continue as it is.

And now I am off to make french toast and sausage for my kids' dinner.
They are DYING to have it...
and it reminds me: I don't think I've ever made breakfast for dinner before.
Not for my family, at least.
Maybe when I was single.
Hm.
I also NEVER cook spaghetti.
It's too easy...always seemed like a cop-out.
I've found a lovely jarred sauce that I like (Barilla tomato basil)
and I've been trying to remember to make that on days when I don't feel like cooking.
Cuz it's better than nothing.
Last night, though, I made roast chicken and mashed potatoes and corn and stuffing and cranberry sauce...
mmm....little mini-thanksgiving.
I love to cook.
I just hate planning menus.
Abhor, loathe, detest.

anywho.
Hope you all have a grand Saturday evening (or Sunday afternoon, depending on your hemisphere)

Ok, that was quite enough whine for this early in the day

so I was heading in here to put up something fresh and sassy,
something lovely and lewd.
But, no.
Once again I'm thrown back.
Back to that place I haven't visited in so many months I can't count them
(9 months 2 weeks, 3 days...)
to that place where I question the sky's blueness, and marvel at the grass's greenness--
especially that grass over there.

Whatever.
I guess I'll sort it out.

So.
Fresh?
Sassy?
Lovely?
Lewd?
is that really what I promised??
Hm.
It's fucking cold in here.
I am waaaay too lazy to go check the furnace settings,
besides which I already hung a Christmas decoration of some variety over the thermostat and can't be bothered to mess with it.
We DID get our tree last night, though!!
It's huge.
gorgeous and fully decorated.
I shouldn't say "fully", because it's much larger than our previous trees and so there are fewer decorations per square inch.
It's maybe 8 feet tall?
don't know, I'm a bad judge of height.
All I know is it looks fairly bare, up close and unlit.
At least we planned ahead and bought more lights, so it's plenty twinkly.

One of my very best friends is arriving tomorrow, to spend a week here with her husband's family.
They had their first baby in June, and I haven't yet seen her.
I am beyond excited.
(I just hope my brain tumor isn't contagious)
I get to pick them up at the airport, which is one of my favorite excursions--
especially now that I live so much closer to it.
(put that in your mapquest and smoke it, stalkers!)

Ok, it's not fresh or sassy, but it's one of my favorites,
and today it's making me smile.

Not quite Bobby McGee...

the sun is hot on my neck, and bright in my eyes.
the dust from the road has turned my sandals pale and my feet dark.
i had some sunglasses once...
back around witchita, i suppose.
my back pack is heavy, but my heart is light.
this is MY adventure.
MY life.
i knew i would feel free on this journey, and i have.
every moment of it is mine, and mine alone.
every choice i make is for me.
i am smug.
defiant.
proud.
gloriously content.
insatiably roving...
for the first time today, there is a truck in the distance.
going east, just as i am.
i stick out my thumb, not giggling like i did the first week or so of this.
the truck begins to slow, and for one second i have a doubt.
one spark of wonder if this one will be the wrong choice.
i picture a fat, bearded man with no teeth.
as i step up and peer in the open window, my heart skips not one beat, but two.
i blink.
he smiles...
you need a ride?
i smile back and affirm.
he nods, and off we go.
the low rumble of the biggest diesel engines on the highway.
rough and reassuring.
..steady.
i settle my pack under my feet and stretch, yawning.
mostly a ruse--to steal another look at him.
were my eyes playing tricks on me?
no...no, they weren't.
he was young and sexy.
an anomaly, or a mirage--either way, just for me.
he was headed to a town not far from my destination,
and we had more than a day's worth of miles to cover.
somewhere, deep in that first night, we stopped to rest.
as i headed back to the truck from a bathroom/food run, i looked for him...
hoping he hadn't already settled into the sleeper compartment.
he was leaning against the fender, smoking.
i said his name, and he dropped the half-smoked cigarette, stepping toward me--
and i was against the wheel,
his hands on either side of my head,
his lips hovering over mine,
my breathing pattern so disrupted i couldn't tell you if it stopped or sped up.
his green eyes were cold, but there was a sparkle in them...
he cocked his head, parted his lips--
and pulled away from me just a little as i leaned toward him,
then kissed me so hard, so fast that i had to grab the wheel well to keep from falling.
just as i was sinking into it, he pulled away and i felt the world come back into focus.
he opened the door to the cab and nodded me in that direction.
i climbed in.
we knelt on the seat, facing each other and he reached for me.
i gave him back his half-smile and held my ground--slowly unbuttoning my shirt while forcing him to maintain eye contact.
it was his turn to squirm.
as i reached the bottom button, he lunged at me, ripping the shirt off and pulling me to him.
we were tangled together with nothing but our breathing as the soundtrack.
our hands running over each other's skin with an urgency, a desperation to learn every inch.
his kisses were hot and hard as i fumbled with his belt--
attacking his jeans like the enemy.
he smiled, then leaned down to kiss my belly button, his fingers only a soft touch on my hips.
i shivered at this change of pace, raggedly drawing a deep breath.
he slowly slid the black lace down...down...
and resumed his soft kisses just above the inside of my knee, moving north.
the enormous windows of the rig were soon fogged over and all that could be seen were my feet braced against one...
we were as unaware of the outside world as we were of the past, the future--
anything but the cab of this truck.

