yeah, yeah, Braless, etc

no time.
homework not really finished, time to leave for class.
fucker.

can't wait to read the rest of yesterday's comments.
The Rest of Yesterday.
I like it.

I've considered skipping class so I don't have to look unprepared...
who let me back into university, anyway????
god DAMN I hate disecting words.



have a happy day, though,
as I'm sure I will.
picked up passport yesterday.
will perservere on the Brazilian subject--
if only to kick the girl's ass who told me they don't do them here.
stupid utah skank.

Brazilian. Wax.

Tonight.
So I think I'll take some pain killers first.
And possibly bring something to bite so I won't scream.
No, scratch that--
I plan on screaming.
Somehow the idea of a hot gay man playing with my PUSSY is not turning me on.
At all.
I have a tattoo, but I'm thinking this might be worse.
It's ok, though.
I like pain.
Or at least I like living through it so I can describe it in detail.
But the best part is:
no need to shave the netherlands for a while.
Speaking of made-up words...
I was thinking about how pale my skin is, no wait.
I was thinking about how pale...something is...but I can't remember what.
Anywho.
I thought, "Pigmentally challenged"...and I giggled.
Cuz I'm definitely mentally challenged.
and a pig.
But my favorite still has to be "differently abled."
What.
the.
FUCK?
We're all abled in different manners.

I just got home from seeing the two newest babies in my world.
They are so precious and brought back so many memories.
I was probably a little obnoxious with all my "my twins" talk.
But oh well.
I tried.
So....teeny...tiny...sweet.
Hubby even got a little soft around the edges.
I looked up at him, as I held the 5 pounds of purity and made a little, "Aw..." face.
"No way," he said.
"Not gonna happen."
I kept puppy dogging it.
"You WANT another baby??"
...er, well...no. Guess not.
But awww!!!
How can your heart not be melted into a shiny little mercury puddle on the floor?
My baby hungry moment will pass as soon as my girl-parts get shredded tomorrow, don't worry.

I am at ten days til Paris.
I will probably be posting random lists of "shit I have to do" between now and then.
I apologize in advance.

--passport pickup
--make hair appointment
--reserve final nights of hotel
--buy eurail passes
--buy Loire tour
--ice down my ovaries (what? the pain will go that deep!)
--trial run of packing
--take extra suitcase for bringing back wine
--make list of stuff to take
--homework
--test
--pack for snowmobiling
--take a nap
--work out EVERY DAY
--eat nothing
--masturbate to relieve tension
--buy phone card for calling home
--get massage (from self, for pussy) to relieve tension
--go to bed

ha.
I am a dirty little monkey.
And yet very clean.
...but oh so dirty.
But tidy and orderly and sanitary.
but dirty in all the dirtiest ways.
Ok, my arm's tired--you can drag the horse off to the glue factory.

I think I will wait to post this until morning.
So there.
I wished you all sweet dreams, but since you're reading this in the daytime...
um...I'll wish you a speedy end to your work day instead.

p.s. led zep, beattles, pearl jam CDs for Jasmine's class.

UPDATE: stupid fucking appointment fell through for numerous reasons, the first being Brazilians aren't really allowed in utah and I got faulty information from the friend who was making our appointments. GRRRRRRRR. do you KNOW how excited I was???

Driving along, singing a song--

out of key, but fortunately not without my keys.
hey, I don't know how to hot wire a car, so it would suck, ok??
The singing? Well, that would just suck if I had had passengers.
But I didn't, so it didn't.
...huh?

I need to hire about 5 monkeys with good typing skills, if anyone knows of any.
I'm behind on my correspondence.
And homework.
And sleep.
Either that or I am getting lotion in my eyes.
They want to close.

Tonight I get to go see my new babies!!!
Yes, they're mine.
My friend had her twins a couple of days ago,
and we finally get to go see them.
I am so excited!!!
My boys are trying REALLY hard to understand how twins can be boy/girl.
Oh!
You know how I'm the Elipses Queen?
Or used to be--I don't abuse them as much anymore.
My boys' teacher taught them about elipses...and they used them when writing!
They told me "That's an elipses. You put three dots to show that something more is coming."
I was jaw-gaping astounded.
And proud.
Etc.
So today when I was reading from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe I pointed out parentheses and explained their use.
We'll see if I am as effective as the teacher...

Had a great visit with my parents.
It always goes by much too quickly.
They are talking very seriously about moving here...
anyone want to buy a house in Maine?
It's only 2 miles from one of the most beautiful, quietest sand beaches on the whole coast.
There's an ice skating pond and a river for kayaking, both in walking distance.

My mom and I finished planning our trip...
I think we're ready to go!!
My passport arrived on Thursday, at the travel agent's office, but I didn't have a chance to pick it up yet.
Tomorrow for sure.
(Unless I go back to bed after putting my kids on the bus again...)

I felt like writing, earlier, when I was driving.
The words were dancing around on the mountain-filled horizon,
like Usher.
Smooth, sharp and fluid.
I was mesmerized by them,
and wondered if they would taste the same as he would.
Probably not.
I had more thoughts then, but I have dulled them now, with time and talk.

I was thinking of you.
Yeah, you.
I kept seeing you...and marveling at the perfection.
It's as though the gods got drunk that day, and let you slip to earth without adding any flaws.
We all start out perfect, and then the gods twist and tint and stretch and smoosh.
But not you.
I want to bite my way up your inseam,
hunched over you, hungrily swallowing you down--
feeling you grow to fill my throat, I resume a rhythmmic motion.
...I think I talk about sex so much on here, that I forget what's shocking, sometimes.
I have dulled my own sense of propriety,
and good riddance to it.

It is now time to walk to the park with the kids.
That should wake me up.

Typing with my eyes closed...

Which means I'll have more typos than usual and that I may fall asleep at some point...
I just feel so many things right now.
I want to cry, but I can't say why.
I feel nauseous, and my shoulder hurts.

The date was alright...
mr. husband was too tired.
he apologized a thousand times for being no fun,
but it happens.
He began to offer a make-up present of some kind,
but I cut him off--
How about you take me snowmobiling next weekend?
Silly man.
As if I need to be spoiled all the time...
Ok, it IS my preferred method of handling, but still.

I need to start preparing for my mid-term exam.
I have an assignment to prepare a bunch of poems and present them to my group on Tuesday...
Blah.

I lost 7 pounds.
Woot.
Even better, my muscles are getting muscley again.
How much do I love my body when it's strong?
Thaaaaaaaaaaat much.
Maybe a little more.
My hair is getting long.

I had something to say...
what was it?

As I drove home from dropping off the sitter,
"Black Velvet" came on the radio...
fucking sexy song.
I wanted to call in an audio post of what I did next,
but that would have required stopping the car and at least two extra hands.
So I didn't.
But it's possible that if you sit very still, you can still hear the sounds of my breathing echoing through the night air, sliding and slipping toward you across the globe.

I really should be in bed,
but I felt like meditating.
And this is the place for that.

I dont know.
I just don't.

I remember my earliest day dream was of a lush clearing in a forest/jungle,
with a pool of water, filld by a quiet waterfall. There was usually a unicorn grazing nearby, and I was always accosted by a prince or a knight at some point.
I can't believe I was 20 before I started having FANTASIES.

The world feels inside out right now.
It feels dull where it should be sharp,
and loud where it should be still.
My body aches, but my spirit soars.
I will .
Why can't I just be...........this or that?
Why did the chicken cross(dress in) the road?
Cuz he dropped his tranny...
Wow, I just made that up.
Fuckin' awesome.

Does anyone out there know how to fix html???
please...help me fix this stupid template.
My code king has found a new subject, and is no longer available for such projects.

Sleep well.
Or at least fuck well.

I spell "relief" with an S, an I, an L, an E, an N, a C, and another E.

Yes, I know that won't get me far in a spelling bee.
But when I arrived at the poker game last night,
a brother-in-law immediately fired, "How do you spell 'supercilious'?" at me.
I love the looks on people's faces when I spell any word at a little over the speed of light.
I have to spell fast, otherwise I doubt myself.
I spell so fast that I don't actually think about it.
...who's done talking about spelling...?

I had a fan-FUCKING-tastic workout today.
And spring finally wandered back into the room.
FUCKING GORGEOUS weather.
I feel like dancing--
naked.
on a table.

Poker was fun.
My Dad won the whole pot,
which was fantastic.
I folded a couple of times when it came down to just the two of us,
because I couldn't handle the thought of beating my own father...
I still did once or twice, though.
I love that game.
Except when playing with people who like to bluff when I have a good hand.
There were FOUR hearts showing (texas hold 'em), and I had two pair.
It was easy to believe that at least one of the 3 people who went "all-in" had a heart, but no.
They all admitted afterwards that they didn't.
FUCKERS.
So, I let them scare me out of a win because COME THE FUCK ON--how could they have NOT had a heart???
DOUBLE FUCKERS.

