Showing posts with label Angel Butt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Angel Butt. Show all posts

Monday, July 11, 2011

What. The. Hell.

Where have I been, you ask?

Wait, you didn't ask? Good thing I don't give a flying V, eh?

Let's see, I...
  • Went to the shrink to learn that I'm not bipolar. I'm just really, really wacked overall. So there's that. Lots of therapy lies ahead of me.
  • Then I got laid off. Excuse me, I got "temporarily furloughed," and so did Gray.ON THE SAME DAY. So it's going to be just *that* much more difficult to pay for said therapy.
  • Then I helped one of my very best friends start packing because she is moving WAY FAR AWAY.
  • While I was helping her move, I slipped down the stairs and broke my big toe in two places. No joke, the fracture is "L" shaped. And no, I wasn't drunk. I wasn't even drinking. Except coffee, but it wasn't laced absinthe with or anything. I AM JUST THAT FUCKING CLUMSY.
  • Then Angel Butt and Five Head came to visit and we've been alternating between subsequent, ridonkulous video game challenges issued from Gray to Five Head (some kind of odd 35 year old to 12 year old bonding thing, no? They have more in common than Gray and I do.) and sleep overs with 4-year-old girls. Did you know that children don't push themselves on the swing? That you have to do it FOR them? It's all very exhausting. 
  • Then, thanks to the no-jobs thing, we ran out of booze. And painkillers. Did I mention I broke my toe? And then Angel Butt accidentally stamped on it just when it was starting to fit into a regular shoe again?
  • NO JOB THING.
So I'm a bit stressed. Turns out polishing up my resume is about the exact opposite of fun. Or exciting. Or bearable.

And applying for unemployment is almost impossible, did you know that? There are all these...forms and...questions and...OUCHIE BRAIN.

Did I mention I've done all of this sober?

I don't write about work here, for obvious reasons (if they find the bag of body parts in my office drawer, I am totally fucked) so I have had very little to divulge except "ouch" and "ouch" and, oh: OW MOTHERFUCKER.

July is awesome so far.

Wednesday, June 01, 2011

Scientific proof we're related

Our niece Angel Butt was here with my sister over the weekend. The following tid bits were actually divulged.

If I hadn't watched my sister give birth to this child, I'd be pretty sure I gave birth to her myself. And then forgot.

***

On Eyeballs:

My sister: Lately, Angel Butt has been obsessed about what certain things eat. She asked me what angels eat, and I said probably something fluffy. Like Marshmallows.

Angel Butt: They eat EYEBALLS.

Me: What? Eyeballs? Why do they eat those?

Angel Butt: Because they are delicious! Mmmm mmm mmm!


According to this 4-year-old, penguins eat eyeballs too. As do all other truly worthy animals.

Later we took Angel Butt to the horse racing track and she was a little too interested in one horse's eyeballs. We took her by the hand and exited the building as fast as was possible while also dragging a drooling, eyeball-hungry toddler.

***

On canine horniness:

Angel Butt: Is Lily sick?

Me: No, honey, she's just bleeding because she's having her period. Like mommies do.

Angel Butt: Oh. Is she a mommy?

Me: No, but she wants to be.

Angel Butt: When will she be a mommy?

Me: We aren't going to let her be a mommy.

Angel Butt: But whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?

Me: Well...because there are already too many puppies that don't have homes.

Angel Butt: But you can keep them.

Me: We can't have any more puppies.

Angel Butt: Okay then, just two more.

***
On vaginal health:

Me: Did you go potty this morning?

Angel Butt: YES *big grin*

Me: *feels her wet overnight pull up* Hey, it's wet! You went potty in your pull up!

Angel Butt: Yes, but I didn't wet the bed!

Me: *damn technicalities* Okay, but we have to put on clean panties before you eat breakfast.

Angel Butt: No, we can do it later.

Me: Honey, it's bad for your vagina to be wet like that.

Angel Butt: What's a "vagina"?

Me: *shit* Erm, I think your mommy calls it your "peaches". Does mommy say you have peaches?

Angel Butt: Yes, peaches.

Me: Okay, then it's bad for your peaches to be wet, they need to dry off so they'll be healthy!

Angel Butt: But I don't LIKE healthy peaches. They're BAD peaches.

***

On love:

She kissed an older boy on the neck at her birthday party on Saturday.

That is all.

***

Also on love:

Angel Butt: When you get married you're supposed to have babies. But you don't have babies.

Me: We're trying to have babies.

Angel Butt: How do you have babies?

Me: *FUCK* Ooh, look - something shiny!

***

On boogers:

Angel Butt: Sometimes when you go to the doctor, they give you a shot. Oh ouchie. I don't like shots.

Me: Yeah, ouchie.

Angel Butt: I went to the doctor and they stuck my finger for a stick test and they tested it to make sure I was healthy from my boogers.

Me: I'm sorry, what? Something about boogers?

Angel Butt: Yes, they stuck me in the finger for a stick test and they squeezed - Oh ouchie! And I bled, and then they tested to make sure I was healthy. From my boogers.

That's when my sister walked outside. I needed a translator.

Me: Your daughter is telling me about a "stick test" and her boogers and I have no idea what she's talking about.

My sister: What did you say to Auntie Cat?