Drowning in mental clutter...

Seriously folks, I feel like my head is about to short out and catch on fire.
It could be fun, maybe I'll just sit back and watch.
Yesterday I was waiting for my green turn arrow, when the oncoming traffic got a green light--all of them.
Usually the left turn lanes go first, then both directions get their straight greens.
So, I was zoned out.
So far out, that I could see the earth below me like a frickin map.
(it was stellar, by the way...)
(yes, intentional pun; carry on.)
So, my ever-watchful eyes then notice a clearing in oncoming traffic.
I am waiting to make a left turn, so this is what I needed to see--
Foot lifts from brake, descends upon gas.
I hear a horn honk somewhere off to the right,
and my eyes flick to the lights--
indignancy rising to the surface: stupid ass, it's my turn.
Uh.
NOPE.
Still red.
Changed to green as I passed beneath it.
That was fucking jarring.
I never. EVER. do stuff like that.
I have been having trouble speaking properly for the last couple of days,
and my dry little non-cold cough is heading into its 3rd week of residence here in my mouth-throat-chest-self.
Dying.
I am.
Oh, and of course I wasn't actually wishing anyone cancer, people--
COME ON.
It was my slightly more creative way of saying, "take a leap, buddy."
JEEZUS.
(where?)
Just let the record show that my symptoms of a brain tumor (or my recognition of them as such) started before my comment yesterday.
And my buddy Mojo Coyote seems to be the one who got what I was saying: anonymous's soul is riddled with cancer,
and I also think it takes a cancerous move of the brain to go around polluting someone else's happy place.
Yes, this is my happy place.
Don't feel sorry for me...heh.

Ok, enough of that malarky.
...it felt really cool to type "malarky"...
Back to my water filling the lungs issue--
I am drowning in gorgeous correspondence/correspondents and I feel dreadful about it.
Really only 3 people, but it feels heavy on the walls of my stomach, and pressing against my lungs.
I love people so much...you may have no idea of this, from the way I play up my rants on here, but I do.
I have always been very socially driven, seeking out company of wonderful souls at all possible times.
I enjoy spending time alone, and have no qualms going shopping alone, going to restaurants alone, or any of that.
I just feast off the interactions with stimulating adults like a gluttonous opera singer.
(I looove opera....especially while I'm studying or soaking in the tub)
Anyway...
I also feel a heavy sense of responsibilty, when it comes to communication, even down to comments from first-time visitors.
I am having a hard time adjusting to this new paradigm, in which I am no longer intimately familiar with the majority of my commenters.
I used to have time to read everyone's blogs--
and that was my favorite part of all this.
I would (and still do) scribble out a post and drop it on here,
then run off to soak up my friends.
Now...I'm getting sorely behind on my daily reads and still not getting to know new readers like I should.
It's just in my nature to try to take everyone into my heart, so I feel like I'm letting you all down.
I guess, now that I write it, it's kind of silly...no one cares!
Just know that I'm not ignoring your comments, your blogs, your emails--
I just don't have time at the moment to be a proper friend...

That was a bit heavy for a Friday--
especially since I've used "heavy" about 43 times now.
I do feel better, though.
I am stubbornly blogging at the moment,
even though I would normally be making breakfast for my husband right now.
(and do feel a twinge of guilt for my slacking...)
And could stand to get out and do a spot of shopping before picking up the kids in a FUCKING HOUR.
So, I'm here.
Taking care of my frazzled mind instead of taking care of someone else.
I almost never make that choice, but it had to be done.
I am going slowly crazy...

Will be back later.
With something more uplifting...probably.

Half-Awake Thursday

I should be showering, heading to stores.
I should be brushing my teeth, brushing my hair.
(I do both before showering, the latter never after.)
My hair turned out
Just.
Right.
I can’t wait to wash it, and see it dry my way—
Even the best intentions at a salon don’t give the desire effect.
Too much post-washing touching.
Party was grand, I offended no fewer than two mormons.
Bleh.
Makes me feel…guilty and annoyed.
But it’s not my fault I’m funny…
The obnoxious hilarity that is me cannot be contained.
Sucks to be them.

I will be back.
And I will be baring an HNT…
(god DAMN I love plays on words…)

Head.
Spinning.
Too much to do.
DON’T SKIP THE GYM.




peek-a-boo...

Welcome to the Twilight Zone...

Seriously.
I got a whole bunch of shit done today,
but the PMS fairy's legacy has made it impossible for ME to get done,
which is actually quite a tragedy because my husband was gone for 3 weeks.
Holy Freudian slip--it was only one, but it felt like 3.
(and I don't think that's technially a "Freudian" slip, but I couldn't think of a better way to say it...)
Anyway, when he got home last night, my heart almost burst.
We hugged so hard, for so long, my face smashed into his mid-chest.
I almost cried, and not from the pain.
I was just...so overwhelmed by how much I've missed him.
I didn't really think about it while he was gone,
but to know that he was BACK--that we would be spooned all over each other,
and I could kiss his shoulders,
and see his smile.
Siiiigh....
And yes, stupid god damned pms fairy was pre-SOMETHIN' so he only got a BJ.
A fan-fucking-tastic one, according to him, but still.
I shall commence to pout.
(please, for the love of god: no talk of monthly red-type stuff in the comments. Shit, now somoene's going to do it just to tease me.)

