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.