Ok, enough of the recap...
sorry.
TONIGHT.
I get to go on a date with my husband!!
I know, I mentioned that in my audio, but I'm really excited.
As soon as I finish here I'll go shower and go pick up the sitter.
I think I'll dress up a bit tonight...
we'll see.
Well, I will. You won't.
hee.

Also, for anyone interested in posting audio from their own blogs,
just go here.
It is verrrrry easy.

I really like this song.

I have nothing else to say right now.
Kids are asking for snacks,
and I have to go get ready.
Dammit, that reminds me:
I have not attached my shower massager yet.
Piss.

Happy weekend to you all--

Oh, shit, I forgot the best part!!!
My Dad was trying to figure out how to use the remote for our dish,
and he stumbled across our PORN channel.
I hear him exclaim and I look over to get an eyefull of a girl getting a mouthful.
(of really large cock)
ugh.
We all just pretended like nothing happened.
I just hope he doesn't know it's a subscription channel...

Some words from the road...

Post 1

Post 2

(I'm a long-winded sumbitch, m'kay? ...just had to finish a story...AND ramble a bit.)

hi

just checking in...

jonesing for blogland already.

having fun, though..



hope you are, too.

Who's going to ride MY wild horses?

...and more importantly, why did that sound so forlorn in my head, but more like porn as I typed it?
Blah.
I want to gallop on a horse, across a wide open field...
or pound across the still-wet sand left by a receding tide, hooves kicking up clumps of sand.
I was back, I was ready to make sweet love to this blog on a daily basis again--
to wear it like a silk scarf, wrapped around my naked body.
I was ready to sink into the bubbling warmth of it, up to my nose--
hair sprayed out on the water's surface.
but.
I'll be out of touch for a couple of days,
and then very busy for a couple more,
and then prepping for a mid-term,
and then gone for a long weekend of SNOWMOBILING AND HOT TUBS AND !!!
and then...Paris.
And my one true love--
the eiffel tower, the cuisine, the beautiful words flowing past my ears.
Remind me to take long, deep breaths and enjoy it all.
And yes...I realize I said "one" and then listed a few things.
Oh well.
Maybe Paris (the city, not the twiggy slut) and I will run away together...
happily ever after.
Reminds me of something I wrote recently.
In an email.
About running away with something equally impossible.
And it makes me giggle--
pussibly even guffaw.
Oh my...NICE typo.
I am not fixing that sucker.
No way, no how.
Anyway, perhaps my heart will burst wide open and flutter off into the wind,
like the velvet and leather confetti that it is made of...
And that would be ok.
I have dreamed of France for more years than YOU've been alive.
Well, almost.
Not you, or you, but you, certainly.
Anyway...
I am sorry for being such a flakey weirdo with my posts lately.
My thyroid seems to be functioning properly again.
Even hubby noticed.
It feels so fantastic to have energy again for the things I love.
And the things I hate, but must do anyway, like dishes and laundry and sex.
Just kidding on that last one.
Gotcha!

Tomorrow morning I'll go get my parents from my brother's house.
I am excited...
Their room is ready,
their bathroom prepped.
Everything is sparkling and there are tulips everywhere
(on your organ if you're lucky, heheheehe).
I could not believe how old they looked when I picked them up on Sunday...
It sort of made my stomach clench all up and push tears into my eyes.
I blinked really fast and replaced them with a smile.
My Dad's knee is bothering him, so he was in a wheelchair.
My worry was quickly replaced when my Mom said he was fine, just his knee.
The great part is that at THIRTY damn years old,
my Dad can still embarass the hell out of me--
he was wearing the brightest damn neon green and pink parka you've ever seen.
And his hunter's orange trucker hat.
aw, fer chrissakes, dad....
boy did he get some stares.
Anyway, it'll be great to have them here,
and I'm still lobbying hard to get them to move here.

So dog sitting was fun.
I could totally handle having a dog if all I ever had to do was walk it.
Walking dogs is fun, even in the bitter cold.
...and not only because I get to spy on my neighbors.
hee...

Let it be known, for the record of the universe:
I will find whoever invented Warcraft World, and I will castrate each and every one of them.
I'm lonely.

Driving to school this morning I saw a sign in front of a church.
It said, "Your sins are forgiven."
For about 3.2 seconds, I was really excited.
Yaaay!!! I'm clean, I'm pure!
But then I was just pissed that I hadn't done anything really good before seeing that sign.
If I had only known that my slate was going to be wipe clean this morning, I could have done some major sinning.
Ah well, that's life.
or God's terrible sense of humor.

Happy humping, Wednesday-ers.
I'm off to bed.
With visions of...yeah...that.
oh, that reminds me: I bought a shower massager today.
he....
I swear to all the gods you can list in 40 seconds, that 90% of my motivation is to make for an easier time cleaning the shower.
Cross my heart, hope to die...la petite morte, at least.
hee.
AnyWHO.
It's true.
But I'm digressing and feeling like transgressing,
so I better go.
Sleep.
or get naked so hubby will turn off his game.
(he's not stoooopid, ya know.)
anyway.
nighty night.

T.G.I.T.

("G" optional)

Yes, that's right!
It's Tuesday again!
Time for me to pretend I give a shit about what kind of week you're having,
and parade my nipples for your viewing pleasure.
Ok, ok.
I do care.
Just not very much...
heh.

It's been a great, 3-day flavored weekend here.
Hope you all had the same.
Ok, so it had it's ups and downs, but whatever.
Here is a list of the ups and downs, in no particular order:

1. step son flooded bathroom (with shower, not toilet--praise jeebus) causing ceiling to leak.
2. dishwasher drain got plugged so all dishes were coming out spotted.
3. kids spilled at least 3 whole boxes of breakfast cereal intermittently.
4. drove step son home from his basket ball game on the edge of the mountain on fantastically icy roads--yay for mountains; driving downhill in snow is fu-u-un.
5. hubby worked 24 hours straight on a 6 hour job. stupid clients.
6. hubby fixed dishwasher...aw....
7. parents arrived from Maine for one week visit!!
8. got happily, gorgeously drunk on friday with girlfriend.
9. may have kissed her
10. too many boys flirting with her--I may have gotten caught in the crossfire
11. HANG. OVER. horrendous one. Will I EVER learn???? (i'll answer that...NO.)
12. god DAMN, but making lists is satisfying!!
13. My favorite number...and the end.

If you haven't listened to my drunk audio post from Friday night,
you really ought to.
If only to make fun of me with your friends.

So today was President's Day, and since I have no comedic talent of my own,
and the only person I could think of to rip off doesn't have any either,
here goes:

"I'm gonna drink on Sunday.
I'm drinking drinking on Sunday
Don't have to work on Monday
Happy Birthday, Presidents
Great vacation, celebration
Destination: Intoxication.
Inebriation across the nation
Birthday President
God, I love the Presidents
So they'll be no hesitants
On belly shots of rumplemintz
Birthday President.
(spoken) Presidents' Day, yeah. You know, if George Washington were alive today, he'd probably say something like, 'God, I'm 274 years old! Why can't I die? What's wrong with me?' But I also think he'd be happy that his birthday is half celebrated on the 3rd Monday in February."
There will be no complaining
If it's snowy or it's rainy
Beer and a shot with my man, Dick Cheney (gun shot)
Happy birthday, Presidents!"

--Jimmy Fallon, on David Letterman sung very fast.

I give you--
the greatest T-shirt I've ever owned, or will ever own, or have ever seen, or will ever see.
etc.


What's that you say,
Mrs. Robinson?
I said, "I want to FUCK YOU, YOUNG MAN!"
hee...

Oh sweet elation!

The most wonderful thing in the WHOLE world has just occured!
I won't even apologize for my exaggeration, because I'm THAT excited.
I am over the moon--
do you see me? I am poised rather precariously, just there, to the right (or left if you're in the southern hemisphere. ok, that was a lie, I ahve no idea of that's how it works)
I am as giddy as a teenager in love,
a kid in a candy store--
a nympo on a navy ship!

One of the sweetest souled (and soled--but not sold) bloggers on my sidebar has just given me the most beautiful gift!
She sent me the missing posts.
She has one of those super tricky Blog Reader programs, and the AUDIO and another missing post were there!!!
So, I think I can recreate the missing stuff.
But first.
And far more importantly--
I give you a sonnet, a haiku and a lymeric!

