Puke, Crap and Money Down the Drain

My children have never been pukers, until this week. We, as a family, have some sort of bug that causes vomiting and the runs. I haven't personally had intestional troubles other than feeling queasy when cleaning up the vomit and crap of other people living in this house. Let's not forget the animals because I've cleaned up dog vomit and slimy shit this week, too.

I was lucky enough to get 2 maids in here today to clean for the party on Saturday. They left around 3 and since then, I've spent my afternoon and evening with my dear husband, cleaning up the diarrhea and vomit of our two lovely daughters. Moggie had a blowout tonight in bed, dragging her poopy butt into the bathroom to remove her panties and let the rest of the putrid slime ooze out of her. She then toddled across her carpeted bedroom to put those poop-soaked panties in her clean underwear drawer, then back into the bathroom to cover up the poop with the clean bathroom rug before she called for some help. Of course nothing works on poop stains like good old Clorox. Except the maids used an entire big bottle of Clorox today.

Instead of doing my final errand run before the party tomorrow, I'll once again be playing footservant to my children. If I'm lucky I can make it to Wal-mart for a few jugs of Clorox and some children's Immodium without one of those turkeys puking in my car. I think they prefer puking and crapping on my nice clean floors anyway. I just flushed that cleaning money right down the drain.

For the Birds

My friend Patty mentioned wanting a big bath tub this week. I have a big bath tub, and the maids are coming tomorrow to clean so I thought I would run some bleach and water through the jets because they look kind of questionable. I never use the tub except for bathing the children and I do clean it, I just don't go nuts and mess with the jets since they aren't used.

I filled the tub with an ungodly amount of water in order to cover the jets. I poured a good bit of bleach in and pressed the button. Notice I didn't say anything about ensuring that the jets were pointed down? Yeah, it's because I forgot that step. Black, gunky mold exploded from the tub and covered me, half of the bathroom floor, and the glass wall to our shower. More accurately, black, gunky mold and Clorox exploded from the tub and ruined my very comfy Target Ultimate Tee. Those maids have no idea what they are in for tomorrow.

I Need Some Style

You know the flamboyant types who can pull off anything because they are so out there? I need to work on my out there because I was chastised by a maid today. My house is a wreck, I can't lie. But, I've been working my ass off mopping and doing laundry and refinishing a piece of furniture, cleaning up Moggie-puke puddles and shampooing carpet. I've even been cleaning showers and toilets, but my house is too big for me to get everything done at once. I can get 2 rooms cleaned, at most, before the kids/dogs/cats destroy them while I'm working on the third. We have a few options here. We can A. move to a smaller house B. sell a few children or C. hire a maid. I have had good luck picking option C in my life so the maid was here scoping things out today. I thought she had a great price and she comes highly recommended from two of my friends who use her. I know she thinks I'm the laziest woman ever, considering the fact that my child was still in jammies at 4:30 (she's sick), and I'm here in sweats and no makeup looking like I've been sleeping all day. I just look that way because I'm exhausted and haven't had time to make myself presentable since I've been busting ass to clean this house that can't be cleaned. Cross your fingers that Fidel falls in love with Elena, or at least in love with her cleaning and decides to keep her. I'd love to have this house cleaned properly twice a month. It would increase my sexual desire and make me cook delicious meals and serve them with a smile. I'll do anything to get this house cleaned!

Cultural Outreach

There is a home under construction next door, and the framing crew is Spanish-speaking. I have taken it upon myself to teach them how to cuss in English. This wiener dog of mine must have a bladder the size of a thimble and apparent hearing problems because she has to go out about 3 times an hour and cannot hear me calling her to come in until I scream, "Charlie, get your motherfucking ass in the house, NOW". I hope those guys don't go home repeating that one thinking it's something good to show off.

Damn You, Laura Ingalls

I was in a great cleaning groove today until I had to pause to hike up to the bus stop to get Tootie. I pulled up the guide on tv to find her something to watch other than "I Love the 80's" and damned if I didn't get sucked into Little House on the Prairie. Not just any LH, but the one where Laura and Almonzo are in love and Percival comes in to rejuvenate Nelly's Place and they fall in love. I can't bear to pull myself away from the tv now. I owe it to Michael Landon.