I don't know why I feel like i'm living in the Twilight Zone today, but I am.
And now that I've taken to using my "shift" key, I would really fucking appreciate it if it would cooperate!
I push it, and yet--
lower case letters persist.
fuckers.

My kids discovered that one of the birds was missing this morning--
after accusing me of setting it free, they told me that there are now 7 eggs in the nest.
I didn't believe them, since I had purposely chosen 2 females, but alas,
they were right.
Eggs.
Grrr...
What the hell am I going to do with 7 more birds??
Yay.

Today is the day.
THE day that I get my hair cut by an artist.
I am absolutely beside myself with joy.
It's his day off, but he's meeting another of our friends and me at his salon.
It's going to be insanely fun.
I am trying not to hype it up too much--it's just a haircut.
But I've heard he is skilled beyond my wildest dreams.
Er...not my wildest, necessarily, but ya know.

After the haircut, the Bunko Christmas party.
I am pretty excited for this,
but I got kind of flustered while I was shopping for my white elephant present:
all the cool stuff I wanted to buy would not have been appreciated by the mormon half of the guests.
blurg.
We're starting a new group in January...
cool kids only.

And on the downside,
a close, life-long friend is going through something extremely difficult today,
and I wish I was there.
She's going to be ok, but today is a big day.
A dark and shadowy day.
An empty day.

Christmas is coming--are you ready?
I'm getting there.
Slowly...
We still don't have a tree, but that should be taken care of tomorrow.
I got the needed new tree stand today,
and the extra strings of lights.
Ornaments and other decorations are ready to go.
Just gotta get that DAMN tree.
Last night I was having a lovely email conversation with Ms. Orange Tangerine,
about subjects as diverse as the day is long.
(or whatever cliche you wanna put there.)
I launched into a story about our lack of Christmas tree,
but decided it belonged here.
She's been just dying from the suspense of waiting to hear it, I'm sure.
heh.
About ten days ago, we went to get our Christmas tree.
Hubby didn't really want to go, but I pushed it.
The following is a smug little reminder from Fate to not try that again.
He didn't take a checkbook (we're debit card addicts, almost never carrying cash)
so he was pissed to discover that we had to go home and get it after picking out the perfect tree.
Well, my car had a bad battery, which had required several jump starts in the past couple of weeks, and it was dead again.
He was furious.
While we were waiting for my friend to come jump us, I rather testily suggested that he go have a smoke and chill out
(I hate it when he loses his cool because it's so rare).
He snapped back that he didn't BRING his cigarettes.
From the backseat, a cheerful little boy said, "Well you should have."
Hubby couldn't help but smile,
but his mood did not improve until he had taken the car to get it a new battery...

It rocked.

And now I must go wrap gifts and get ready to go for my fun afternoon and evening.

It's a Three-Fer

(the price of one...)
I can't help myself, I need to write something.

She has gone to meet her love--
someone she only sees sometimes,
a long-distance thing.
When she arrives, the room is lit low,
and he's on the phone with an important client, still in his suit.
She's bursting to talk to him--touch him--and does not mind waiting.
She paces for a moment, then sits.
Her hands shaking, she slides them under her thighs,
and rocks back and forth ever so slightly
from pure, adrenaline-based excitement.
She keeps her eyes on him the whole time...
not daring to breathe, for fear she'll miss the moment when he hangs up--
exiting that stiff and stark world and becoming present in her super-charged, giddy one.
His brow furrows, he holds firm on some point, in a low, authoritative voice.
His conversation drifts to small talk;
her heart sinks.
The sudden grinding of gears and shifting of weights inside her is so loud in her ears, that she doesn't notice him putting the phone down and walking toward her.
She blinks and he is his knees, arms around her, grinning like a fool.
Things may have changed, but not so much...

Braless Tuesday

No time to post, will do so later.

I'll be posting yet another recycled picture.

Yeah, bite me.
I'll take some new ones some day.
Oh wait, I did take some new ones...
That shirt is way too tight across the chest region.

wish me luck on my final.
(or not, i'll be fine)

Because this is who has commandeered my day:

An excerpt from a post from April 16, 2004:

I'm 90% sure this is the ugly, but smooth work of one nasty little PMS fairy.
god, I hate that bitch.
you do know her, don't you??
I'm sure you've seen her around...
crumpled looking thing, really.
flies buzzing around,
perpetual glare on her face.
laughing gas in a handy back pack.
her wings aren't even real--they're sewn onto her back, with sweater yarn.
her teeth are green...not from rot, just from sucking on too many sour apple ring pops.
she limps down the hall, dragging her other left foot--
the one that should be a right foot,
but could never be right, since it's 3 inches too long.
her striped tights,
with a hole in one knee--
not of the tights, either.
a hole in one patella.
it makes a swooshing sound when she walks (limps).
the rattling of her breath is only from the dreams she has so carelessly inhaled,
as she bent low over sleeping pre-menstrual women,
who would then wake in a dazey sort of confusion, grasping for something unknown, yet lost.
she was supposed to deposit them in a jar, like a dozen fireflies on a summer night,
but her smoking habit had cultivated in her the need for deeper breaths and quite by mistake, in they went.
dreams, trapped in one's lungs, have nearly the same sound as rusty nails in a bucket.
yes, the rust changes the sound.
you'll know her by the sound, if nothing else.

so, there you have it.
the little cunt is here.
somewhere.
lurking.
hissing, and spitting, as her oddly-strong patience wears thin.