Angel Butt: Remember, Mommy? When I got the stick test and they squeezed it - Oh Ouchie! And they said I was healthy even though I eated my boogers.

My Sister: Ooooh. They drew her blood at a check-up and I guess someone told her that eating boogers can make you sick.

Me: Wait, did you say you eat boogers?

Angel Butt: Yes *big grin*

Me: Why do you eat boogers?

Angel Butt: Because they're delicious *rubs belly in a circle* Mmmm mmmm mmmm

Me: Jesus, girl...I flick them, but I never eat them...

***

Then she helped Scary get drunk and also fed her a tube of chap stick. And then she tattooed herself and her birthday party guests.

I wish she'd never leave.

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Why Don't They Consult Me About This Kind of Shit?

What is up with chapstick packaging? Seriously. I woke in the middle of the night and needed chapstick, but since I was in a hotel and since I got to that hotel in the middle of the night and then spent 30 minutes trying to talk Angel Butt down from the ledge because I told her I wouldn't play with her until the morning, and OHDEARGODJUSTPUTTHEBOOKDOWN, child. So I forgot to set my standard tube of chapstick on the nightstand beside my head where it belongs, and so I was forced to stagger around a strange hotel room in the dark, pat my way along the wall until I reached the desk, identify by feel which of the eight bags on the desk was my purse, and dig around in my purse until a tiny tube of chapstick made its presence known.

Not irritating at all.

Finally, I felt the package of a brand new, unopened chapstick and decided that would be easier than continuing to play the "Identify Small Shit In My Purse" game, and so I ripped open the package and sighed with relief and reached for the cap of the chapstick and pulled and pulled and pulled...what the hell, why won't this open...pulled again before I realized that there was yet an unopened layer of plastic between my lips and their bliss.

It was at that moment I realized that this product which is for "external use only" is protected from the outside world by cardboard and plastic packaging and on top of that, it is fucking SHRINK WRAPPED for my safety, but tampons, which are for "internal use only" are packaged inside a wrapper so flimsy that sometimes it opens just because you looked at it.

Somebody needs to write a letter to the Attorney General, or the Pussy Control, or who the fuck ever handles the oversight of tampon packaging, and that letter should go something like this:

To Whom It May Concern (besides me and my cooter),

I am writing as a concerned customer to demand more rigorous standards for tampon packaging, which at the time isn't even strong enough to keep a toddler from unwrapping and sticking dozens of them into his bodily orifices. Kids need help unwrapping those damn lollipops from the bank which are MADE FOR KIDS, but they seem to have no trouble opening the packaging for something that kids should not be exposed to, which is the vaginal equivalent of a cork. What follows is a downward spiral of "special talks" with children about their "private places" and the horrifying revelation that those tiny little stuffed mice they've been playing with all these years are actually band-aids. FOR THE INSIDE OF MOMMY.

I'd be better off shoving a Blowpop into my vagina.

Sincerely,

Dry-lipped in Des Moines


This is the shit that I think about in the middle of the night.

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Maybe If I Shove a Habanera In My Ear *Updated*

It fucking figures that the second I register for a conference for bloggers that costs hundreds of dollars (the conference, not the bloggers, we're all cheap) and puts me Out There on that limb named "Calling Yourself a 'Writer' In Public" ...as soon as I take that giant step forward, I stop writing. I stop blogging. It motherfucking figures.

I haven't stopped blogging so much as my brain is constipated, which means that not only is Zipbag of Bones nothing put a zip bag of SHIT at the moment, but also that my creative non-fiction writing class isn't going too hawt, if you know what I'm saying. I'm SO constipated that I'm frantically trying to decide if I can somehow pass off my "Summer Vacation" essay from the 5th grade as my 10 page memoir essay that's due on April 8th.

QUICK! How do I say "threw up on the carpet while watching Honey, I Shrunk the Kids" in a way that makes it sound now-ish?

It's not like I don't have anything going on, what with the wedding in 109 days and the other big things I'm working on, plus my voluntary torture (school), personal dramas, and never ending love affair with the bottle...Let's just say I am NOT lacking brain shit. It's just that all my brain shit is backed up in there, somewhere around my duodenum...wait, or is it pons...and it WON'T COME OUT. Meanwhile, my brain intestines keep leaching fluid out of the brain shit so now it's hard as a rock and won't be passed through the brainus and into my fingers without hella pain killers and probably some stitches.

Every once in a while, I squeeze a little brain pebble into these fingers and it splashes softly on this blog...things like the fact that I saw a mattress and a box spring go magnificently flying out of the bed of a truck on the freeway yesterday and a bunch of cars had to swerve to avoid getting smacked by what amounts to a giant, flying pancake and the driver of the truck didn't even notice at first, but when he finally pulled over and I passed him, his head was buried in his hands and you know he was thinking that now he'd have to live on the freeway.

If that were me, I would have kept right on driving. Nobody wants to sleep on a freeway.

Although, it might have been better than the motel in which I stayed Thursday and Friday nights when I met my little sister and Angel Butt and my mom in Des Moines for a weekend of shopping and, apparently, ulcer irritation-ing. The hotel itself wasn't bad, but they didn't exactly have what you might call, oh, LOCKS ON THE FUCKING DOORS. And the overnight desk clerk reminded me of Charles Manson.