Zing Zing Zing

I'm all hopped up on diet pills and caffeine and I'm cleaning house like a fiend. I have a call in to a maid but at this rate I won't need her services. I want a maid so bad but I feel guilty as sin hiring one because what in the hell am I good for as a SAHM if I can't clean the house? It's not like I'm busy volunteering or playing tennis or something. I'd rather be mopping than playing tennis anyway. Tennis is one of those pastimes that requires shaved legs and I'm not signing up for anything that requires that much of me. That's just too much pressure for me at this point in my life.

Old People with Something to Prove

Moggie goes to preschool on Mondays, so I made plans to go to a home decor store about 25 miles from here with my free time this morning. I forgot my cellphone at home so I had to come back after carpool to get it in case anyone needed to get in touch with me. As I was heading back to my house, there was a car in front of me on a back road doing it's thing. As I got closer to the car, the driver all of a sudden slowed down to the posted speed limit of 35 and remained at that speed for an entire mile. Then she came to a complete stop to do a right turn into a turn lane. After I got my cellphone out of a jacket I wore last week (yes, my cell has been MIA since Friday) I picked up a message from Moggie's preschool telling me that she puked and needed to be picked up. Back I go to preschool, and once again I get behind another old person with something to prove. This guy, amazingly enough, slowed down to exactly 35 MPH. I could see him grumping and watching me in his mirror. I was like, whatever, I have no where to be, pops. But you could see in his face that he was putting me in my place. I wasn't close enough to be tailgating and I was listening to Blue Collar Comedy on Sirius so I was smiling and not grumping about being behind a slow geezer, so I don't know what his issue was. It's like there's a group of senior citizen drivers with a mission to show us younger people the rules of the road. They have nowhere to be and have lost touch with the concept of moving with a purpose. I could have laid into my Hemi and blown them off the road but I was in no hurry to go get Miss Puke-a-lot. I don't do well with vomit and I was hoping she would have it all out of her by the time that I got there.

Disappointed

I grew up in a really small town where everyone knows everyone. I'm a true Aquarius, a free spirit who marches to my own beat, so to speak. I had a friend, we will call him K, who was 6 years older than me. We were in the same circles in our late teens and we clicked as friends, but our parents read more into the relationship and really discouraged it because he was older, and I was too wild, according to his mother. Well we remained friends anyway and that was the extent of it despite our parents fear of us hooking up. I don't know why mine even bothered worrying about me because I was going to do what I was going to do anyway, but this one guy really got under their skin. I lost touch with him when I moved out of the state 12 years ago and our paths haven't crossed. This morning, I logged onto Topix for my hometown because I was bored, and I'll be damned if he didn't get arrested for running a freaking meth lab. I'm just really disappointed because he was better than that. He definitely contributed to my delinquency when I was a minor, but that was the worst thing the guy did. He wasn't into drugs or any of the other crazy crap a lot of other young guys were into. We hung out at some of the same bars in our early adulthood and if I was getting unwanted attention from a guy, he was quick to come bail me out. He actually got into kind of big-brother mode at times which was cute. I really hope that he can shake this meth stuff. Isn't it sort of ironic that his mom thought that I was bad news? I was wild but I had high standards and wouldn't get involved with the skanky drugs, and meth is very skanky.

Dorks Night Out

Yesterday, Fidel decided that we were taking the girls roller skating. I made sure we were all wearing socks and tucked an insurance card in everyone's back pocket and off we went to Skate Country. We got our skates on and practiced a little on the carpet and finally worked up the nerve to hit the hardwoods. Fidel had Tootie and I had Moggie. We got approximately 1/3 the way around the big oval when the DJ cleared the floor, because some chick had fallen and was being treated with an ankle brace and whisked off in an office chair. It took forever to do that, or at least long enough for me to realize that it could easily be me on the floor, with my ankle at an odd angle and an executive highback chair waiting for me. I lost my nerve.