Synopsis: Dead bird, sleep-deprived kids, "optional" final at a wretchedly inconvenient time tomorrow (when I thought it was going to be on thursday), and oh yeah--feeling whale-ish.

Tune in tomorrow for our regularly scheduled program...
aw, crap, that's braless tuesdsay.
psh.
we'll see about THAT.
(I only post them when I feel like it; i just usually feel like it)

Chapped lips, dry throat--

this is always the sure sign that I've been to one of my family's big Sunday dinner birthday parties.
I'm not sure why, though.
Possibly because I eat a lot and talk a lot, but don't drink enough?
Whatever.
I simply adore my brothers and their families, even though they are--
gasp!
Mormons.
I just let my eyes glaze over when conversation steers that way, and it's never much of a problem.
I went there tonight, though,
bursting with things to say--
things I couldn't say.
It was a strange feeling.
I was alive, like electrical currents dancing under my skin,
eyes sparkling, ready to entertain.
I felt like I had jokes to tell, anecdotes to offer in shimmering armfuls.
but.
I couldn't think of any of them...
probably because they weren't appropriate.
but it left me feeling flustered.
Oh well.
I still had a great time.

I just discovered that a dear friend of mine from home is selling the most gorgeous jewelry.
Worth a look, if you're into unique silver.

I am such a slacker, speaking of links.
I am compiling a list of folks to add to my side bar, but I make no promises.
I add when I feel like it, and sometimes there is not much rhyme and very little reason to my choices.
My back is fucking killing me.
Or maybe I'm just pissed because Extreme (fuck with my heartstrings) Home Makeover preempted Desperate Housewives tonight.
Grrrrr.....
(yes, I growl, what of it??)
I actually boycotted that show when it came out.
(DH, not Extreme--I still don't watch that one)
I felt they were on my turf.
heh.
Actually, I hated the word "desperate", in association with housewives,
because that's MY thing.
DIDN'T NBC KNOW????
er. ABC?
fuck if I know.
ask my DVR.
yeah, ABC.
anyway, it really irked me.
I guess the correlation was too close for me, and I still had high hopes for becoming famous through my blog.
snarff.
not really, but I suppose my deliciously delusional frontal lobe thought so.
(that thing is so narcissitic it's not even funny.)
But anyway, I finally gave in and checked out a re-airing of the first episode, last January, and I was HOOKED.
So was my husband, fortunately.

Anway.

So my kids were trying to tell me jokes today...
you know how THAT goes.
They had heard one on Sponge Bob: What's the difference between a guitar and a jellyfish? (You can't strum a jellyfish)
and they were trying to make their own versions.
So Max said, "What's the difference between a clock and a Mom?"
I said, "A clock is only late sometimes."
So now he has his own joke to tell, and I'm so proud!
My niece told a golden oldie tonight: What did the fish say when it hit a wall?
Dam!
ah yes, good ole corny jokes.

Am I done yet?
Is it quittin' time?
Can I go?
Ok, awesome.

fuck you very much, and good night--

Is it time to shower yet?

It's only 4pm, afterall.
I mean, that's not even dinner time.
Ok, fine, I have been in bed most of the day,
recovering from being up most of the night with boy #2.
No biggie.
we're all fine again, it's life, ya know?

However.
Today I feel like writing fiction.
I feel like spinning a tale, like a spider web of shimmering lies.
At least, that's what I felt like doing when I logged in.
Perhaps it was just the lingering fog from my flu-y thing and the relentlessness with which I've continued to do my christmas shopping.
and no, I'm in no danger of having ugly credit card bills after the holidays.
Hubby is way too meticulous for that.

I am feeling...
fuzzy, I guess.
I want to dazzle you,
tickle you--
taste you.
I want to make you laugh so hard your sides hurt,
and make out til our lips are chapped.
I want to be
under the sea...
in an octopus's garden in the shade.
I reallly do--
I'm not just quoting the Beatles.
I have always wanted to be a mermaid.
I have this strange feeling it'll never happen.
Damn and blast being a grown up!

Oh hey, to those of you who have asked if you may link me?
of course you may!
I feel silly addressing the issue, frankly, so let's all just skip the awkward silence and the darting eyes,
the shifting feet,
the hands in the pockets,
the glances at the clock or a watch or the door--
link me all day long, and into the night.
I may just have time to add some of the links I've discovered in the past week or so, too.
What with the husband out of town, let's just say I have a bit more free time in the evenings.
I'm supposed to be working on a big surprise...
and now that puke fest '05 has moved along into the realm of the outer world,
I think I'll be able to get some stuff done.
If only I can resist the siren's call of blogging my damn fingers off.
It is a procrastinator's wet dream, ya know?
There is a never ending supply of interesting content--
from all walks of life, and some runs, too.
But it's going to be great, this project, if I can finish it.
There could even be a little something in it for YOU.

blah blah black sheep.
I better go order a pizza.
because that's always a great thing to shovel on top of a recently expunged abdominal cavity.
(ok, I know that was probably physiologically incorrect, but I really liked "recently expunged" and "cavity"..."stomach" didn't sound right, and "gastrointestinal" sounded too broad...so...BITE ME.)