Speaking of look-a-likes, we went to dinner at a hibachi place on Friday night and the family we sat with was the great-grandparents, the ten-year-old grandson, grandma, and finally the lesbian aunt who looked EXACTLY like Marshall Mathers. I am not even shitting you. If you took a picture of Eminem and you put a fedora on his head and an extra 50lbs on his ass, THAT'S what the lesbian aunt looked like (and this is a perfect example of why I fucking need photoshop). She was amazing. I almost asked for her autograph, but I was afraid she'd think I wanted it because she's a lesbian, not because she looks like a rapper, and I don't want to be mistaken for somebody who stereotypes lesbians. They would all kick my ass and hang me in a tree by their flannel shirts.

So the Japanese waiters sang a Chinese birthday song (I know, I was confused, too) to a little girl at another table, which was apparently inspirational because Angel Butt decided that we needed to sing Happy Birthday at our table, too, except it wasn't anyone's birthday. The grandma said that it was their friend Niko's birthday, except he wasn't at the restaurant, but that didn't matter at all, and Angel Butt lead us all - the ENTIRE table, even Eminem - in a lovely rendition of Happy Birthday to Niko (to which my mom harmonized) and even though Niko is a complete stranger and a 2-year-old and he lives in North Dakota, I think he knew.

And then my sister and I went back to the motel lounge and got drunk with the bartender and a girl whom he likes and whom likes him, and both of whom are too Iowan to admit that they like each other, even though she goes to the bar to hang out with him EVERY WEEK (I'm pretty sure my sister and I broke the ice on THAT one...god, we're like saints...) and eventually they had to kick us out because they were closed but that didn't seem to bother us, and my sister ended up vomiting from Iowa to Arkansas. Because she has ulcers and can't drink anymore. Because of the holes in her stomach. I'm pretty sure that's not going to happen again.

I'm also pretty sure I never paid our bar tab.

Iowa is weird.

*Ya'll, I just checked my credit card and it turns out that I totally paid my bar tab! But did I tip? I don't know if I tipped, which is so incredibly unlike me. Normally I tip way too much and then I have to explain to the police that I wasn't trying to solicit sex from a minor, I was just letting the waitress know that I appreciated her preemptive beverage refills.

Hey, bartender! Did I tip you? If I didn't tip you, leave me a comment or shoot me an email. I would be happy to send your tip in the form of a voucher, redeemable for (1) blow job or (1) corn dog.

Tuesday, February 09, 2010

The Trouble with Letting Them Think They Get to Have an Opinion...

I know, I know. I fucking SUCK. How long has it been since I posted? At least 6 or 7 days, and then maybe a week before that. I'd go check, but I simply DO NOT HAVE THE TIME.

You know that feeling you get when you have a bunch of marbles in your head because that's what your brain has been reduced to by the violent force that is wedding reception menu options and rehearsal dinner deposits and the chore of compiling a gigantic guest list, and your skull is made put of tin foil and Elmer's glue and then someone spins you around so fast that your marbles are weightlessly spinning inside of your head and your testicles are sucked up inside and ticking your gall bladder, and then that same someone hits you in the face with a crowbar made out of titanium magnets, and not only do your marble brains shatter upon impact, but also your tin foil skull gets sucked out out of your gushing facial wound and ends up shrink wrapped to the magnetic crowbar, except you're so high on ecstasy and hydrocodone and jet lag that you think it's all really fucking awesome and special and romantic and fun and exciting and the BEST EVAH?

That's what's been going on in my head for the last seven days. Wow. A whole week since my lobsta got down on his knee and asked me to be Mrs. Gray forever and ever until either one of us dies or until Tom Hanks shows up and rips off his shirt and flutters his eyelashes at me. Or, now that I think about it, until Megan Fox, Angelina Jolie and Kelly Kelly all jump naked into a vat of liquefied peanut butter cups and even slightly IMPLY that perhaps they would be open to the possibility of Gray getting within 30 yards of the them.

In other words, forever and ever until Gray dies and goes to be with the God he knows is out there somewhere and gets to see his dad in heaven, and all of his deceased ancestors are there, and he gets to make jokes about Picasso with Leonardo DaVinci, and he stumbles across the final shreds of his dignity which died when I started having to wipe his ass for him at the age of 95.

And then I'll die 25 years later during rough sex with my teenage Colombian man-slave on in the cabana by my vodka-filled lap pool on my private island in South Carolina, and I'll end up in the great black nothing that is what I believe happens when you die, and my body will rot and my teenage Colombian man-slave will go into therapy and become a lesbian, and eventually my molecular energy will be absorbed into a leaf of grass which will be ingested by a zebra, and I'll live my dream of roaming the plains of the Serengeti and I will bask in the pleasure that is the simple life of a tricked out pony. At least until I take a giant shit and my molecularly-charged blade of grass ends up back where it came from.

When I am nothing but a pile of shit, the circle will be complete.

So to sum it all up:

me + wedding plans + back to work after 6 business days on vacation + pricing custom favors and business cards to hand out when I go to BlogHer which is happening a mere 19 days after my wedding + studying for my first humanities exam + hosting a class discussion group on Friday night + DID I MENTION I'M PLANNING A WEDDING IN 158 DAYS?! + what the hell is that thing growing in the toilet? It looks a lot like the thing growing in the fridge... = Really fucking busy and excited and brain-swirly and jet-lagged and in denial that I need to stop eating like a human and start eating like a zebra.