Ode to Simply Satisfied
(14 lines, iambic pentameter, ABBA ABBA CDE CDE rhyme scheme)

She is a real live woman true and clear--
her heart is pure, her gorgeous smiles too rare,
with words on a page she shows her soul bare,
stronger than steel, she can vanquish her fear.

Er...I suck at sonnets.
Who's up for leaving it at one quatrain?
Ok, good.

Haikus are much more fun...

Her jagged beauty
pushes through from the inside
casting light on all.

Best for last, perhaps.
A dirty, silly Limerick:

(I don't know the rules except rhyming smutiness, so don't be too picky on my form)

She says satisfied,
but she needs a ride--
on my Harley or maybe my face.
we'd ride away fast,
you'd be wise not to cast
suspicions our way
if you're smart.

We'd roar through each town,
wipe away every frown,
with our topless dance
you'd tent your pants.

The End.

I will now attempt the grand re-posting.

(I hope she doesn't regret helping me...)

Missing post:

Saturday morning

Hungover but Happy

Which is cool, because happy drunks don't always make for happy hangoverers.

I do NOT think I will be listening to this audio post,
although, now that I think of it, I never do.
Did I talk about the lead singer of the band at the bar we left?
If not, I must.
Dude must have been hibernating for the past 20 years.
He didn't age well, but he was an exact replica of a 1985 small town rock band singer.
He thought he was a rock star, he really did.
And speaking of rock stars, I drank like one last night.
Feel like one this morning.
Yes, Mick Jagger is the one I feel like.
DAMMMMIT.

Maybe I'll just post here* today...
this feels all warm and cozy and maybe that's just the nausea fading away.
Har.
I was in bed for 4 not-very-sleep-filled hours,
and I've been up for almost 2--breakfast for kids (with a smile, even!!),
swept entire main floor, tidied stuff, emptied and filled dishwasher
(hubby was in charge of dinner last night, so of course it was still covering the counter this morning),
and some other stuff, don't remember.

So we went to the first bar,
where my friend thought she would try a bloody mary.
we ordered two.
I drank them both, in a matter of seconds.
Liquid cocktail sauce...mmm..
oh, wait--I audio posted that, didn't I?
So then blah blah and we drove to the other bar,
in hot pursuit of karaoke.
We found it.
And I think we rocked it, but I really can't be sure.
I was as drunk
as the proverbial skunk.
I was actually riding a very strong buzz, mostly, but it was a big one.
Uh...that sounds super dirty.

There were probably more stories, but I can't concentrate anymore.
We had a fantastic time, which is the most important part.
I think I'll go back to bed.
House is clean, kids are full.
Time to go hide in my bed.


____________
* I started this post in my comments, but once it got too lengthy, I moved it...dummy head.

*******************
From Friday night, when I was out with a friend--
drunk out of my mind.
Ish.

Click here for my lost/then found audio post!!!

*******************

Not only that, but when I took the dog for her walk an hour ago, we went right past the kitchen window of my neighbor with the hot 20 year old son...he was shirtless and the room was well-lit...
I have probably never mentioned how much I love a man's back.
Backs and hands and chests...in that order, are my favorite non-specifically-sexual body parts of a man.
Suh.
Lurp.
I was hoping the dog would choose that spot for a nice long poo, but then I realized I didn't want them to see me staring in their window...

And that's all I have to say about that.
(hey, I haven't ripped off a movie quote in a LONG time. I'm due!)

Also, that annoynig bitch from that stupid show that I have never and will never watch, the OC, was one of the ghosties on Sixth Sense.
In case you care.
I know I didn't.

Happy President's Day!

Let's try this again, shall we?

Too bad I stopped using Microsoft Word to post;
then I would have had copies of each post.
Except for the audio.
If anyone out there who listened to it saved it or still has it in their cache, I would happily show you my boobies for a copy of it.
(Not NUDE--what kinda slut do you take me for??)
but seriously, I would appreciate it a thousand fold--
and maybe write a haiku for you, or a limerick.
Or even a sonnet.
yeah, who am I kidding??
Not a sonnet.

So I am officially dog sitting.
PLEASE do not let me forget she's here...
My best friend, J, has entrusted me with her "baby" and I hope I am for the challenge.
I've never ownd a dog, so I am a little nervous about all the dog stuff.
She gave me feeding/walking instructions, so I think I'll be fine.

I just realized that I might need to put a new disclaimer on the page here.
Something to the affect of: don't give me advice unless you know I'll like it.
It's really weird...cuz some people give great advice--or at least give it in a pleasant way, but some people make me want to hurt them.
It's not my fault.
I'm just emotionally unstable, ever since the accident.
It left scars as deep as canyons, and twice as wide.
Ok, maybe "accident" is a bit dramatic.
I stubbed my toe this morning and it hurt like HELL, ok??

Speaking of hell...
I really like that word.
It has such a smooth feeling in the mouth--
say it with me: Hell.
You could almost just breathe it out...hell.
And yet there is something so sharp about it, like 12 inch daggers in rows.
The more I say it, the more I feel it.
I feel the darkness, the fire.
I feel the despair and the torment.
What a powerful word it is.
But still, very beautiful.

I think I do need a secret blog.
Somewhere that I can whine as much as I want without feeling like I'm letting people down.
Somewhere that I can bare my soul without fear of judgment.
I think I used to do that here...
but I have a really bad memory.
I already have a URL, and I'm sure that makes some of you prickle with anxiety--
leaning forward in your seats, biting the inside of your cheek--
wondering what secrets I'll tell there,
what weaknesses I'll reveal.
Oh, I have them all.
Every weakness known to man is folded up tidily and shoved into the wallet of my heart.
I want everything and I want nothing.
I am spoiled and dissatisfied.
I cry too little and laugh too much.
I wonder...how much the rock of me has eroded through choices I've made.
(smirk at how "rock" makes me think of erotic...)

I love meeting new people.
Spending time talking and laughing.
I love how, the next day, they are still with me.
Fading away with each remembered joke, swimming around in me, without a timeline or a permanence.

I have been a cleaning fool this weekend...
probably because step son has been using my computer.
ha.
I'm such an addict.
AND my parents are arriving tonight.
The dog. Don't forget to feed and walk the dog.
The dog.

17 days until France.

Kissing is all the foreplay I've ever needed.
Just one good, deep kiss and my panties leap right off and throw themselves on the floor.
Soft lips, against soft lips--
tongues doing their own intricate dance.
Wow...it's been so.
long.
Since I've kissed like that.
See?
It's stuff like this that I probably ought not to disclose on here.
But fuck it.
(did I just say, "butt fuck"???)
I'm taking back the blog.
I'm way too lazy to start a new one.
It's a KILLER name, though.
Like, a serial killer.
Or a cereal killer...
So this brings me back to the list of things I shouldn't whine about.
I get to have really great (mind-blowing, amazing, incredible, window-rattling, teeth-chattering) sex all the time.
Whenever I want.
Speaking of which!!!
Husband worked from 8 am saturday until 7 am sunday.
He is currently upstairs sleeping.
I have been cleaning and blah-blah ing all day, and now.
I think it might be time to go join him.
Like JOIN HIM- join him.
wink-wink.
Like the way two links of a chain join, or two hands...
OR.
the way a penis and a woo-woo join.
snort.
I can't FUCKING believe I just called a pussy a woo-woo.
That makes me chortle
giggle
snicker
chuckle
titter...ha TITter....Is that like "one who tits"?
a hitter is one who hits, and a sitter is one who sits...
(on your face).

DAMN.
Who slipped ObsezedWidSecks (TM) into my coffee???
Ok, so it's not in my coffee.
it's in my DNA.
But still!
It's cranked up a notch today.

Feed the dog.
Walk the dog.

Dog.

Blogger hates me

Why is blogger broken today?
I don’t know.
But I’ve lost two posts without touching them so far.
That is about 3 too many.

This was one of those hangovers that was still somehow worth it.
Nothing earth-shattering happened last night
(as far as I recall, at least)
but I just had fun.
Good fun.
I am going to have to mourn for a few days over the loss of my audio post, though.
I have never posted so drunk before.
Hell, I haven’t even been that drunk for a long time.
This is how you know your beer is causing all sorts of commotion:
You turn to your friend and say, “It feels like I’m pregnant and the baby’s kicking me.”
I think I was even serious.
Hard to tell.
Hindsight is, after all, not 20/20 through hangover fog.

My hair looks great today.
Suck on that, bitches.

Ah, sweet silence.

Maybe that's just inside my head...

I am sore in all the best ways today--
muscles building themselves back up after lifting weights,
ya damn pervs.
God DAMN, but I love a good workout.

I just had a false alarm--
nearly scared the write right out of me.
I thought I heard one of my kids crying, so I bolted upstairs to check on him.
As I passed my husband's office (Your room, Orange!),
I noticed some suspiciously cry-like sounds issuing forth from his
FUCKING
World of Goddamn Warcraft.
Thanks for the near heart attack, Cameron.
No, really.
That was awesome.