Don't let me forget to do that one thing.
or that other one.
thanks.
buh-bye.

Update!!

Well, the good news is that burp tasted like Sprite instead of semi-digested mostly water.
The other good news is that I made it home from my attempted trip to pick up senor step son-o (he's not remotely hispanic, but that reminds me--the drive-thru dude at my new favorite McDonald's looks so much like my first boyfriend, that I actually dreamed about him last night. possibly after watching some muted porn, but we'll get back to that story shortly...)
oh, yes--I tried to pick up the step son for a sleep over, since my little fellers consider him a cross between a hero, a god, and super man.
Hubby's out of town, so we were going to skip this weekend, but I got all maternal and decided to indulge my little guys.
Hubby thinks it's less work for me when 9-year-old Icon is here, but it's not.
It's just different work.
Which is A-OK.
I just like to get credit, I guess...
my mom is angelic and tough and wonderful, but
she was (is) a bit of a doormat for my dad.
She was Miss Betty Crocker at Venice High in 1955.
So, yeah.
She's from a WHOLE other generation.
(or "a whole nother", if you prefer. hee.)
So what the hell is my point??
Oh yeah...
I don't mind working hard, but I don't like to go without praise and gratitude, either.
Jeezum crow, where was I??
If you think I'm scattered when I'm fully fed and healthy,
you'll be getting a headache right about now, I imagine.
Sorry.
I still feel mostly icky, but the point I keep forgetting to make is this:
attempted to cross town to pick up step son-ola,
but realized about halfway there that it just
wouldn't
work.
So, I booked it home.
Ok, I crawled through trafic like everyone else, but I was impatient about it!
And just as I stepped through the door, it hit me.
I thrashed out of my jacket and shoes (even though it wasn't stricktly necessary--wow, nice "k" in "strictly")
grabbed the bowl I had taken with me on our ill-fated (oh, I KILL me!!) car ride,
and came to rest in the bathroom.
I'll leave it at that.
(You're welcome)

The other good thing (or did I already mention it?)
is that these posts have filled my quota for body-fluid talk for at least the next week...probably 2.
except twin #2 hasn't been violently ill just yet, and mentioned that his tummy was hurting before bed.
So that should make for a fun night.
I'm suing my husband's company--
no, I'm suing the newbie in fucking Kansas fucking City who needed his hand held on a job.
dumbass.
give me my husband back.

Ok...here's hoping I'm well enough to do some hardcore blogging tomorrow.
or at least some hardcore--
oh, that's right!
nevermind. I'm not telling my porn story now.
I kinda hope some totally nasty pervs come here for PORN and get puke talk.
heh.
Which is not to say that everyone who views the stuff is nasty (since I just disclosed my night's activities, I could hardly call that kettle black. yes, I'm a pot--what of it??) but there are some total creeps out there, as evidenced by Becky (sorry, Becky, not you...oops, there I go! Linking you anyway! here's a hint: write posts, and I'll link you more. We're still coming over sunday, so get your barf bags ready!) there are plenty of sickos out there.)

Ok.
I sincerely hope I didn't gross anyone out.
Unless you're an uptight judgmental prick or a sicko.
I'm not an equal opportunity blogger, it would seem...

oh, which reminds me: I haven't had time to properly answer comments today,
but the guy who was mean (today) signed his comment "Gayman",
and I would like to clarify: HE'S a dumbass, a jerkoff, whatever, but that in no way reflects my feelings toward the gay community in general.
I'm not going to give a resume here, but trust me when I say my comments were directed at HIM as a mean person, not at gay folk in general.
To sumarize, I'll remind you of my stance on stereotyping of any kind with a fable.
(ok, it's not a fable, it's a true story--but it has a moral!)
My friend and I were flirting with a group of guys once,
a long-fuckin-time ago (8 years almost to the day, in fact...)
and they were a rather racially mixed group--some gorgeous men, I tell ya.
One of them turned to me and said, "Do you date black men?"
and I answered "I date nice men."
Now, I know gay men aren't technically in my dating pool,
but I hope you get the point.
I like nice people.
Nice has a fairly broad definition, too--
I don't mean I only like people who are sicky sweet.
Just people who treat others with respect and stuff.
Ok, now I'm getting all anal about it, trying to make sure I word it properly so that no one will misunderstand.
Fuck it.
I like people.
If you're an ass TO ME, then you lose points.
That about covers it.

peace.
love.
and no stomach flus--

I feel like...

shit.
Or some other unpleasant bodily function.
But I'll spare you the details.
Just know that instead of the screen on my monitor,
I'm seeing black.
Oh!
Maybe I should open my eyes!!
Wow, great idea.
Much better.
Now I'm just seeing blotches.