And then Gray says this to me and makes it all worth while:

Gray: "Hey hon?"
Me: "Yes?"
Gray: "Can I walk down the aisle to The Undertaker's entrance music?"
Me: "You don't get to walk down the aisle. Thank god."

Because really? He REALLY thought this had a shot at this?

He has no idea what he's getting himself into. Instead of registering for gifts, we're asking that you all chip in to buy a straight jacked and some Xanax for the groom.

Tuesday, January 05, 2010

Maybe I'll Get A Second Job. I Could Use Some Cash. For The Speed.

Well this is new.

It's 2:38 a.m. and I've been awake for, oh I don't know, all night long so I finally got out of bed, came downstairs, made some coffee and brought Landers out to play.

Landers is my laptop, you sick freaks.

Anyway, my point is that I'm awake. Still. Or again, depending on if you'd count the brief interludes of semi-unconsciousness that I experienced in the last 4 hours as actually "sleeping" or not. This is just weird. I'm a girl who needs her full 8 hours or I'm liable to Bitch Out On Yo Ass. BOOYA. I fucking swear I didn't even plan that acronym. I'm just ::that:: awake right now.

I just started taking budeprion for a couple of reasons, one of which is to boost my dopamine levels that my existing medication seems to follow into the neurological alleyways of my brain, rape, and steal their ability to ever hang out in neurological alleyways again. Don't ask me what that means, it's fucking SCIENCE. Either you get it or you don't.

And now it would appear I am one of Those People who medicate to offset side effects of my medication. Ah, but I'm a positive, happy dope head who almost never wants to drive my car into the mighty Mississippi anymore, so fucking bite me.

I met with Dr. Legs (remember her?) a couple of months ago with questions about smoking cessation and chronic fatigue, and she recommended Chantix and budeprion, respectively. Trouble was, we didn't think it was a good idea to start both new meds at the same time because if I start seeing giant green beans or erupt in hives (which my sister experienced when she tried budeprion)((the green beans, not the hives, she was found attempting to knaw through a corinthian column that she'd smeared with butter and squirted with lemon wedges)), I want to know which of the new meds is causing the reaction.

So it came down to priorities. I wanted to quit smoking first, that was of the utmost importance to me, so I started with the Chantix. It was awesome. And I heart it. And now I'm ready to try budeprion in the hopes that I'll both Get My Groove Back and that I'll finally feel like I'm not exhausted all the motherfucking time.

Which brings us to 2:50 in the morning, and I'm so beyond wide awake that I'm beginning to wonder if instead of picking up my prescription for budeprion, maybe I scored some speed from that guy down on Lake Street who sells deli meat and Rolexes from the trunk of his '87 Seville.

Or maybe my doctor gave me speed.

Now that I think about it, she DID mention something about how she loves to give this medication to fat, depressed women because it makes them feel fantastic and lose weight at the same time, and that she personally takes budeprion when she's dieting because she can go all day and hardly notice she's starving herself to death. My words, not hers. Which is kind of a bonus for me, because I've got about 8 lbs of Not Smoking Weight clinging to my ass and belly, so if that could go ahead and vamoose, I'd be THRILLED.

This whole "not needing to sleep" thing is going to be fucking awesome when I start my spring semester next week. Because have you people SEEN how long The Odyssey is? I just picked up my books from the campus last night, and there are 9 of them. NINE. I could start reading now and not finish reading these texts until I graduate. In 2011.

So now I'm trying to decide if I should dig into Angelou's explanation of why the caged bird sings, or if I should crawl back in beside the softly snoring Gray and attempt, once again, to get a couple hours of shut eye before work.

Nah, I think I'm going to catch up on the episodes of Intervention that are saved to my DVR at gloat in my superiority over those losers who let chemicals run their lives.

And I'm not even being ironic.

Friday, June 12, 2009

Amusement

at the movie theater

Me, eyeing a poster for this upcoming flick: "Hmmm, I've never heard of this movie before."

5 Head, with authority: "You wouldn't like that. It looks scary."

Me, incredulous: "I like scary movies sometimes."

5 Head: "No you don't. Gray is the one who likes scary movies."

Me, laughing: "True, but I like them too. It's fun to be scared sometimes."

5 Head, to himself: "You like scary movies AND you don't like sour cream. HOW ARE YOU RELATED TO ME!?"

***

in the kitchen

Me, to 5 Head, hovering in the vicinity of the food prep: "Hey, do you want to help me make cookies later?"

5 Head: "No, but when you're at the store, don't forget to buy a fire extinguisher."

Me: "Why do I need to buy a fire extinguisher?"

5 Head, sassy: "You just can't be too careful with YOU in the kitchen..."

Me, offended and amused in equal parts: "WHAT? I've been cooking every meal for you for a week! I haven't needed a fire extinguisher yet!"

5 Head, clearly not convinced, shrugs his shoulders and exits, stage left.

***

via text

5 Head, "texting" me at work from his Yahoo email: "Text me when you get home so I can come let you in the front door."

Me: "Okay, I will be leaving in half an hour."