Guess why my husband likes my blog?
Nevermind, it's depressing.

What if I never feel like writing again?
What if it's lost?
What if...
I dunno.
I just don't feel like I have words anymore...
not the good kind, at least.
You know?
Like...I just have the storebrand ones.
Or worse, the fucking vegan-pepperoni ones.
Christ, that would take away all meaning in my life.
Don't ever make me stop eating real food, ok?
Uh...where was I?
Oh yeah, lost words.
Yup, I'm pretty much sick of complaining about it,
but I have most definitely lost my groove.
I want a mentor, a guru.
A professional hand holder, fire-lighter (of the sub-derriere variety).
Nah.
I'm just being a wuss.
A whiner, a slacker,
a shirker, a smirker.
I'm pretty sure I've written all my good blog words, though.
I may need to veer off onto some other path.
Or maybe...
I just need to stop thinking so hard.
And let my dreams spill out again.
I have not felt like blogging with the same carefree gurgling of thoughts over smooth stones as I once did.
I think it's because...my audience has changed.
It was so much easier to not be self conscious in my writing when my audience was smaller and always supportive.
But now...
sometimes I just want to say things, but I don't.
And sometimes I just want to hide instead of socialize--
it's like I'm constantly sucking in my gut and smiling that smile of the woman making small talk and hoping no one notices the tear stains leading down to her chin, and hoping no one notices that she doesn't want to be there, and reapplying lipstick and checking teeth for stuck food or lipstick residue...
I feel like that girl.
I think I used to feel like the other one...
like me.
I think I used to write on here as if I was Lisa.
I used to write like my laugh sounds, or form sentences that outline a very direct route to the gauzy core of my soul...
but.
I have wandered off and allowed the jittery, boring girl to take over.
I know that I have learned during the last year or so that wanting too much is
very
very
dangerous.
and uncomfortable, and unnecessary, and
a few other things.
But it's really fucking freezing in my office right now.
And I see other people, and they allow themselves to want...
and I am jealous.
I wish that I could look beyond the bone surrounding my occular cavities--
and feel the fingers of something else sinking into me, pulling me.
But I don't.
And I won't.
Dark and deep this post has become.
Which was not the intent.
I am fucking freezing.
The furnace is on; I hear it.
I hate being so vague and mysterious.
Miss teary us.
How in the hell am I supposed to find balance between having pretty much everything I want, and still using my unmet desires to fuel my creativity???
Answer me that one!
No, don't.
Cuz chances are, I DON'T CARE.

Anyway, the good news is:
it's FRIDAY.
Or it will be by the time most of you read this.
I think I just might be due for a large beer consumption event.
Perhaps some karaoke?
BECKY!!!!!!
Sorry, I guess I could use the phone...might work better.
(Man.)
Ok, it's settled.
I'm going out, with girlfriends, for vast quantities of liquor consumption.
Suddenly, I feel much better.

The world is a beautiful place, when viewed through beer-flavored goggles...

Have a happy weekend darlings, and do something nice for someone.

SNOW DAY!!!

And instead of listening to the radio like I did as a kid,
I just put my kids on the bus,
then heard my husband say, "You're not going to school today."
And he's the boss, so I'm eager to acquiesce.
Apparently one of the freeways is closed and the rest are inching along.
It isn't snowing anymore but the roads are thick with icy snow.
Why?
Because Utah doesn't know how to keep its streets clear.
Fucking stupid place, with all its stupid drivers.
Jackasses who think that just because they have 4-wheel-drive, they can drive like the roads are dry.
Guess again, dick heads.
You may have improved mobility, but not everyone does.
So when you cut me off, I slide into you;
when you tailgate me, I can't be held responsible for you sliding into me;
and most of all, when you are going too fast to make it around a corner do NOT blame me.
Stupid motherfucking, cocksucking rednecks.
God DAMN I hate them.
At least in Maine, rednecks knew how to drive in the snow.
AND the streets were kept sanded/cleared.
Oh well.
I needed A. somethnig to bitch about, and B. a day off without the kids!
Yesterday was ridiculous.
Baby boy wasn't sick enough to get my sympathy, but he was sick enough to be a whiney-head.
He wouldn't rest, but needed to.
Ok, so he still got some Mommy-sympathy, but it wasn't easy.

I really wish I had something to say today.

I have nothing
to say
today.

My parents will be here on Sunday, for the week.
(I just spent ten minutes griping about Mormons, but I've deleted it...)
I can't wait to see them.
Then, the weekend after they leave, is my husband's (30th) birthday.
We're going to Idaho to go snowmobiling.
yeeee haaaaaw!
4 other couples are going too, and our cabin has a sauna, a hot tub, a fire place, a big screen...
And the Lava Hot Springs are just a few miles away.
THAT is going to be one hell of a weekend.
I leave for Paris 3 days after that, though, so it may be a little eclipsed.
It's going to be kind of hard to focus on anything for a while, I'm realizing.

**** WARNING: MEN MAY WANT TO SKIP THIS PARAGRAPH ****
I was dismayed to discover, last week, that I will be starting my
stupidfuckinguseless period the day I leave for Paris (give or take a couple of days)
So.
That SUCKS.
The last thing I want is to be stressing about finding bathrooms more often than my small bladder already requires,
and wasting CRUCIAL luggage space on carrying girly stuff.
So here's my plan...
I'm going to go get a one month supply of birth control pills,
and start them a week or two before my trip, and continue taking them until I get back.
Voila.
(french for "there it is", fyi)
(which I learned 16 years ago, lest you think I'm some NOVICE. I know lots of french. If anyone leaves a comment about how much french I should learn, I'm going to kick them. In the fingers.)
So do you think I'm crazy?
I just haaaaate that stupid waste of energy as it is--
can't my body get the memo: hubby is snipped, no need for fertilization preparation, turn off.
And to think of dealing with that, on top of possible jet lag and finding (pre-booked) hotels and trying to take the right trains, and...
well, it just adds one more thing for me to worry about, when I'd rather just enjoy the trip.
So.
I think this solves the problem.

****END OF GIRL TALK****

I think I might just vote this post off the goddamned island, what do you say?
Ridiculous.
Possibly ri-cock-ulous.

I think I'll quit while I'm...ahead?
Or something.
My sincere apologies for sucking so badly.
(yes, I usually suck so well, it's a shame.)

I feel like I haven't posted in weeks...

And maybe I haven't.
But I'm here now and that should count for something.
Heh--is it just me, or is that one of the best classic soap opera lines?
I glanced at one of the TVs at the gym the other day, and saw a guy carry a girl off to bed!!!!
I can NOT believe they still do that shit.
Of you men out there reading, how many of you have EVER picked up a woman and carried her to bed in that style???
I have wrapped my legs around my husband before, and in that sense he's carried me (like a frontwards piggy back), but this business of scooping a woman up, one arm under her knees, one arm around her back--while continuing to kiss???
I dunno.
Soaps are evil for a lot of reasons, and this is just one of them.
That and the sheet-wrap.
Me, I prefer being fully, gloriously nude both during and after dainty or sweaty romps--
and anything in between.
It's fascinating.
I think I could write for hours on the subject of how daytime television is a lethal poison to the sensibilities of women everywhere.
Which is why I don't watch that shit.
however, as long-time readers may recall, my grandmother got all us little girls hooked on a few shows when we were very young--I was not yet in Kindergarten when I sat on her lap while she watched The Young and the Restless.
I distinctly remember a scene in a private jet, where there were young people and older people.
I knew that "restless" didn't mean "old" but I couldn't figure out the correlation--yes there are young people and there are some not-young people, but they're also not restless, so what the hell, CBS???
Oh the innocence of children!
So yes, I've watched my share of the crap (and could probably make a pretty good case for how it screwed up my perception of love/romance, but I'll save that for some time when I have more than 6 hours to kill) in the past and therefore consider myself an expert.
fuck off.

Ok, enough of that.
I really do feel like I haven't posted in a very long time.
That's probably because my mind was clouded by the slow-moving slug which was slipped into my ear by the thyroid fairy.
Fuck that fucker.
He/she/it is history for the moment.
I am feeling as normal as I ever feel, which, let's face it--
probably isn't terribly normal, but who cares??
Maybe I can even get caught back up on READING blogs,
wouldn't that be something??

I have a great song playing,
which for some reason is making me want to pole dance.
Or is that polka?
HA!!!
I made a jokey...
get it?
Polish dance...Polka...
DOT DOT DOT.
Ok, enough (bad) jokes.