So this morning I slept in a bit (til almost 8! woo!)
and when I got to my throne
(office chair, not toilet)
I checked comments and email very quickly...
And then.
AND THEN--
I dove head first into the
World
Wide
CHRISTMAS SHOPPING
Web.
Oh, what a tinseled and twinkly-light joy of the soul
(or shopping addiction) that was!
Wow.
I found everything my kids had asked for,
plus a few more things I know they'll love,
ordered a magazine subscrition for my Dad,
ordered two more 20-piece sets of my gorgeous silverware
(from my husband!)
and...
hm...
it was all such a euphoric whirlwind, I am afraid I'm leaving something out.
And have I mentioned lately how FREAKING AWESOME my kids are??
Picked them up from the playroom at the gym today
and Max asked me where mama birds come from.
So I told him that they start out as baby birds,
and then they grow up.
Then he wanted to know what they're made of...
and where their heads and feet come from.
SIIIIIIIIGH.
Ok, so help me out.
I have never initiated a playdate--the kids have never had one.
I have a couple of friends with kids their age and we all hang out,
often in very play date-ish ways.
(wave of nausea...hold on...)
but I am scared to just ask a mom from their school or at the gym if she wants to trade numbers and set something up.
I need to just suck it up and do it.
Today there was another mom picking up her kids while I was picking up mine.
She had a boy their age and girl TEN MONTHS YOUNGER.
whoa.
that's enough to drive ya to drink.
I assured her that she had it rougher than I did in most ways.
We had a nice little conversation,
and as we walked away, I had a nagging feeling...
I should have--could have!!
Argh.
My kids are going to be social rejects.
Oh well.
At least they're smart.
And handsome.
And...
Ok, maybe I'm consumed by crazy love for my kids,
but I guess that's normal.
(it doesn't mean they're not perfect, though--I am still totally objective!!)

Ok, really.
I should probably go crawl into my bed and try not to hurl.
but that reminds me.
The other night, I got into bed and just as I was lying down I coughed a couple of times really hard.
It left my mouth tasting of blood.
I remarked on this to my mostly-asleep, entirely-apathetic husband,
and got no response (what a cliff-hanger. I bet you would have never guessed!)
So as I snuggled in, I noticed that my heart felt strange.
Not that mythical place for feelings and jesus to dwell, but the actual blood pumping fist-sized muscle!
(someone told my kids that Jesus lives in your heart. grrr. So yesterday when we were talking about Santa and I was fielding their doubting questions of how he could see you all the time and how he could know whether or not you're being good, one of them suggested that he might live in your heart. I suppressed a giggle and just said, "Yeah. Maybe so!" But all I could picture was this darkly cozy little room, with Christ and Santa in recliners, feet up in front of a fire...hey, why not?)
ANYWHO.
It was fucking strange to be so aware of the beating of my heart,
and to think there might be something wrong with it--
or with my lungs, which I was convinced were bleeding.
So then I thought, "This is where panic attacks come from."
And instead of adding a stick figure with a name badge reading "P. Anick Attak" or some such garbage to my cozy little room, I decided to put it all out of my head entirely.
I have no time for panicking over shit I can't control.
(I am in no way trying to make light of people who have real panic attacks--or know someone named P. Anick Attak, for that matter--because I really was freaked out but I know that real panic attacks are not nearly so easy to control. thank you, goodnight.)

Wow.
It looks like I was a good girl this year,
and the Parentheses Fairy didn't fail to notice.
Sweet.

Is this a good place for me to announce that I have a crush?
(I also don't feel like puking anymore, at least for the moment)
Yeah, I didn't think so.

Me and my "to puke or not to puke" self are going to bed.
...after I buy just a couple more things...

Did you hear that?

Well, I bet you felt it, at least.
A sigh....
so deep, so full that it sent tremors across this desert.
My semester is
OVER.
I turned in my Poetry project last night,
and have already been told I'm gettin an A in that class.
I took my last section exam for History of Rock n Roll today,
and somehow didn't bomb it, even though I only reviewed about half the notes.
God DAMN I suck.
(say it with me, girls: but at least I'm good at it!)
So far I have a B in that class, and if I take the optional final I can increase my grade, so I probably will.
Oh yeah, and I posted the final drafts of my 5 poems, for English class.

In case anyone was wondering...
I did not forget that...
Today is Half-Nekkid Thursday!

















So...where were we?
Oh yeah!
Yesterday's post.
You guys are amazing, you know that?
I am seriously in love with each and every one of you--madly, deeply, wrenchingly.
I am going to run away and live out every last story...
er, well...I'm thinking there were a couple of fairly undesirable ones,
But they were all great stories.
There was such warmth, such vividness.
It was fun, wasn't it?
I am going to export those from haloscan and print them out...
they're like grade school Valentines,
or high school year books...
only with less chocolate and bad hair, respectively.

Guess what's bad about having had a blog for 3 years?
Sometimes I feel like my best is behind me.
I'll think of writing about something--
some little annoyance or a barely perceptible flaw in my perfect soul (ha!!!)--
and then I realize that I've already written about whatever it is.
I guess I should pretend I've never written anything before, eh?

Or maybe I should just start recycling my posts and take a damned vacation.
Or an undamned vacation...
An unmanned aircraft??
huh??