5 Head: "ARE YOU DRIVING NOW? Because you shouldn't text me back if you're driving."

Me: "No, I'm still at work. For another half an hour."

5 Head: "Okay, good."

Me:
"Did you go swimming today?

5 Head, matter of factly: "Yep! Angel Butt nearly drowned."

Me, freaking the fuck out: "WHAT?! IS SHE OKAY?!"

5 Head, taking his time: "She was on the top step and tried to jump to me, but I was too far away so she went under the water for 2 to 4 seconds."

Me, resisting the urge to murder him: "So she didn't 'nearly drown', she just went under the water for 2 to 4 seconds."

5 Head: "Right. She came up laughing."

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Smoreguessboard

Angel Butt, in the bathtub playing with her toys when it's time to dry off and get ready for bed: "NO! Play toys! No bed!"

Me: "You can take a bath tomorrow, but right now it's time to dry off and sit on the potty!" I pull the plug in the tub, and it makes a violent sucking sound, like the drain is hungry for blood.

Angel Butt: "NO! NO TOYS!" She frantically shoves each of her bath toys behind her body, eyeing the drain as it sucks and swirls. She looks at me, pleading with her eyes.

Me: "It's okay, your toys are too big. They won't go down the drain."

Angel Butt: "No water, no!" Try as she might, the pull of the drain is too strong and she isn't big enough to block all of her toys from advancing towards the whirling tide. In a fit of desperation, she begins stacking each toy on the side of the tub, out of harms way, working feverishly and glancing at me with frightened eyes.

Me: "Good idea, love. The toys will be safe up here." The water has now all drained from the tub, and she sits staring at the few toys left clustered around the silent drain.

Angel Butt: "Bye bye, water! See you later!" Grinning, she stands and extends her arms towards the waiting towel.

***

I am a sad, pathetic nerd. I googled "Forks, Washington" and squealed with glee when I saw it was a real place on Google maps. And La Push. And Port Angeles.

I'm going to go weep for my pride now.

***

Today is birthday party #3 of the Ark-Invasion (like the British Invasion, but with fewer shoes) and I'm pretty sure that Angel Butt is going to associate Minnesota with Birthdays forever going forward, and will always be disappointed by the lack of trick candles and chocolate cake on future visits.

***

I was hoping my mother would forget all about her request, but last night as I kissed all of the family goodnight and walked towards the safety of my bedroom, I heard her call after me, "Maybe TOMORROW you can help me set up my Facebook page..." I pretended I didn't speak English.

Tuesday, June 09, 2009

No Diving, Or Reading, Apparently

My grandmother leaves for home tomorrow, which means I can finally bust out the booze again, as I know my mother is a closet wine drinker but would fain have her mother know it. Or Jesus. Apparently Jesus can't see anything that happens north of the Mason Dixon, which actually works out really fucking great for me.

I called home from work to check up on the clan and see what they were up to - the shitty, cold weather has persisted and we're quickly running out of Disney movies (apparently nobody else thinks it's a good idea to broadcast Knocked Up with the kids around)((although, Angel Butt is going to have to learn about her "whoopsie-doo!" conception sooner or later)), but this afternoon my mom and 5 Head decided to brave the mild temps and misty skies and stake out a claim at the apartment pool.

They are the only people out there, my mom informed me in a surprisingly surprised tone of voice, so my brother can splash and hog the ladder and generally be bored and talk to himself. But at least he is outside.

While I was quizzing my mom about their day and our plans for the evening, she paused to converse with 5 Head, and then relayed the conversation to me: 5 Head was scolding her for wearing her reading glasses in the pool area, which, according to the clearly stated Pool Rules, is strictly prohibited.

She assured him that the glasses are, in fact, made of plastic. His righteous indignation was sated.

Apparently, he chose not to read the rule which states that guests must be accompanied by a resident of the apartment in the pool area. That rule must have been a the bottom of the list, and therefore, was optional.

Monday, June 08, 2009

Contentment

My niece (Angel Butt) and my little brother (Five Head) are in Minnesota along with my mother and grandmother this week. They're staying in the spare bedroom in our apartment until Saturday, and of course since the kids have been excited to go swimming in our pool for weeks, now the weather is cold and rainy and generally shitty, which means that all 6 of us are cooped up in the apartment watching Disney movies and eating cake.

Did I mention that yesterday was my mother's birthday and today is my grandmother's birthday and Thursday is Angel Butt's belated birthday party? We have an overage of cake.

Every time I see Five Head (the brother who was born when I was 15 and, for years, felt more like my child than my sibling)((the brother who has the world's biggest head))(((literally, not figuratively))), I'm struck by how "adult" he is. He talks like an adult. He behaves like an adult. He's very clearly grown up around a LOT of adults, and that is simultaneously awesome and freaky, because he watches both his local and national evening news because, he says, he finds it "interesting", and he is currently attempting to teach Angel Butt to say "antidisestablishmentarianism" because he thinks all kids should know the biggest words.

In the car with him on Saturday, he very politely asked me if I'd been stung by a bee on my nose. I assured him that it was just my giant rhino bone, the reason I refer to my nose as The Honker, and that it was a family trait passed down from generation to generation on my mother's side. No, he insisted that indeed, it looked as if ATOP the giant bone, there simply had to be some form of bug bite protruding. I finally just told him to touch the damn thing and feel for himself, so he reached his hand forward towards my extended face and felt my nose.