It's snowing today.
And one of my little ones decided that he's had enough of the sniffles which have been plaguing him for the last few days, and he put his foot down:
he's staying home.
Poor little bugger--
he's not really SICK, so I'm making him be bored.
I just don't want him to get in the habit of saying he's sick just so he can stay home and play.
The result is every ten minutes, "Mo-o-o-m...what time is it?"
He seems to think that once school is over he's going to be allowed to play.
Sorry, dude, no fun for you!

I talked my husband into cancelling our pain-in-the-ass babysitter plans
(which included a 2-hour round trip drive)
so that we could just have yummmmy Hawaiian take-out in front of the fire after the kids were in bed (7pm).
It worked out very well, I think.
17.5 orgasms later, the neighbors would probably all agree.
Or not, depending on whether they have earplugs.
We both woke up this morning all glowy and saying, "Low-key holidays are the best!"

I also dreamed that alligators were trying to eat my children,
and I was involved in a suspiciously "Jeremy"-like school shooting--
I was the only person left in the classroom with the shooter, so it wasn't scary at all.
gulp.
I'm actually blaming the Olympics for that one, though, because of this super unstable figure skater they interviewed.
C-razy.

Ok, I guess I'm off.
For now.
Hope you're all having a happy February 15th.
Happy Birthday, Crispy.

Happy Braless Valentine's Day

Roses are red,
and so is your head.
If violets are blue
hope your balls aren't, too!

Eh, whatever.

I NEVER
ever
EVER
claimed to be a poet.

I'm in red, my friend's in pink.
I look positively flat chested, don't I?



Hope you all have a happy day, especially those who are dreading it.

I meant to do this earlier...

But I guess you all know what "they" say about good intentions.
"They" are such condescending pricks, aren't they?

So I've been working all day on my husband's super Valentine's Day surprise...
yes, it's a hokey holiday, but I don't care.
I enjoy hokey.
I had a terrific and productive day--
not to be confused with terrifying and reproductive...
Had a great workout, stuck to my stupidmotherfuckingDIET.
and.
Started (re)reading MidSummer Night's Dream for class next week.
Started early because I love that play.
Shakespeare himself is my favorite dead guy, bar none.
He trumps Cobain, Farley, and Jesus even.
It's not my fault, it's just fact.

Today I had a strange mix of Beatles, Cult, Pearl Jam and Zepellin pushing me through my workout.
My thoughts were on fire--
Johnny Cash was even there!
Ring of Fire.
And as it played, I realized I should have quoted it earlier in the day.
but doing so now would sort of lesson the impact.
And I'm all about impact.
Impact and chocolate.
And rock.
And sex.
And.
I am a naughty little tiger.
Did you even know that I am a tiger?
Well, I am.
Or at least I was.
(my high school mascot...)

Well, faaaack.
It would appear that my five minutes of peace and/or quiet for the day have just expired.

Braless Tuesday's gonna be goooood.....

Next time I'm in a funk--

force some Pearl Jam on me, would you?
Ok, ok, so that was just PMS in the form of severe blog apathy, so my Eddie wouldn't have made much difference, but whatever.
Listening to pearl jam with or without dirty dirty thoughts always makes for a good time.

It feels like spring here...
It's starting to be warm and not cold, sunny and not rainy--
yes those are all separate things.
I'm sure we'll have plenty more winter, but once the spring days start getting trickled through them it becomes much more palatable.

Today I feel full of possibilities and dreams.
I also feel a little bit...sexy.
I feel like diving naked into a deep lake, on a dark night--
one of those damp summer nights, so dark and almost-rainy that it's not really hot anymore,
but still causes a restlessness to surge up from within,
to spread through me and cause me to press down on the gas pedal harder than usual,
to laugh louder and longer than I did at the same joke yesterday,
and to take every dare that's thrown my way,
or left casually on my creaky wooden doorstep.
It's not night here, but I feel myself a part of the night I'm describing--
from memory, or from somewhere in the future, I know not.
I am lunging up those steps.
Steps grey with weeds pushing their way around from the sides and up through the middle,
splinters in the handrail if you're not careful.
Breathlessly landing at the top of the steps,
nearly tripping over a dare in the form of bottle of cheap wine with a scribbled note folded under it.
Start this, I'll be there soon xo
Wondering who left it; feeling a prickle of curiousity and anticipation skittering through the spaces between my skin and my bones.
Screen door popping into place behind me, shoes walked out of, left on the braided rug my grandmother made for me.
I can picture myself in that house, a house I've never been in, a house I've never seen;
it feels like a memory.
It was a symbol to me, like many other things during those crazy summers home--
trying to make sense of my happy, sheltered past and my uncertain, passionate present.
Finding my way, pressing forward, knowing that the things I wanted most would not be found by a quick glance over my shoulder--or even by turning around and running.
I knew that the best of life was still ahead, and that the best of me was down this new path.
So I saw people who were natural, who had never been anything but free--to my limited perception, at least--
and I made them my ideals.
I remember the day I told her about the beautiful drunken boy who slurringly invited me home, and danced with his shirt off in that smokey place, to the well-practiced sound of that incredible band--
she asked if it was her boyfriend, then laughed and said, "he would never."
She said his name, described him.
My hangover suddenly felt worse as I lied to this sweet girl and told her that she was right...
I hated that moment.
I walked to the sunset with a different boy that night, and wished...
wished that he wasn't visiting from Boston, that I wasn't bound for Utah.
Wished that I was ready to stop running wildly through the night...
But I wasn't ready for that.
I would have never been ready for it, if I hadn't met my husband.
I loved the highs and lows of the chase, the capture, the release.
I loved driving too fast and that moment when I realized the power a woman has over men.

You.
I want to be in your lap, stradling you while we kiss
deeply
wetly
hungrily
fiercely
softly,
and I want to feel your response growing and rub against it with a moan.
I want your hands to go under my skirt--
one hand ripping my panties aside as you slip a finger deep inside
causing my neck to arch back.
you bury your face in my exposed cleavage, one hand roughly removing the fabric obstacles to your mouth on nature's perfect combination of large and soft with small and hard.
Let's wave a magic wand and see your pants flung against some far wall--
feeling you fill me, my face comes back to yours, shakily devouring your kisses as I rise and fall, hands pulling your head to mine, unnecessarily, yet so urgently.
My moans build from softly vocalized exhales to jagged and panting sounds as we race down the home stretch--
collapsing against you, it's a photo finish.

Wow, I should listen to Pearl Jam more often.
Woot!

I cannot tell a lie

Well, not today, at least.

It's Cluster Fuck Friday--
who's in?
At least I got my photos for the passport, even if I have to go to a different location and pay an even higher expediting fee.
I'm not actually stupid enough to be complaining about that...
it's just that my kids seem to harbor a deep hatred for me.
Or public places--I'm not sure which.
Me, getting out of car, "No running, no touching, and NO playing with the doors!"
The last half of the sentence fell on the pavement as two little bodies raced off across the parking lot.
Sigh.
Then they stood in front of the automatic doors, waiting for them to close so they could open them...getting in the way of someone and then (oliver) crying when I reminded him that we didn't come here to play with doors.
So, back to the car.
Mama's pissed, but they don't care.
We sit in the car while I re-explain the rules, and wait for the storm cloud to pass.
Reiterating the consequences, since they were APPARENTLY unclear before.
Then, as the nice postal worker is explaining that I'll never get my passport in 4 weeks, even with expedited shipping, etc, the now-happy boys stand at my elbow, bouncing up and down and singing.
I'm glad it's not socially acceptable to beat kids anymore, cuz otherwise, I might be tempted.

So now I'm just mad at my husband and his brother for goading me into making cookies last night.
"I'm on a diet!" I protested.
"We'll eat them all tonight!" They promised.
Lying fuckers.
Don't they know it's physically, emotionally, and spiritually impossible for me to make cookies without eating one??? (or 7)
Jesus hates them anyway, so I guess I don't feel too bad.
They don't believe in him, so I'm assuming he hates them.
I guess that's a little beyond my realm of knowledge, though.

As for why I took a break from blogging this week, it's simple:
I didn't have anything to say.
I didn't feel like blogging.
It was all very mellow, which is new.
Usually when I (or most people I've seen) take a break it's because I'm sad or mad or annoyed or insulted or bored or something.
Not this time.
Just igloo-like.

Tonight there is a 2 hour season finale of Arrested Development.
I hate Fox.
I hate them for not giving this show the top priority.
Mostly I hate all the assfucks out there who choose to watch something else so that Fox doesn't realize what a genius show it is.
Or whatever the hell their problem is.
They have cancelled it several times, and have changed its time slot more often than a stripper changes her hair color.
Fucking ICE SKATING with celebrities has a regular time slot, but not the greatest comedy of this century.
Whatever, Fox.