Since I have a long list of things to do,
staring up at me from my peripheral vision...
just to the left of my left arm...
(more like glaring, now that I think of it)
I better go.
and nowhere on that list is "drag out this fairly crappy post",
and neither is, "go read all my favorite blogs,"
or "take applications for a full-time neck nibbler,"...
dammit.
I'll have to see if I can sneak that last one onto the list.
It is Christmas, afterall...
I could always ask for that for Christmas, couldn't I?
I wonder what kind of salary and benefits package that kind of position would command?
Hm...on second thought, maybe I'll just go be someone else's full time neck nibbler...

FOCUS.
one down, eleven to go.

Faking Our Way--

Down Memory Lane.

Sounds like fun, doesn't it?
I am going to steal a really fun idea from D-man,
who got it from the Golf Widow.
This is extremely rare for me, but I just can't resist.
It's sort of like a meme (which I abhor) but didn't start out as one.
I am madly in love with the concept.
What I want is for everyone to leave me a comment describing a false memory of the two of us.
YOU, and me.
Tell me something we did--
a long time ago, or last night.
Tell me a story...
And just to humor me...try to keep it R-rated or cleaner.

I just have too much homeworky testy stuff between now and Thursday morning,
so I figure y'all can write this next post, ok?
After that, I have no more school for a month.
Yipppeeeee!!!
As fabulous as it has been to get back into a learning groove
(which is much different from a learning curve),
it is going to be nice to have one less thing to do for a little while.

Trainer dude kicked my ass today.
Or, more precisely, my shoulders.
...and he didn't really kick them so much as he incited me to repetively flex them while holding various sized weights...
ok, you get it!!
sorry...
I like to explain shit sometimes, even when it doesn't even remotely need explaining.
Just smile and nod, smile and nod.

I am officially procrstinating.
I'm officically a dumbass...
I will get to work, starting---------
now.

A Little History Lesson to Start the Day

That's right, folks--
and you better take notes.
There will be a pop quiz later!

Once upon a time, there was a girl.
(More precisely: it was last September, the girl was ME.)
On a lovely, hot, day I ventured out in a tank top--
no bra.
It felt...free and wonderful and sexy.
So, the next week, when Tuesday rolled around I had a rather light-bulbous moment.
I would make this day my own!
And I did.
The end.
...kind of a let down, isn't it?
Sorry.
I wanted to find the original post, and either link it or quote it,
but Blogger isn't being very cooperative at the moment.
(blogger's back on, so I added the link...which, incidentally did not include the following synopsis.)
The gist of it is this:
Mondays suck
Wednesday is Hump Day
Thursdays are cool because "tomorrow is Friday!"
Fridays are self-explanatory
but...poor little Tuesday had nothing.
Nothing bad, nothing good, nothing funny.
So, I gave it a little tweak.

Without futher ado--
(and mostly because A. my husband is due back from his business trip in about 3.2 minutes, and B. I have that stupid poem I keep whining about to submit by midnight, and if all that fails to occupy me into the wee hours of the morning, C. I have my history of rock n roll exam on Thursday, which is only 3 more nights of studying, for those of you keeping track at home...am I done? oh yeah, one of these: ) Now I'm done....or finished, actually.


And, technically,
I believe that was further ado,
so I apologize.

What?
Did you think I would let those shit heads from last week stop me?
PUH-LEEEEZ.
As if.
Have a happy day!

Homework's up.

Speaking of getting back to normal...

Now that I've posted that, I feel much better.
So I shall immediately proceed to the "normal" part of the program.
In fact, I'll plan on nearly no one reading that post...
it just felt good.
I'm sort of afflicted with this need to spill every thought from my head,
in order for it to feel complete and completed.

What
ever.

I have some homework to do,
some email to attend to.
But I would rather do this,
for the moment.
Kids are tucked up snugly,
hubby's flying high through the cold black sky--
possibly piloted by a friend of mine,
I'll have to check.
I told him to ask if the pilot was "D---".
He suggested a more obscure question, one he thought was very clever.
"I'll just ask if the pilot eats pussy."
Oh, good one, hun.
MOST PILOTS ARE GUYS.
I thought it was funny...
My husband rocks.
Have I mentioned this lately?

So...
I'm going to let my mind wander...
I'll sink into my chair, legs stretched out.
My mind is winding its way through dark hallways,
leaning against a wall--
hat low, smoke curling up in rings.
My mind is a badass.
It will saunter through the night of thoughts and memories,
sighing occasionally,
flicking a glowing ember to the wet, cobbled street.
My mind will shrug and flip you off.
...but soon, my mind will find.
my mind will find--
what I am looking for.
Oh there it is...
Good music.
Finally.
flowing through my crappy speakers,
sliding through my ear canal--
a straight shot to my heart.
Not like cupid's shots,
just a direct path,
lest you misunderstand,
misundersit,
misundershow,
misundertell...
Words are like clay,
or a jumble of tiles holding letters--
Scrabble anyone?
Let's scrabble for the last eclair,
as we both notice it at once, from far across the room.
Sliding into the table from opposite sides,
knocking down the vase of wildflowers, sending a soft-edged river-like puddle to the far end of the wood surface,
the pile of napkins fluttering loosely, languidly to the floor.
You win.
Your finger punctures the pastry,
reaching the custard filling,
and I dramaticize my anguish.

Crap, now I want an eclair.
Hmmm...
or maybe I wanted one anyway...?
What a riddle.