After skating, we went to Chick Fil A for dinner. Our CFA is the best there is. When you go in, the kids working the counter are smiling and say, "Welcome to Chick Fil A" and look like they mean it. I have no idea where they found such a big bunch of well-mannered teenagers. They must drug them. Their name tags probably give a little puff of some happy pill mist every 10 minutes or so.

Elegant Centerpiece

I think I'm going to commission one of these beauties as the elegant centerpiece for our party next weekend.

Something to Make Me Skinny

This morning, I went to the bagel shop for a bagel and a coffee. I wandered next door to the health food store, which is oddly sandwiched between the bagel shop and a chocolate shop. Anyway, I walked in there with a big ass bagel and coffee intending to get some flax seed oil since my friend Ashley swears it will cleanse my colon critters and make my skin soft and supple. I'm all about being parasite free and supple, but unfortunately I'm forgetful and spacey because the moment Skinny Bitch behind the counter asked if she could help me I said, "Yeah, something to make me skinny that doesn't involve me getting rid of this bagel" so we started discussing diet pills and abandoned poor old flax seed oil. After I chose my bottle of diet pills, (I chose the one with the flames on the label. I'm a redneck, show me some flames and I'm sold, baby) I noticed the big display of colon cleansing products. I said, "Hey, do any of these release The Beast?" and believe it or not, she hadn't heard of The Beast. I filled her in and wrote down the name of the website so that she could check out the shit dragon and mega turd. She was telling me about a customer who got some of the mega cleansing stuff and shit out a 2-foot tapeworm. I would be in there wanting some hypnotherapy or something if I crapped out a 2-foot tapeworm. I would actually need psychotherapy for that one because I'm kind of wacky and my butt would itch for the rest of my life because no matter what, I'd be convinced that more worms were up there. Who am I kidding, my butt itches now.

Diet Pills + Coffee = Crack

This morning, I grabbed me a bagel and cream cheese with a coffee and wandered next door to the health food store for some diet pills. I washed 2 of those down with coffee so I'm all jacked up and ready to work. I haven't taken diet pills in a while and I had forgotten how productive they make me. I may actually be ready for this party on Saturday.

Speaking of the party... This is something the 3 wives of the business owners put together. We are having it at our house because we have a good house for entertaining, lots of living space and a good kitchen setup. Apparently that's where my involvement ends because I've been cut out of the loop as far as the menu from the caterer goes, and I was instructed on what drinks to serve. I can throw a mean party and have many witnesses to that fact. Perhaps it's because I'm all cracked out on diet pills and caffeine, but it is offensive to me to be told that the food has been approved and that I need to stick to scotch, bourbon and 2 types of martinis. I want to ask her if she can select my outfit, the candles and draft a piss schedule while she's at it. It is very hard to not drop a Look, Bitch on her but the last drop of "good" that I have in me is telling me to give her the benefit of the doubt. The rest of me is telling me to whip out my marvelous mojitos as an act of rebellion and to serve Lil' Smokies from my 80's crockpot. Telling me how to throw a gd party. Hmmpf.

Unleash the Beast

I have been hearing a commercial for a product called Evercleanse, and since I'm sitting here bored stiff, I finally checked out the website. I haven't laughed this hard in a while. You have to go check it out, but be warned that you won't be able to think about pooping without laughing at The Beast. I'm talking to my friend Ashley and we are dying laughing. This is no lie. They have a picture of an enormous curved turd and the picture is captioned, "Meet the Beast, Get Rid of it Now!" and it just frightens me silly to think that a turd of that size and shape might come out of me if I take the Evercleanse. The site is a hoot, just with the layout and the photos of doctors and skinny bitches with measuring tapes around their flat bellies. Hell, I might not be fat, I might just need to poop out The Beast. I pray to God that I don't dream about the Turd Beast tonight. Or at the very least, I just dream of the cartoon Turd Beast on Shit Mountain depicted on page 2. He's a Sugarplum Fairy compared to that crazy turd.