I decided that I’m going to get a sound bite from the new version of "Charlie and the Chalk Factory" of Willy Wonka saying, "I don’t care."
And just carry it around on a digital recorder so I can play it whenever I care so little about what’s being said that I can’t be bothered to speak.

I think I'll go eat some more cookies.
I like being fat.
It works for me.

Where the fuck have you people been all week?

Jesus CHRIST, it's like you weren't even posting.

That's right--
I'm BACK.
And I might just be as fiery as my pubes would be if I had any.
Yeah, I'm a bit of a redhead--mostly blonde-ish/brownish, but red enough for the fire to surge through me most of the time.
Before sharing your opinion on the subject, read this: I DON'T CARE.
We've already taken polls (and poles...but not Poles) on the subject and I win.
Black is beautiful.
especially on me.
Er...I should probably add something like, "It would be even more beautiful IN me", but I might get my ass kicked.

I'm listening to this radio broadcast of one of my good friends from home,
his band's song is taking off big on local radio.
He's also a comedian, so this should be good.
Ok, yeah, maybe I still have a bit of a crush on him,
but that shouldn't surprise ANY of you.
Me and crushes are like salt and pepper.

I should probably go pick up my kids...
but I was so excited to post!!
while I was driving, I was checking out the guy in the truck behind me,
with his cute little daughter in her car seat next to him,
and THEN.
THEN.
The little fucker lit up a cigarette.
daughter.
carseat.
CIGARETTE.
He only took a couple of drags, then tossed it, cuz I think he felt my eyes burning two holes directly through his skull bone.

I have momentum, and shit to say, but no time.
Perhaps I'll be back.
Perhaps not.
I don't expect you to care, since I don't.
I do, however, expect you to have a weekend that doesn't suck, and to be nice to everyone no matter what.
Oh yeah, and no whining.

fuck, this post sucks for a first back after most of a week away.
god dammit.
I'll write more later.
cuz that's what I feel like doing.

Almost there

I am probably ready to write again.
It was is if there was cheesecloth surrounding my brain, only letting a few words seep out.
I actually didn't have the impulse to blog at all.
It was very strange.
I can't tell if it has passed completely, but I did discover some things while watching the Grammy's lat night...
1. Keith Urban is my favorite country singer in the history of this planet (or genre of music, at least)
a. No, I do not know one single song by him.
b. Don't care.
c. Will make babies with him.
2. Whoever faild to tell me how incredibly hot The Edge is, is fired.
3. When it's legal, I'm marrying Joss Stone, too.
(Ok, that one's cheating: I already knew that.)

Anywho, apparently my sex drive is in full, functioning order.

Here's a story I wrote once when I had nothing to say:


august 25, 2004

I should have something wild and wonderful to say today.
I should tell you about the time I stood on the hot tar of a rooftop...
and willed my body to leap to the next house...
how the tar burned and scraped my feet when I landed, breathless.
I could tell you how the air felt different up there...
and the city looked smaller.
I could tell you that with each building, my feet grew tougher--my legs grew stronger.
it felt like flying...
but my arms were not out, like superman, they flew around at my sides, not quite within my control.
it was an exhilaration to match nothing I’ve ever known.
I could tell you that on one of those rooftops there stood a man...
about to jump.
but not out and across, like me...
down.
there was a sadness hanging around him...
he had lost hope.
but his eyes were so beautiful, and his lips.
I spoke softly, so I wouldn't startle him.
he turned, angry at first, then confused.
this was his most private, anguished moment...
and I had barged into it.
I reached out my hand--
not daring to breathe.
he let out the longest sigh I’ve ever seen,
two small tears glistening on his cheek,
and put his hand in mine.
he stepped away from the edge.
without a word, I took him in my arms and we sat together in a heap.
he held on so tightly it was as if he had already slipped over the edge and I was his only handhold.
he sobbed.
...so did I.
and as the sun began to set...

Hope you're each having a, respectively, fabulous day.

I give you this...grudgingly

because I am not in the mood.
But I have nothing much to say,
so I might as well just listen.



Happy day to you--

I don't feel like talking...

For some reason, lying in an igloo with white sounds around me
(which are far different than "white noise")
sounds very appealing.
Snuggled into about 300 pounds of polar bear skins, hides tanned.
glossy white fur against smooth white skin.
a fur hate pulled low over my eyes.
No talking.
No thinking--too cold outside.
Too warm and silent inside.
Through the thick ice brick walls, a wolf's cry finds its muffled way to my ears.

good night.

Showering and shopping--

Well, a baby shower.
But lots of shopping.
Parts of it frustrating,
parts of it exhilarating.
Yada yada.
I think my amazing-super-deluxe-wrinkle-defeating eye cream is making my eyes dry and irritated.
That is SO irritating.
(it is "-ating" day here. bite me.)

Seriously, though, why the fuck can't they make that shit hypo-allergenic or something??

So tonight I was upstairs watching "Anchorman" with my friend, Becky, when the doorbell rang.
So then, my eager 9-year old step son races down the stairs,
calls out, "It's the missionaries!"
and just AFTER I respond with, "Don't answer it!"
he opens the door, but just a crack.
I am right behind him, so I open it the rest of the way and smile,
rather self-conscious because I'm not only in pjs and BRALESS, but the shirt I'm wearing happens to be my "i'm going to dye my hair black in a white t-shirt" shirt.
So it's on the so-white-it-shines side of trashy.
Awesome.
So I smile, they introduce themselves, and ask my name.
I state it.
Boy #1 launches into his cheerful little spiel, as the snow weightlessly and soundlessly falls on and around them.
He gets about 3--maybe 4--words out and I cut him off.
"Yes, I'm a member."
and for some reason I put a period there (full-stop for you british types)
and in my head I blinked, then rushed onward (outloud)
"But I'm not remotely interested anymore. Stay warm and have a great night!"
I begin closing the door, but the poor sweet thing barrels on:
"I know that this message is the truth--"
"Well, I know that it's NOT."
Door closed, porch light off.
AND HE WAS STILL TALKING.
Fuck you, buddy.
I was polite, with a smile, but very firm.
I didn't WANT to be that door-in-the-face slammer, I really didn't.
I remember hearing all the stories of that as a kid, and just thinking it was rude.
And, honestly, they are good people with good intentions.
And in Maine, most people I knew respected them--and me, actually.
I know...I know...it sounds really strange now.
But I was a really good kid.
They don't tend to be so aggressive, in general, but I imagine the fact that I said I was a member made him react a little differently.
Whatever.
It was really fucking strange, though.
Maybe it was a sign from GOD.
heh.

I bought 3 things for my trip today:
1. a cute umbrella that folds up really small
2. the "France" version of the "best of europe" guidebook I bought when I wasn't sure which country/countries we would be visiting (by Rick Steves--an excellent resource, recommended by my best friend who has used several of his guides and found them to be accurate and helpful)
3. a french phrasebook--it's very small and organized well, so I figure it'll be handy for filling in the gaps of words/phrasing that I have forgotten, and vocabulary I never knew.

My french really isn't half bad.
I remember being told I have a pretty good accent, although after so much time, I'm not so sure.
Becky's father is fluent in french, and I just remembered one of the guys who'll be at the Super Bowl party tomorrow is a dual citizen of France and the U.S., so I can probably get both of them to spar with me a bit.
I can't believe how much of it I've forgotten, though.
Thank you all for your kind advice and suggestions, in the comments, by the way.
You're fantastic.

I really hope the Seahawks win...
step son is their #1 fan, true story.
It would be so damn cool for him to see that.

All that shopping and I forgot one key ingredient for one of the appetizers I'm taking to the party tomorrow, and BREAD.
Just what in the fuck is that all about??
I did get a snappy new messenger bag for school, though.
I've been using the same backpack for the gym and for school (I don't put clothes or shoes in it, just my binder with my workouts in it, my gloves, my mp3 player, my waterbottle, and maybe a book...ok, the point is: it's not stanky.)
It is, however, starting to really annoy the PISS out of me to have to switch books every day.
So finally I heard a crackle and a slight buzzing sound and looked up--
a flickering little 40 watt bulb hung crookedly over my head.
Say, why don't you get a second bag, dumbass?
And so I did.
The stupid part is that I really needed to get my boys new backpacks because one of them lost his, but the store didn't have small backpacks, just adult-sized ones.
And, believe you me, they'd look funny with one of those strapped on.

Hubby came home early yesterday, as I mentioned.
It was so fucking awesome to have him back.
And my hair looked FANTASTIC.
It has its own little idea of when it's going to behave and when it's going to flip me a rhetorical bird
(heh, did that even make sense??? Don't care. I like it.)
but last night, ooooeee!
I couldn't stop staring at myself.
snort.
Ok, not quite, but I was rather impressed by it.
I just wash and go, so it's not like I had anything to do with it.
Never got around to the dye job, either.
Oh well.