"Huh," he said. "I guess it really IS just the bone." Thanks little brother, for that.

Angel Butt is currently potty training, and doing rather well with it so far as I can tell. She informs us of her need to "potty" and willingly runs into the bathroom, preferring the big toilet to her little potty chair. She happily perches on the over sized seat, hands on either side for balance, and begins pointing to everything in sight, asking, "Wus dat?" until I've completed an inventory of the bathroom no less than 40,000 times. Then she grins and asks me, "Wuh YOOO doin?" and I tell her that I'm waiting for her to go potty. She grins bigger still when the rush of pee pee hits the bowl, and proclaims herself, "all done".

After one such victory in the Kwik Trip bathroom in Ames, Iowa, Angel Butt burst out of the purple bathroom door and proclaimed to the entirety of the gas station patrons, "I DIIIID IT!" They were all very proud, I can assure you, and I find myself wishing that I could be as excited about anything in my life as this child is about taking a piss.

I'm at work this morning, and so my family is left to fend for themselves for the day. When I arrived here and pulled my cell phone from my purse, I found it coated in a dried film of saliva and snot (two molars have made an appearance on the top half of Angel Butt's jaw), and I realized that dried saliva on my cell phone is exactly what has been missing from my life.

Saturday, May 30, 2009

Fuck Cancer

I went to Lisa's funeral this morning and it sucked. Hard. It was also strangely good to see so many old friends again. When I got home, I headed immediately to lay by the pool, my intent being to finish Eclipse whilst acquiring my first sunburn of the season.


That's right, I'm saying, "Fuck you, Cancer" by giving myself skin cancer. Go figure that logic right out, I dare you.


It's a crazy-beautiful day here and tomorrow is supposed to be even better, and have I mentioned before how hugely glad I am that winter has gone the way of the acid wash jeans? Before the awful funeral, Gray and I spent one glorious night at our oasis in Wisconsin.


Gray spun the tunes while I helped make beer-in-the-butt chicken.







Then I took an inordinate amount of photos of the spring garden. I don't know what the purple things are, but I wish I could eat them. They look like cotton candy's edgy cousin from the big city.





And, of course, these went marching, but not at all in an orderly, one-by-one fashion.




I hope they aren't headed to carry off a pic-y-nic basket.


Lisa, may your eternal picnic basket overflow with pork products and beer, and may your team always kick ass in the angelic badminton tournament.


XO

Thursday, January 08, 2009

Gray is Old and I Think it's Awesome

Happy Happy Birthday to my LOML, my Lobsta, my WWE Wanna-Be, my evil side kick. Here's hoping it's the funnest fucking birthday you've ever had in all of your 33 years on this earth, and all the eons before that you spent in the sweltering heat of the earth's core and poking sinners in the ass with your pitchfork.

33 Things that Make You the Best Non-husband I've never married:

1) You never censor what I write on this blog (like that you clogged the toilet AGAIN this week, and the only reason you were busted as the culprit was because you left a little evidence behind: your WWE game play book((because the game itself isn't nerdy enough)) or what I can tell my friends and family about you (like the infamous "hung like a mammoth" text).

2) My dad likes you. Heck, my whole FAMILY likes you. In fact, you were so close with my sister for a couple years that I was vocally rooting for you two crazy kids to get together because I knew what a great man you were, and I knew what gigantic losers she usually dates. In hindsight, am so totally glad you never hooked up with her because that would have made it kinda skeevy for you and I to date. I share many things with my siblings, but sex partners will never be one of them.

3) You love our baby niece Angel Butt as much as I do, maybe even more sometimes. You came to the hospital when she was born and you held her before even her own bio-father held her. You willingly learned to change diapers (and then would call me in to do an "inspection", holding her up in the air). You wanted to feed her. You realized that clucking your tongue would provide hours of amusement for both of you. In fact, I love you for being amused by many of the same things that entertain her. It's sexy when you play with blocks, I'm just saying.

4) Your love of music.

5) Your love of movies. I'll forgive you for making me watch My Bloody Valentine in 3D and the Friday the 13th remake, but only because you wanted to watch Lars and the Real Girl the other night, and you handed me a tissue at exactly the right moment.

6) Your devotion to your family. There's nothing you wouldn't do for your mom. I like to think we'll move to new and exciting places someday, but I know there's probably no chance of you leaving Minnesota so long as your mom is kicking around, and that's ok.

7) You make the bed every single day, which is sort of baffling to me because your dirty clothes end up in a pile on the floor and your dishes go into the sink (regardless of dishwasher status), but that bed, boy - you'll be damned if it's not made before you leave for work. It's quirky and I love it.

8) Your little Chiclet teeth.

9) Your (nearly inverted) chin.

10) The fact that I can braid your ear hair from time to time when it hasn't been trimmed in a while.

11) That you always get your hair cut when you think it's getting too long for MY liking.

12) That you don't take shit from anybody, ever. Unless they're joking. In which case, you can dish it back out pretty damn well.

13) You're honest and dependable and honorable. You'll admit when you've made a mistake, you'll apologize whenever it's necessary, you'll ask for help when you need it. You're always where you say you'll be. You never leave me hanging.

14) You like man-stuff, but you're not obsessed with it.