I want to sneak away to the car dealer and instead of my soon-to-be-had Volvo wagon...
I want to smile while holding a finger of inferred silence to my lips,
and bind to myself a Corvette.
Oh, but that would never work...
that car is for the other me.
The one who hasn't arrived yet.

I am feeling colored from the inside out, today.
I am feeling full of soft and warm and hapy thoughts, right now.
I do forget, sometimes, that my life is incredibly wonderful.
I am grateful for it...

I wish I could remember what I said to my husband to make him skip the deep laugh it pulled from him
(I think that laugh was on pause, like a CD, and released a moment later)
and go straight for my jugular.
...or tickle me until I screamed for mercy.
I hate being tickled.
I hate it so very
very
much.
Mr. Husband thinks it's funny.
"Well why do you laugh if you hate it?"
interesting question, really, from a physiological standpoint.
It seems to me that it must be a reaction beyond control--
a reflex.
Like sneezing when one's nose is tickled.
Or yawning when someone else does...
I dunno, man.
Cuz I sure don't equate being tickled with good times.
Unless we're talking feather on bare skin in dark room under candle light
(sorry, i was trying to stack prepositions and nouns in a foot-long parfait)

Well, this was a good warm-up.
I need to write a "goodbye" poem for English class.

Good bye.

I don't get paid enough

to blog on Sunday.
In fact, I don't think I'm getting paid for this at all.
Bugger.

So it's been a mostly lovely weekend.
I wish I could think of something "normal" to write,
but I happen to be a hyper-aware person:
if there's something going on, I can't ignore it.
So here I am, still writing about the way things have changed since being posted on Blogger's "Blogs of Note".
(for the record, I love it, and have already met some cool new bloggers to add to my reading list)
But...
mama needs to vent.

You know what's bad about this increased traffic?
A higher probability of people misunderstanding me.
The one that seems to be a recurring concern is that I am a bad mother because I have a blog.
I'm really just wondering what kind of person would draw that particular conclusion.
It boggles the mind.
I mean, are they that static, that boring?
Are they unable to draw the conclusion that I might not act the same around my kids as when I'm having drinks with friends?
Because that's what this is like, for me.
I am a human being, a woman.
I have hopes, dreams, ideas, a sense of humor--
and all of these things existed in me before I became pregnant.
They somehow still remain--shockingly enough.
I'm wondering if these people honestly believe that a person can't be a happy adult in a separate forum from where they do their parenting?
My kids don't read the blog, for chrissakes.
And if you think my kids don't know the difference between bad language and bad grammar, you're quite mistaken.
(they know not to use either of those, thank god.)
I read with my kids,
we color pictures,
we make cookies together,
sing songs together,
build snowmen together,
tell jokes to each other,
play tag and duck-duck-goose and UNO...
My kids are happy, good little boys who would never be mean to a stranger in the way that these people have treated me.
I feel now like I'm justifying myself to that small group of super judgmental strangers.
And I don't really intend this as that.
I guess I just want to make sure that anyone coming here is aware that this site is ONE dimension of a very complex person.
It's my outlet.
I think there were a couple of people who accused me of being shallow,
which I find hysterical.
I feel things very deeply, in fact, and find myself moved to tears over sunsets, the mountains on a sunny day, and tragedies both great and small.
I worry about the homeless and the abused, and I generally put others before myself.
I love life--
And I feel very sorry for people who are harsh and judgmental.
What a sad and empty way to live.
I do not waste my time worrying about if other people are doing things the way I would do them--there are too manys songs to be sung, too many laugh lines to deepen.

And last time I checked 30 isn't old.
So, if you're younger than I am and telling me to cover up because I'm old?
Well, I would just laugh because so far you're missing out on how immeasurably wonderful life is from the persepctive of one with self-confidence and a sense of being at-ease with the world.
What those people are failing to grasp is that their words mean nothing to me.
I sincerely hope they find this kind of happiness someday.

Not to mention that I'm not sure what all the modesty out-crying is about--
It's not like I'm nude, you fucking puritans.
Have ya seen some of the sites out there??
my pictures are slightly tantalizing--barely even R rated, if they were in a movie.
Braless Tuesday is a silly weekly "holiday" that I created as a way to lighten up the week.
I take pictures of myself in tight or sheer shirts, without my bra.
oooo--big thrill!
jesus, people, GET A GRIP.
(remember, I'm only talking to the losers...the rest of y'all feel free to stay ungripped...or whatever...)
It's fun and harmless--trust me, I've been encouraged to go much, much further with my photos, and my stories.
but I don't because I feel that this is far enough--
enough for me to express myself.

I think the person who called me "irrelevant" was funny, too.
Did they expect a NEWS site?
Of course my life is irrelevant to a stranger!! Which makes that comment extra funny...because if he or she had even a few IQ points to spare, he or she would have realized that is not so much an insult as a truth for both my blog in relation to him or her, AND that comment in relation to ME.

Sorry I'm being so passive-aggressive about this...
I prefer not to start arguments with strangers but I still like to voice my opinion on their insults, so here we are.

Anyway.
I guess I just had to get that off my chest.
I frigging hate being judged incorrectly.

I wish I could just turn all this off and post as if no one's watching...
Don't worry, old friends:
it'll all be back to normal soon.