The baby shower was nice.
blah blah blah.

I think I'll go wash my face and brush your teeth
and get in bed.

Oh, wait, my point:
so hubby and I were having some sweet sweet lovin', when his brother (who lives here) got home.
He didn't know that C. was home,
so he was still expecting him to be gone until tomorrow.
We both park in the garage, so I bet it startled him at first to hear ME having definite sex with someone!
I got a bit of a kick out of it, actually.
This morning when I stumbled out of bed, he was just walking out of his bathroom, which is directly across the hall from our room, and I'm pretty sure he looked at me funny.
Fortunately, when I returned to bed after feeding the darlin' dumplings,
hubby was ready for round two and I made sure to say his name.
ok, ok, so he probably never REALLY thought it was anything other than what it really was, but I will ask him.
Because I bet his first thought was, "what the fuck?" even if it only lasted a second or two.

Whatever.
am I done TALKING yet???
Jeezus.

Ok, smoke 'em if ya got 'em--

Go SeaHawks!
(and Steelers...either way it would be a great win.)

My oh my

I have 4 different kinds of headaches right now.
One of them technically resides in the skull of the step son's mother,
but since it responsible for at least two of mine,
I'm counting it.
One of my headaches came from staring at this site,
while mulling over the polite ways in which I could say how entirely nauseated I was by each sentence written--
they seemed to get progressively worse.
(Not unlike a headache!)
Blogging, for me, is not about money or fucking awareness of causes I have no direct give-a-shit-ism for.
It is about freedom of expression!
It is about casting off oppression!!
It is about ME.
heh.
Anyway, the idea of using my blog to do "good" for humanity is super swell.
Really it is.
But, frankly, getting from one point on the clock to the next is sometimes about all I can manage.
Oh, and one side of the city to the other.
Or the bed.
Or, well, you get the idea.
Altogether, that means...
I'm still fairly cheerful.
My eyes are dry, though.
And not in a "At least I'm not crying" way, either.
Just dried out.
Whaddo I live in a dessert or something??

My headaches are mostly pretend, by the way.
As in...I don't have real headaches.
Just a touch of the orneries, with a heaping spoonful of loud kids.
I think people with quiet kids are assholes.
And probably are drugging their kids.

So yeah.

I haven't talked about my Mom much on here,
because it's not really that kind of a place,
but she is my hero.
She has worked so hard for her whole life,
and never complains about anything.
It's truly amazing.
She is cheerful in the face of small mishaps, and stolid in times of adversity.
She taught me to cook, to sew--
and there are about a thousand other things she does that I wish I could do.
You'd be shocked to know it at this point
(and frankly, I can hardly make sense of it myself)
but I did learn amazing work ethic from her.
I was a model employee.
always.
Working extra hard, extra long--
and I didn't complain, either.
I've gone soft, or something.
Being at home has warped me into this lazy monster of varied whines.
I would like some wine.
Anywho, she is wonderful.
She has always told me that I should be a writer, but has never pushed me to do ANYTHING, even that.
She quietly encourages, but doesn't bully or guilt.
I never needed an alarm clock until I left home--
she would open my door, turn on my light and leave.
Just me--not my sister.
(yeah, I'm the youngest. what of it???)
Even though she worked like a horse, she always cooked wonderful, nutrious, balanced, interesting meals--
god, how I wish I would do that.
I get stuck in ruts and cook the same things like a fucking record whose needle has encountered a particle of dust...
She taught me, by example, that reading books was the highest form of luxury.
And continues to demonstrate integrity and grace.
I am so lucky to have this mother, who is my friend.
I can never thank her for all the ways she has shaped the best parts of me,
I'll be damned if the woman who taught me to love adventure is going to miss out on this one!
...she's super excited which is the best part of it all.


Happy weekend, all.
The headaches have receded; I smile.

I DID IT!!!!

I just bought my Paris tickets.
And I'm in shock--
I can't believe I'm really going!!!!
Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this?
This particular trip has been brewing for about 6 months
(which is like 4 years, in Lisa years),
but I've been wildly committed to the idea of going for at least 15 (actual) years.
Now it's on to the next stage...
so much planning, and much less time than I had anticipated.
I leave in just over a month.
One month, 5 days, to be exact and THIS is a short month.
(in case you February-got)
I feel like dancing.
I feel like laughing--
oh wait, I keep doing it.
Sort of maniacal, when you think about it...
just letting out this little squeals of joy every time that shiver runs through me, in response to the whispered-in-head words, I'm going to PARIS!!!
I yam.
Beyond le beau Pa-ree, je ne sais pas ou je vais aller.
Sorry, got sidetracked.
Anyone out there speak french and want to let me practice some shit on you, drop me a comment.
Uh...let me practice speaking french, just to clarify.
You're probably going to hear a lot more french/travel talk than you'd like over the next month, but it'll pass quickly, don't worry.
Also, that means I officially can't eat for 33 days.
Talk about motivation to diet!!
Cake? who needs cake? I'M GOING TO PARIS!!!!!
Yup, I can see this working out for me.
And I can see me working out for this...ooo...tricky...

Ok, on to other things...
What else is there?
Um.
school.
grunt.
kids.
aw.
thyroid.
woot.
Ok, I'm done with "other things".

Passport
but first: birth cert.
reserve hotels
set tourist-garbage itinerary
reserve transport between cities
BREATHE
not eat

good checklist, don't ya think?
My husband thought I should add "not shag any furreners", but I'm thinking the continent rule applies.
Ok, ok--I'm really not thinking that.
AND.
Truly, don't anybody get any funny ideas.
I'm travelling with my angelic and excited MOTHER.
Besides which, for all my talk hereabouts, I would never, etc etc.
So bugger off.
heh....that sounds suspiciously like I have a gaggle (or two gaggles! no, a google!!!) of european fans who are clamboring to rape(the willing) and/or pillage me.
Dammit, but that's just not the case.
It sounds nice, though...

Ok, I'm off to see the wizard.
No, but but I might wizz...
hey! you asked!
(no you didn't...who am I kidding?)

fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucking awesome!!!!

And, this just in: Hubby due back a full 36 hours early from a hellishly long (for me!) business (muthafuckin) trip!!!!!
Double yeeee haaaw!!
Seriously, having a husband who travels for work is fairly cool for the following reasons:
1. I get to spend all my time writing--ok, fine BLOGGING--when he's gone
2. I get to MISS a person I have spent every waking moment with for the first 7 years I knew him
3. ...and it's fucking cool to get THIS excited about his return, ya know?
Besides...I owe him some sex--extra monkey, hold the inhibitions.
Paris.
I refuse to acknowledge the fact that the world's biggest skank shares the name of the source of the greatest joy I've known since the birth of my kids--
and I mean that literally: since they were born it's been pure hell. hee... just kidding.

ok, ok, I'm going!!

It's been a weird day

Like, really shitty traffic a few times, which was strange.
And of course, not getting enough sleep after my paper procrastination technique.
And...hm.
It's possible that I may have said some rash and impulsive things at certain Calamine-lotion-lacking times.
But I also had some brilliant ideas,
had some great conversations,
an incredible workout,
and a lovely (non sexual) bath. (ya damn perverts)
Ok, for the record: I'm the pervert.

Anyway.
Uh...
I am really sleepy.
But I thought I should post.

There is a guy in class, who I noticed today.
Tall man, small hands--
delicate hands.
Draws to mind an image
His face bears the shadow of one who embodies a cliche.

I knew that Travel Agencies must surely be close to extinction,
but I didn't realize how bad it is.
I got out last year's yellow pages an called a few.
The first one gave me a "new number" message, so I dialed it.
A woman answered, breathlessly, "Hello?"
"Uh...I think I have the wrong number. Is this a travel agency?"
And at that point I'm still unsure, but mostly just pissed at her lack of professionalism beause I knew her answer would be:
"Yes."
Er...OK.
That's when I should have said, "What did you do, move the office to your house, but you can't be bothered with an extra phone line???"
She was such an idiot.
It was really fucking weird.
You'd think she would want a sale.
So I asked her what I had planned to ask, and she basically just said, "you can get a better deal on the web. try there."
I am not fucking kidding you.
She was probably in the middle of a nooner.
(hey, I claimed pervert status--don't look at me like you're shocked!)
So then I called another one and the dude was professional,
but as he typedin my request, the silence was long...
and then we got loudly and harshly disconnected.
It was fucking WEIRD.
So I called back, and he acted like nothing had happened.
(Ok, dude--get therapy!
That kinda thing's bad for relationships!)
So then he gives me the info I requested,
and then when I asked him if he wanted my name
in case I wanted to book the flights he found
(since I was actually considering it)
and he did a verbal shrug of some kind.
Bah.
So then I gave up.
Fuckers.
They could have sold me 3 tickets, but their loss.
Ok, and mine a little.