15) You don't play golf. I can't stress enough how important this is to me.

16) You're funny and goofy and a total blast to hang out with, regardless of the company or what we're doing at the time. I have just as much fun with you on a long drive as I do when we're on an adventure together.

17) You haven't lost the childish exuberance for life. Remember the Como Zoo? How you wanted more than anything to show me those little wax mold animals because you used to get them as a kid, and I'd never heard of them before? You made sure we found all of the machines in each of the animal houses, and we took them all home. Just...because you still think they're fun.

18) You're an amazing communicator and you realize how important it is to talk to me.

19) Every milestone, anniversary, birthday, holiday - you make a big deal out of them, you make them special regardless of how we celebrate.

20) You almost never fart on my feet. I forgive you for Tuesday's slip up.

21) You love holding hands. You know not to hold my hand when yours is clammy.

22) You're almost always the designated driver when we go out. You say you've had more years to party and that you like letting me have a few drinks. I think my therapist would call you an enabler, but I call you my personal limo service.

23) If it's important to me (your mother, your family, your friends) you're 100% down with it.

24) You got all your wild oats sewn and all your stupid stunts and experimentation done BEFORE I met you. I've never had to babysit, I've never had to worry, I just get to laugh at your stories about all the crazy shit you did.

25) You tell me about your father and what a great man he was and that he would have liked me. He would be so proud of the man you've become.

26) You hate seafood as much as I do.

27) You ate a green bean that one time, just to make me happy.

28) I have never felt unloved, unappreciated, like your mother, like your maid, like your chef. You never forget to thank me for anything I do around the house. And you do things, too.

29) You are still friends with MOST of your ex-girlfriends, including the one you technically were engaged to. And I've met them, and they're pretty cool. But thank you for not marrying any of them.

30) You always want to share the things that you're passionate about (Slayer, Jason Voorhees ((NERD)), fishing), and you want me to share mine with you.

31) Not one day has gone by in the last year and a half when you didn't tell me that I am beautiful, smart, funny, sexy, amazing, a "culinary genius", that you love me, that you can't wait to see me, that I look hot today, that you're the luckiest man on earth. I never have to wonder how you feel.

32) You always wash your hands after you poop.

33) No matter what, for the rest of your years on this earth, you will ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS be WAY older than me.

Happy Birthday baby, and here's to the next 33!

Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Top Ten of 2008

Thanks to Kat over at Mama's Losin' It for the prompt for today. I've got all these little notes jotted down regarding things I'd like to talk about here (even more Arkansas dreams about the devil, how I zested my thumb, my goals for 2009), but to be perfectly honest with you, I don't fucking feel like writing today.


I'm going to participate in the Writer's Workshop instead. And instead of making an actual Top Ten list, I'm going to share my ten most favoritest photos from 2008. SOOOOO cheating, I know that, but I am both a cheater AND a pumpkin eater, so it works out nicely. Plus, you people are all lackadaisical with your blog posting right now - yes, I'm totally talking to you, where the hell have you been the past 10 days when I've been at work surfing the Internet for something to entertain me? I've been bored out of my damn mind, and it's all your fault. Comments are down, posting is down, it's really a shame when everyone puts their family and holiday traditions first. Before the crazy Interweb strangers. That shit hurts.

So here you go, you lazy, vacation-taking, family-loving fools -
My Top Ten Pics from 2008:
10) New Year's Eve 2007
(I won't be drinking tonight, so my smile will likely be about 1/4 of the size)

9) With Gray (his first time in Cali) in March
8) Our baby niece Angel Butt
We miss her every fucking day since she moved to Arkansas.

7) My quarter century birthday in April
There is no better way to celebrate than with Guinness, bowling, and licking things.

6) Huntington Beach boardwalk
Colors aren't bright like this right now, so my eye was drawn to this photo.
PRIMARY! COLORS! OHMYHELL!!

5) Camping by the Minnesota River for Memorial Day


4) Down by the Minnesota river
3) Visiting my dog Cola at her new home
I was so happy to know they torture her at least as often as I used to.
2) Rocking the dock
Back when everything was simple and backne was an urban legend
1) Just one of the many reasons Mac computers are superior to PCs.

Happy New Years everybody!
I'll try to suck less next year, but I'm not making any promises.

Tuesday, December 09, 2008

Arkansas: The Final Chapter

Friday morning I awoke to the baby's little voice saying, "Mama! Mama! Mama!" from the crib in her bedroom. I got up from the air mattress in the living room, knocked on my sister's door to let her know the baby was awake, and went in to scoop her up. There's really nothing better than seeing her first thing in the morning, happy as a lark, babbling and smiling, reaching out her arms to me. I cleaned up her wet butt and decided to put her in the bath. We were planning to hit Chuck E Cheese for a half-birthday party, since we were all in town at once.