Moment of Truth

What did you guys think of Moment of Truth last night? Fidel and I watched it and I was laughing at the pompous "personal trainer/ex pro football player" guy. He thought he was all that and a bag of chips, didn't he! I wish they would have gotten his wife hooked up to the lie detector to ask her, "Does your husband think he's better looking than he is" because that guy needed to be taken down a notch. I bet they end up divorcing anyway. One of his answers was that he hasn't had children with his wife because she may not be his partner for life, and the other was that he had touched a female client more than he had to for his "personal trainer" job.

One thing that really got on my nerves about this show was the overly-dramatic pauses before the answers were revealed. I understand they are trying to make good tv, but I could go for a bathroom break without pausing the Tivo if I timed it correctly. Even Fidel, who is normally the patient one, was yelling, "Spit it out, motherfucker" at the tv. I know we are all getting desperate with the lack of new tv due to the writer's strike, but waiting for that bitch to say "That answer is . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (hold on, I have a phone call... Won't be long.... Oh, it's my mother, this bitch will talk all night.... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.. Shit, make something up!) true" is just too much. We want to see them on the hot seat, not look at their faces for 30 seconds while you "compute" an answer. We can get the same effect in 5 seconds and move on along to the next question, which puts us closer to seeing the contestant getting clocked in the head with a shoe for revealing something juicy. Fidel and I would be all Jerry Springer on there.

Bitch Whore

At Moggie's preschool, there are 2 entrances to the grounds but in the orientation, parents are instructed to use one particular entrance. That creates an orderly line of cars (well, few cars but tons of SUVs and minivans) to the door of the preschool. I've been noticing this one bitch in a burgundy Volvo wagon who thinks that she can zip in late, then cut through the entrance we aren't supposed to use so that she can cut to the front of the line to drop her kids off. I want to scream, "Bitch Whore" at her but it's too cold to roll my window down. Plus, they may not welcome Moggie back next year if her mother is screaming obscenities at cows in the church parking lot.

No, I Haven't

My husband just asked me if I had lost my goddamned mind. The nerve! All I asked him to do is to paint 3 rooms for me this weekend. Sheesh, you would think I'd asked for something crazy.

We are hosting Fidel's annual work bash here on February 2. I haven't done much at all to my house all year and here at the last minute I'm getting the decorating bug. It didn't help that I went to a neighbor's house for a Southern Living party this morning, and that place is like walking into a model home. She is an excellent decorator and I came home feeling like my house was a tarpaper shack. I should be cleaning with the passion of the neurotic but here I sit on the internet. If only my husband had been enthusiastic about painting my rooms, perhaps I could summon the energy to do some cleaning. Oh magical internet, please send a genie to clean my house for me. Or at least a crew from Merry Maids.

'Tis Not the Time

Dear wanna-be cool guys:

Flip flops are not appropriate footwear with jeans in January. Especially if you have celebrated at least 35 birthdays. If you must wear flip flops, please be kind enough to visit the pedicure chair before doing so. It would also be great if you could find a pair of flops that actually fit your gnarly feet because while you merely look stupid with flip flops in the snow, you look positively retarded with your toes hanging off of your beat ass flip flops touching dirty snow and ice.

Love,

MF

Dinner With Fidel

Fidel and I went out to celebrate our 11th anniversary tonight. We went to a small restaurant in our little town and it was wonderful. Earlier today, he dropped off a bottle of wine he picked for us and reserved the table he wanted for tonight. We shared an appetizer and salad. He ordered an Atlantic Cod dish, topped with Prince Edward Island mussels. I had a filet with portobello mushrooms and a Gorgonzola fondue. Dinner was excellent. We had a flourless chocolate torte with raspberries and whipped cream. It was like chocolate velvet. I could have licked the plate. I should have licked the plate. Oh, if I had it to do over again, I would have licked that plate.

I do have to brag on my husband. He got my favorite type of wine, made in the year we were married. He's very sweet.

She Will Sleep in Jeans

I swear, if my youngest child changes clothing one more fucking time I'm going to whack her with something. I get her dressed for school, and the freaking second she gets home she flies upstairs to change into a goddamned nightgown. When it's time to go get Tootie from the bus stop, I have to change her into her clothes again or harass her until she does it herself. I'm so tired of this crap. I'm going to bag up all of her fucking nightgowns and jammies and make her sleep in jeans if she doesn't chill out. It makes for a ton of laundry and a bunch of wasted time. I must spend at least 30 minutes out of every single day dealing with her changing clothes. Have I mentioned that I'm tired of it? Well I am.