Anyway, that was a long story and not terribly interesting, if you don't mind me saying.

bed is good.
I'm going.

Slipping in...

Like a grounded teenager, through a window in the darkest part of night--
should be called morning, but isn't
because it's too night-like.

Mr. Doctor Dude called--
hurray for low thyroid counts.
New mail.
fucking inability to focus
and now I'm back, mid-reply
to the email
from the woman
who's hosting the Super Bowl party.
Superb.
orange's owl makes me laugh.
She said I could bring "whatever" for food.
Oh, she doesn't know what kind of Pandorishly purple box she's opening...
I think I’ll bring a box of wheat flour and some ham lollipops for dipping--
like FunDips.
Only waaaaaaaaay less fun.

Guess what?
this paper I'm semi-attempting to write
is going
to
be
really fucking strange.
Why?
because I am looking and moving like a fairly normal humanoid.
HOWEVER.
My thoughts are somewhat more psychedelically inclined.
Which is cool.
Groooovy, baby.
I think I'm going to France for my spring break in March.
Don't get too excited, I'm taking my (super fabulous angelic wonderful) Mother with me.
I can't wait!!!
Ok, shit fuck piss--
I think I just jinxed myself.
Something's going to stop us now.
(which was released right after that Mannequin soundtrack hit, "Nothing's gonna stop us now" but didn't make the charts. Not even the flow charts.)
Whatever.
This is fucking weird.
Maybe I should rink more coffee.
...roller?
"DRINK more coffee" was what my brain told my fingers, but sometimes these little
small
less-than-average
sized hands of mine don't reach quite far enough or press quite hard enough.
This is TRULY the main reason for my non-capitalizationism at this point.
I used to have a dreadfully lazy habit of not even reaching for the shift key.
Neither the left, nor the right.
I wonder if you're reading this quickly?
My fingers are moving in a fast-ish manner,
but my brain feels sludgey.
The point of all this was to tell you the doct-o-rama called and it is my thyroid.
Wait, did I already finish that thought?
Hoorah.
I did, but now you know it double.
I will feel better shortly.
Or tall-ly.
Longly?
Longing...
Long-who-isn't.
Poor bloke, really is plenty long.

I should mention that I'm getting a contact high from the music currently playing.
Phish.
yeah...
that's probably the root of the problem with the fuzzy
psychedelia.

I really love you, man.
And I'm not just saying that because I'm pretending to be stoned.
I had a friend reach a pinnacle of success this week.
Something he has worked hard for,
and has the talent for,
and he's finally on the very
tip
top
edge
of making it.
He deserves it to the 412th power.
(no, smartass, the 413th wouldn't work.)
I will tell you when to toon--ha..."tune"...your radios.
Radio is funny-looking, pluralized.
Just like marriage.
When pluralized, it goes all sorts of skee-wompus.
Fucking Utah is poisoning my thoughts.
Just kidding.

Oh, the Mormon couple we had dinner with the other night was actually very cool.
Dammit, WHEN am I going to learn???
I like everyone.
Period.
End of goddamn
motherfucking
cocksucking
story.
Everyone.
Well, except Hitler and PETA.
It's a good lesson in bigotry, though, I suppose...
I rant about mormons cuz it's fun and I am/have been/might be bitter about my inability to extricate myself from it more entirely, longer ago, further away, or goings awry of goings on and now I'm just degenerating into mindless dribble....

better go hit that fucking 5 page argument for what's so interesting about a poem I find rather boring. Shit. At least she could have let us pick our own poem!! Blurgh.

I love kissing.
soft lips,
wet tongues--
but don't forget the hands.
on backs, in hair, up shirts, in waistbands.
hands.
Poker before the Big Bowl
the Most Bowl
the Largest Bowl.
No, not THAT one, ya damn hippie.
Cards and chips and poor bluffing skills--
but mostly beer and smiles.
Now that I've stopped wondering...I must wonder again.
Don't ask.
Damn I love Phish.
It's been a really long time.
so mellow...
Day 4 of uber diet, check.
Fuck you, Body--you're going to be in MY control again.
Damn straight.
Also...elevating thryoid levels will feel good in my head and my limbs.

someone click "publish post"...hurry, before I run out of letters...
I'm glad my mind isn't like those signs in front of new england gas stations, with the letters you put on...or the church signs. They have a limited number of letters...
publish
[publish, lisa, do it.
homework will not do itself, no matter how often you shout "Go fuck yourself!" at it, so get busy, girl.
Publish Post.
move hands from keyboard to mouse...come on...
they're sick of your looney bin for a head, tripping over your consanants your vowels--your bowels! jeez.
ready
set
goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

God bless coffee,

and god bless YOU.
What?
You sneezed, didn't you?
NO?
Oh.
Well, I wonder what that was, then.

I have so much to say, that it might all come out garbled--
the body of one story bearing the limbs of another and the distinctive saunter of yet another.
But I'll take a deep breath and put on my thinking cap.
Or my walking shoes--?
Can never remember which one's more appropriate.

The most important item is that I finally reached a point of procrastination severe enough to warrant cleaning out 6 months of email from my inbox.
I forgot to count them all, but at last count they were nearing the 1000 mark, I believe.
That included almost half spam, though.
Anyway, I sorted them all out into their various folders,
so now I'm back to my old habit of keeping only unanswered emails in my inbox.
It feels as good as a new haircut, or a clean pair of underwear after 4 days of camping.

Next up, I finally called my doctor yesterday,
and his absolutely adorable receptionist guessed who I was as I listed my symptoms!!
I choose to only see the warm-fuzzy part of that, rather than focus on the fact that it makes me look like some damn hypochondriac.
Which I'm not.
They're just a fairly new office, and I've been in and out with my stupid thyroid a bunch of times,
as well as various immunizations for the kids, etc.
Anyway, he also employs the single best nurse I've ever met--
personality-wise.
She is my favorite.
AND she calls the phelbotomist a vampire, and it somehow sounds cute rather than trite.
Not to mention he got blood from my stubborn veins in only two tries, and didn't leave bruises.
Killer.
So, they're running a bunch of tests to see why I'm dying.
I can almost guarantee they're going to find nothing, which will prove to me that I am actually dying, so that sucks.
No, but my husband is fairly convinced there is something wrong.
I keep trying to tell him that THAT'S nothing new.
I just don't know why I'm so tired all the time.
It's probably my imagination.
I'm just getting old.
He did remind me to do monthly self breast exams, though, so that could be good fun.
Maybe I'll make that part of my Tuesday routine.
It's certainly a good reminder--
and yes, once a week is more than necessary, but I would become familiar with the girls at every stage of my cycle.
Yes, you can read that as "bicycle" if you're uncomfortable with girly talk.
Or if you prefer a slightly different type of "girly" talk: bi(sexual)cycle.
I'm merely the vessel, do with this knowledge what you will.

Ok, enough of the gloom and doom.

I submitted an essay, a short story, and two poems to my university's yearly literary magazine thingy.
(yes, english majors are allowed to use "thingy" as a real word. a lot.)
I can't wait to hear if they accept any of them.
The essay has the best chance, but who knows.
Someone also made a fantastic suggestion, which I better fucking follow up on before I begin kicking myself for not doing it: submit stories to free press papers, just to get some easy publishing credits.
If I nail the content, I have a very good shot of getting in because they are usually desperate for stories.
And that's not even the wisest of his ass's wisdom.
But I'll keep the rest to myself.
(read: I can't remember it)
Ha! Kidding, D.

Ok, so does anyone remember that super secret project I mentioned a while back?
Well, I'm still not giving you any details, but I will tell you a bit more about it.
A friend offered me the opportunity to do a smallish project with universe-sized possibilities for a man you would all know who is smart, and influential, and has great taste in writing.
I'm sure of that last one, because yesterday I got word that her coaching paid off, and he loved my samples!!!
If we can work out some logistical stuff, I have the gig.
It's such an exciting opportunity, not to mention a wonderful project to be involved with.
There was definite squealing, and much bouncing on my bed as I told my husband.
Just me, though, cuz he was not only sick but extremely tired.

And I now have less than 24 hours until my first paper is due for my English class,
and I better fucking get boogeying.

I'm pretty sure I had other stuff to ramble about, but it'll have to wait.
(either that, or disappear in the misty reaches of my faltering mind...)

Happy Hump Day--
Black Eyed Peas style!