As I was sitting in the bathroom watching her color on the tub with her new bath crayons, I got a text from my mom. She basically said she'd been puking since 10:30 the night before and that there was no way she'd make the birthday party. We were all a little relieved (the robots can't get me if I don't invade their turf) and called everyone to let them know the plans had changed.
We spent the rest of the morning laying around, video taping the baby as she played with her Noah's Ark toys and walked around the house in her mother's giant shoes. We made plans with Sis to meet up at 3:30 and follow her and the hubs to his parents house for dinner that night. Then Gray and I headed off to deliver Gatorade to my ailing mother.
I am afraid of the stomach bug. Just being in the same house with that thing makes my skin crawl. But it was our last day in town and we had no choice but to return to the Mother Land. So we went, and Gray napped in a chair while my mother, brother and I played Apples to Apples. My brother, just about ten years old now, didn't quite understand the concept of keeping his cards a secret. It didn't help that he needed us to explain what several concepts mean and who some people are. By the end of the game, we knew each and every card in his hand, which helped to throw the game so he could finally win one.
We left to meet Sis, baby and hubs. They were late (no shocker there), so we toodled around in a flea market while we waited. Flea markets are awesome. Gray is awesome for being a good sport about my love of flea markets. Which, surprisingly, never sell fleas. What's with that?
Dinner with the hubs family was so much fun. We ate like kings: venison and stuffed potatoes, bacon-wrapped asparagus and rolls. I got to visit with a girlfriend of mine from Junior High and catch up on all the gossip about the people from my past. It's so odd to see someone you knew as a teen in the Mother Role. She's got two kids now, and she's a totally different person in a lot of ways. Having a child at 17 tends to do that to a person, or so I hear.
When we left that night, we had to say goodbye to the baby, my dear heart, my sweet little angel butt. I cried and had the leave before things got really rough.
The next morning? Gray was sicker than a dog. Clearly he was making out with my mother at some point, because there is no other explanation for his contracting the illness and not me. Of course, I got a flu shot and he didn't. He was going on about 10 hours of sleep in the last 4 days, and was run down. We had eaten and then eaten again, rich, buttery food to which we are not accustomed. But clearly, for him to get sick, he either made it with my mother or licked the toilet. I prefer to think he's into humans.
So he was sick - really sick - for the entire 650 mile drive back to Minnesota that day. Poor thing, he slept most of the way and we stopped pretty often for him to use the facilities. Of course, none of the bathrooms he entered had soap or paper towels, so he kept having to ask the gas station attendants where he could wash his poopy hands. Somewhere in Iowa he decided he wanted to drive for a while. As he drove, I watched him slump further and further into his seat, and saw the color in his cheeks change from pink to white to a little bit green. I made him stop so I could get us the rest of the way home.
The trip? Was awesome. We had such a good time and everyone got along. There was no drama, no name-calling, no tense silence. My brother was his charming, nerdy self. The baby, though she didn't really remember us, (I was there for her birth and she lived with us until July this year when they moved back to AR) she did seem to recognize our faces and warmed up to us almost immediately. We played, we ate, we sang, we talked. It was so much fun. Thank god.
A few last observations about the differences I noticed while I was down there:
All the stoplights in Arkansas are on timers. LONG timers. There were numerous times when we pulled up to a light and waited for it to change. And waited. Waited some more. No cars coming in any direction. We listed to an ENTIRE song while we waited for one light to change. It drove me freaking crazy. Up here, most of the lights are on sensors so that if you pull up and no one is coming the other direction, the light will actually RESPOND to your vehicle. The ones that are on timers are much shorter, so that sometimes only 2 cars can make it through before it turns yellow. I have to say, I prefer waiting for a light that I know will eventually turn green.
People there wear their shoes in the house. I felt really odd walking around in shoes, but when in Rome... I actually felt odd for removing my shoes and walking in stocking feet. I got strange glances on Thanksgiving for doing so. I guess people up north are just kind of trained to always remove your shoes upon entering someone's home. It's respectful. It's also completely necessary during the winter. There's no way you can wear shoes in your house that are covered with snow, ice and salt. So people up here remove their shoes year-round out of habit and respect. People down there? Not so much.
People say "ma'am" and "sir" there. To everybody. To them, it's respectful. I was in Sam's Club with my mom and overheard a worker talking to a supervisor. After getting some kind of instruction, the worker replied, "Yes Sir, right away". Children are required to address all elders in this manner. Teachers, parents, other adults. It's "ma'am" this and "sir" that about everything. I remember doing it myself for most of my life. But when I moved up here, I realized that people didn't really use those terms. In fact, I quickly learned to NOT say "ma'am" and "sir" after someone made it really clear that I was perceived as a "smart ass" when I did so. I guess it's true that people in Minnesota are nice (passive aggressive), and calling someone "ma'am" makes you sound like a sarcastic little brat.
The last thing I'd like to share is an idea for a Transformer toy that my brother described to us in great detail over breakfast one morning. He told us that he wanted to invent a "scented oil diffuser" transformer. Apparently this would be the ULTIMATE in camouflage technology. It would sit innocently on a shelf, scent-infused sticks in the air, until it was time to transform, at which time a head would pop up and the legs and arms would come out of...somewhere. I questioned him as to how exactly this would work. Where were the arms stored? How did the legs extend? Where did the scented oil go when it was in action figure mode? He brushed those questions off with a wave of his hand, as clearly they were just nonsense and unimportant issues, and he had no time to trouble himself with them. "It just works, Catherine," he told me. I mustn't think about those details too much, I was missing the big picture.
So watch for that next Christmas season people. The Scented Oil Diffuser Transformer, coming to a store near you. And, if my little brother has his way, I'm sure the options will be "fart scented" and "poop scented".