Fidel and I have plans to go out for dinner tonight and we were going to this nice little place but I decided I didn't want to dress up because it's cold, so I asked if we could do sushi instead. I'm so burned out on wardrobe changes that I don't even want to change my own clothes. Now I'm considering switching back to the original plans so I can drink my share of a bottle of wine with dinner to dull the pain of my stress headache. And I don't even want plum wine from the sushi place. I want some velvety, rich red wine. And vanilla bean creme brulee. And a child who can stay dressed longer than 4 hours. Does she think she's Hugh Hefner or something?

Oh Get Real

I just googled for some pantry organization tips and I may as well have asked to babysit someone's kid for the amount of aggravation I got. I found a good page, or what might have been a good page if there wasn't a big fucking random ad covering steps 1-3. I'm not an expert on lists but I'm pretty sure that if you have a list, you should follow it in order or shit will be all jacked up. I can't start on step 4!

The second page I encountered was telling me to cut empty Coke 12-pack boxes to use for organizing small loose things like mixes. Again, I'm no expert but I don't think adding more fucking garbage to my pantry is helping me organize a thing. I don't have to have handwoven sweetgrass baskets for my Jiffy Mix but I'm not putting a damn cut-up Coke box in my pantry, either.

So today I've accomplished getting annoyed out of cleaning. I should have just quit before I started.

Someone in Jersey Better Watch Their Ass!

I just checked my Stat Counter page and someone in New Jersey recently found me by Googling, "I'll take everything you get away". I'm assuming that means that one grammatically-impaired person is leaving and planning to take away the possessions of the leavee, but I guess it could really mean that a pair of thieves are plotting a snatch-and-run spree. Really, who is to know. All I know is that people from New Jersey are scaring me with their Google searches.

My great-aunt (senile Granny's sister) lived in New Jersey decades ago. Senile Granny and her other sister traveled North to spend a few days with Jersey sister but apparently Jersey wasn't to their liking because they slept fully-dressed in the same bed, with their purses on their chests and demanded to be taken home the very next day.

Neil, You Sorry Bastard

Did anyone watch The Biggest Loser last night? I felt so bad for Amanda when they got kicked off because of Neil's fucking lazy, sorry ass. She just seemed like she was so ready and willing to lose the weight, but Neil was just disgustingly lazy and apathetic. Amanda thought that the other contestants didn't understand Neil's sense of humor, but I just think poor Amanda is too nice and doesn't see that Neil is a lazy-ass turd. Don't get me wrong, I can be as lazy as anyone, but if I was in a situation where I was faced with doing my best or letting my true love down, I would do the best that I could do. If my true love wasn't putting forth his best effort and undermining my chance at success, 5 more minutes on the treadmill would be the least of his worries. Fidel and I should have been cast on the BL couples show because we would make for some excellent tv. I would seriously entertain the masses, but BL would have to be aired on HBO or something because they just would not be able to beep all the "motherfucker"s out. Like last week, when they faced the challenge of eating a ton of food in that cheat room, I'd be out there screeching, "Not even a nibble, motherfucker" when Fidel had his turn in the room. Then I'd be in there wolfing down some chocolate when it's my turn.

Anyway, I wish Amanda the best of luck but I'd still like to kick Neil in the nuts.

Bible Action Figures

Over Christmas, I was in the Wal-Mart toy section and I noticed these strange-looking dolls in the Barbie section. They looked like hobos but I knelt down to get a closer look, and it turns out they were Biblical action figures. Jesus Barbies. I guess that might be a good idea for some children, like Rod and Todd Flanders. They wouldn't be a good idea for my kids because they would be hanging out with the hooker Barbies and before you knew it they would be naked and surrounded by hoochie fairies, like poor Prince Eric is. Prince Eric lives on my keeping room sofa, and Ariel has to share him with the hoochie fairies from Fairytopia. The blue-haired one is the worst hooch of them all. The other day, Tootie was playing with the blue fairy and Eric while Ariel laid on the floor. As the Sapphire Skank sweet-talked Prince Eric into kissing and getting married, I grabbed Ariel, air-swam over to Eric and had her pull the blue fairy's hair and told her to get her skank ass away from her man before she got cut.

Of course I didn't really do that. I'm planning to wait until the kids are out of elementary school before I teach them the art of catfighting.

Not Even Worth It

I am having cramps so bad that I feel nauseated. Tylenol wasn't cutting it, Advil wasn't cutting it, so I popped a hydrocodone. It worked (mostly) for the cramps but here I am 2 1/2 hours later and I can barely hold my eyes open. I'd rather have cramps than fight to stay awake at 5:15! I need to get my wicked uterus out of me because that thing is nothing but trouble.

Wild Animals, Indeed

Today, Tootie came home from school with a Stevi B's sticker on her forehead. One Tuesday a month is a fundraising night for her school and the school gets $0.50 from each person dining that night. Well, we tried it once in an attempt to be good members of the school community and it about drove me to being a member of the loony-bin community. It's a buffet, sandwiched between a Wal-Mart and a Payless Shoe store with a big Ryans Family Steakhouse in the parking lot. It may as well be a concession stand at a flea market. After our first, and last, experience there I told Tootie that from now on, I'd take her to Chuck E. Cheese on Stevi B's nights. She came home grinning this afternoon, dancing and singing about Chuck E. Cheese. I'm dressed and don't feel like cooking dinner so that's fine with me. How lazy am I that I'd rather go sit at CEC than make dinner?

After Tootie got off the bus, I took her and Moggie to the local dance store to get Moggie a pair of tap shoes for dance tomorrow, and then we went to a beauty supply store for some purple shampoo for my highlights. I frequent locally owned businesses when I can, and the ladies at the beauty supply store are the owners and so very friendly. One of them asked Tootie if she was going to Stevi B's tonight and she said, "No! There are wild animals in that place!". I thought it was pretty funny and the beauty store lady was laughing at her.

Crapola

This morning, I had to drop Moggie off at preschool at 9 and I had a haircut scheduled for 10. I had an hour to kill so I decided to just come home instead of shopping. I opened my garage door, pulled in and heard framma-bamma-lam-lam-whunk. My eyes got as big as saucers and I felt faint because I was convinced that I had managed to drive into and partially through the back wall of my garage. After I caught my breath, I realized that I had not driven into the wall and that the noise that scared the poop out of me was just the workers next door removing concrete forms from our future neighbors' newly-poured basement walls.

I was over all that excitement and I went to get my haircut and we were laughing because I am having a total blonde day and she's always having a blonde day. From the second I met Niki, we have gotten along so well and it seems like we have been best friends from birth. She was bopping around to the music and some song came on from a local group and she's like, "Can you believe these motherfuckers live over in ____________" and then she just froze and looked around to see who heard her filthy mouth. We laugh and carry on so badly that she completely forgot she was at work. She's pretty funny. She does a kick-ass haircut, too. I like to maintain anonymity on here but I'd totally post a picture of my hair today if I had on any makeup. But I don't have on any makeup, and after last week's zit-inducing eyebrow wax I would scare away all of my readers if posted said picture. Just rest assured that my hair looks fabulous. Much too fabulous for these Kohls sweatpants I'm rocking.

Fashion Epiphany

I'm online planning my wardrobe for my cruise and I just remembered that I had a fashion epiphany in a dream last night. Now some people would take that as a sign, but I'm just taking it as a sign that I have some messed up dreams. I wasn't dressed in a certain color or signature print. I couldn't be that simple, could I? I had every garment I owned trimmed in FUR. Fluffy, glorious fur, or feathers. I really couldn't tell, I just had fluffy cuffs and a fluffy neckline, like some sort of demented poodle. I think that dream was just breaking it to me gently that I'm an eccentric freak. Hey, I know that already Miss Subconscious, so tell me something I don't know tonight.

Had to Chuckle

I was just reading a cruise forum because I'm taking a cruise with my girlfriends in May (hey hey hey) and I'm a little obsessive and bored. Anyway, a topic of discussion was people getting kicked off of a ship for misbehavior and one poster mentioned that 2 gentlemen on an all-deaf charter were kicked off in the next port (Mexico) and left to get home on their own. There was some outrage over the deaf guys being put off but I had to laugh because I have decent hearing and I'd still be up shit creek if I was dumped in Mexico. Well not really because I've been to Mexico and didn't speak a word of Spanish and made it home to tell the tale. Plus, I would just call Americano Expresso and have them get my ass-o on a flight back to Atlanta. Now that I've typed this out, it's not really funny. Unless the ramblings of a bored, tired chubby housewife are your bag. If so, boy did you luck out tonight, baby.

Dear Children of Mine

Mommy just spent a ton of money on a dvd player for her car. In case you haven't noticed, Mommy cannot even see the screen from the driver's seat, and she's often burdened with listening to Tom and Jerry or Shrek when she would much rather be listening to Hair Nation or Blue Collar Comedy, all because you are too lazy to put on your wireless headphones. Now I'm used to making those small sacrifices for you two angels, but if I'm putting Jeff Foxworthy on hold, you better be watching some goddamned Tom and Jerry instead of screaming at each other about who is the better whistler. I'll settle that and let you both know that blowing isn't whistling. Not at all. You do not sound like a bird, unless it's a damn annoying emu or something. You are far from nightingales, my sweets. Zip it and watch the movie.

Sedation Cosmetology

I need a haircut and color so badly that I frighten myself in the mirror. I look bad enough in my home lighting, but I am really afraid to see how bad I look in the glaring lights of my salon. These big, wiry grays will be sparkling like sunshine on water. As luck would have it, I'm normally drugged up on my special cough syrup when I go in for coloring. I do more with my hair in the fall/winter and that's cold season, I get bronchitis if you look at me, coughing makes me piss myself so I take special cough syrup and love everyone and don't cough. Good times! Luckily I have been illness-free this season and I haven't faked being ill just to get my special syrup because I would drink it if I had it, so I'll have to face the bright lights and many mirrors unaided by my chemical friends. I better wait for this eye herp to pass or I will be drinking hair gel to dull the pain.

Herpes of the Eye, or Hypochondria

I went to lunch and for an eyebrow waxing yesterday with my best friend, and now I have a big honking bump slightly below the area that was waxed. I'm sure it's due to my oncoming freaking period, but the crazy chick in my head is telling me I have Herpes of the eye due to unsanitary waxing crap. Either way I am a sight!

You Poor, Gouty Bastards

I like to look at my StatCounter "Recent Keyword Activity" report, not because it helps me any but because it's really entertaining. Most of my "abnormal" traffic comes from people searching for information on gout. Last year, I got traffic from the lice situation and now I'm getting gout traffic. I'm going to end up being the Queen of Po'White Trash.

Since most of you gouty bastards are looking for a relative to hang this whole gout thing upon, I will post this handy Q&A I had with my Daddy. My disclaimer is that my Daddy is no doctor. He's a country boy afflicted with Jimmy Legs and the Gout, with a quack doctor who treats his ailments with V&V. That's a Valium and Vicodin cocktail. Normally washed down with Bud Lite from a can, about 8 of them.

Here goes. I'll set the scene for you. It's a Sunday evening. After all, that's when country girls who moved away from home call their Daddies to catch up on who died from what in the past week, and other important gossip.

Mama F.: Daddy, is the gout a big knot on the side of your foot?
Daddy: Yes, does Fidel have that?
Mama F.: No, I have that. Gout and Jimmy Legs. I wish you had passed your height gene to me instead of the gout and Jimmy Legs
Daddy: Damn, you have the Jimmy Legs, too?
Mama F.: Yes, and you already knew that. What do you take for the gout?
Daddy: Vicodin and Valium
Mama F.: Think back, what did your doctor do for you before they gave up and drugged you into submission?
Daddy: I think they gave me something to make me pee out the uric acid
Mama F.: Did that work?
Daddy: No, Bud Lite helped
Mama F.: I thought alcohol made it worse? What about diet?
Daddy: Oh hell, any damn thing you want to eat makes it worse. You'd starve to death if you didn't eat stuff that they say makes the gout worse

My friends, the above conversation pretty much sums up the gout. Basically, you're fucked. It's hereditary, anything you want to eat will make it worse and apparently it's linked to other ailments like Jimmy Legs and the crazy. Go crack yourself a Bud Lite, wear nothing but slippers and call it a day. I've found that if you speak with a good Southern accent, most people forgive your quirkiness and think it's part of the whole package.

Tales from the Country - NOT for the Faint of Heart

I spent NYE away from my dear husband, and with my family in the country. My grandfather was released from rehab on January 1 and I went down to help get their house ready for his arrival home, and I wanted to be there when he came home, just to welcome him. I spent NYE washing dishes in Clorox and cleaning out long-neglected cabinets and storage spaces, but my poor Aunt D. spent the day taking my senile grandmother to a way overdue physical. On the way there, my grandmother kept asking, "Now where are we going?" and Aunt D. told her they were going to the medical center to finalize the delivery of Papa's hospital bed. When they got to the medical center, my grandmother said, "I'll just sit here in the car", and it took a little more trickery to get her inside the doors. Once she got inside, Aunt D. still didn't tell her she was there to be examined. They got her signed in and back to the blood pressure/weight/whatever else they do station and the nurse told her they were going to check her out. In this particular medical center, as in many that I have seen, the BP station is out in the open. The nurse was apparently non-specific when she said, "Ok Mrs. J., we are going to check you out here" and my grandmother looked at her, serious as can be, and said, "You aren't going to check my pussy are you?" Aunt D. said the entire room was silent and the nurse said, "Jesus Christ". Can you imagine an upstanding 83-year old lady asking that in a room full of people? I probably would have peed myself laughing.

Be Careful, for Chrissakes

Moggie is my boo-boo magnet. She is so reckless and crazy and she's always covered in bruises. I really think she's just one more head injury away from a lifetime of seizures or something. I want her to stop injuring herself but that's like me wanting to be skinny, it's just not going to happen. I think she needs to wear a helmet during her waking hours like the Chicken Pot-Chicken Pot-Chicken Pot Piieeee guy from Just Shoot Me. I know I would be a lot less nervous. This morning, she was running across the hardwood floor and jumped on a pair of slippery butterfly costume wings, trying to surf or something, and ended up busting her gourd for the millionth time. I've gone from freaking out with worry when she hurts herself to just being fucking annoyed because she is without fail doing something that I have begged her to stop doing. She is really hardheaded and stubborn, and when she's eating her meals with a cork-tipped fork she will only have herself to blame.

Happy Anniversary

Fidel and I will be celebrating our 11th wedding anniversary this month. Ever the romantic, Fidel looked at me over dinner tonight (steak, baked potatoes and winter green salad topped with baked pecan-encrusted goat cheese medallions) and said, "I've been tapping that ass for 11 years now". He followed up by IMing me dirty talk from three feet away. We are sitting in front of a lovely fire, and I'm looking pretty hot with my unbrushed hair, no makeup and wearing sweats. I can see why he cannot resist me.

Elbows Deep

I'm elbows deep in slimy smelly dog shit. My poor dog, Buddy, has a dietary indiscretion going on, according to the vet. Yesterday, he had a marathon puking session on a hand-knotted wool rug and graduated to slimy dog shits in the afternoon. I called the vet and he said to make the dog some chicken and rice to eat to settle his stomach. It worked but I hope the dog doesn't figure out that the chicken and rice is his medicine or else he will be sticking his paw down his throat to make himself vomit some more. He does appear to be getting better but I can tell he still doesn't feel great. He's all tired and grumpy. He will be even grumpier this afternoon when I give his nasty ass a bath and trim his butt fur. I just washed all of his bedding and if I had known it was as soiled as it was I probably would have just thrown it away and bought more. Instead I put it in my washing machine with Clorox and I'm hoping for the best.

I'm off to Publix to grab some groceries before I do afternoon carpool, but I'll be home this afternoon to regale you with tales of my trip to the country earlier this week.