Hey You! Remember Me?!

Enough dammit!

2009-04-23T14:46:00.000-07:00

Hey you, remember me?

I'm the ticked off lil mama that decided enough was enough dammit!

If you're feeling a little disgruntled about this crap - go here! And dish out an earful.

And here's a couple more in case your steam has yet to be let off..

If you have a daughter that you'd rather not see squatting down in booty shorts and bouncing up and down for viewers...go here!

If you're tired of corporate America hijacking childhood? Go here.

and 'end tirade'

that girl

I'm with the band..

2009-04-10T14:15:00.000-07:00

(this post brought to you courtesy of the afternoon smoke break in the out-of-business A&W parking lot)

Dude, ...I just love these guys.

Had I been alive, I would have jammed so hard with them... we would have rocked OUT!

You hear me?

I would have -

What do I play? That's a good question Internet..predictable, but appropriate. No, no, I don't 'play' anything. I really meant more along the lines of getting really drunk and dancing around them with a long flowy skirt and maybe a flower in my hair..something like that. But, not here:

That's definitely not my scene, I have something a little different in mind... I'm thinking a bonfire,..in the middle of a pasture, dirt road leading in, cars parked right up on one another, like a little thrown together, in-a-hurry junkyard. Excitement. Tailgates down. Ice chest hopping. Some place like Mindenhall's. Remember that? Who was Mindenhall? I never knew. But answer me this: How many people can fit into the cab of an early nineties model S-10?

SEVEN. That's how many. Yes, Seven. Get yourselves a good mental picture of that for a minute. Now picture six of those seven trying not to mess up their hair...and smoking cigarettes. And talking all at once. And now I want you to consider the fact that it was a standard..meaning someone who wasn't actually driving had to shift on command by said driver...who was probably drunk..I don't remember, maybe he wasn't drunk on the way there. Anyway, seven..seven can fit in the cab of an old school S-10. But only spur of the moment. Only after getting an invite at nearly midnight. Only after rushing in the house to change out of pajamas and into 'out' clothes, only after GiGi puking in the driveway real quick, wiping her mouth and saying "okay" (she did that sometimes when she got too excited) only after Keri's boyfriend went home unsuspecting...and Hannah's boyfriend promising not to tell..Only with the right amount of thrilling, teenage anticipation - adolescence's own version of fairy dust y'all.

Thank goodness for the junk-yard effect of all the cars. Because lord forbid we had had to endure the embarrassment of piling out of that truck like a fucking circus clown car. Lord forbid.

And you were there. All night. Stolen glances. Wasn't that the bulk of us? Poorly hidden adoration..Wasn't it? Stolen glances. Mine. Did you steal glances at me? I can't imagine you needing to. What with my bigger than life, pride reducing, all-consuming crush. But maybe. I like to think, maybe that night. Maybe you watched me across the fire - watched me feign interest in conversations. Watched me swish around in the Arctic waters of the ice chest, watched me stumble into the darkness on my way to the outdoor ladies room..giggling, leaning on friends. Maybe.

Maybe now we sit there..together? Me and you and those Allman boys too? Lounging in pastel green lawn chairs..their criss-crossed seats battered and worn. Maybe they play us a tune that makes us feel young and old all at once? Maybe I'm their muse..just call me Penny Lane - without all the casual blow-jobs. Just call me sweet, and desirable. Call me irresistable. Call me innocent. Let me dance around the fire giggling and drunk. Let me sit under a guitar and sing my little heart out. Let me be funny, and sarcastic. Let it sting a little bit. Let me play with your dark hair. Let me pull you in, twirling the string tighter and tighter around my finger, completely unaware. Let me ride this wave of dark night and fleeing sparks. Let me hang on a little longer, let me be surprised by your kiss. Let me get lost in it. Let me get lost. Let me find myself.

Let me find myself.

Boy-oy-oy-oy-oy-oING!!!!!!!!!

2009-02-13T17:19:00.000-08:00

That was the sound of Cupid's little bad-ass arrow landing on your backside. Try to conjure up Beavis making fists when you read that title, eyes all crazy-wide, head tilted back. That's what I meant. Happy Valentines' Day! (Is that spelled right? I never know where to put the (') and I'm too lazy to give it much thought...although not too lazy to write the never ending parenthesis statement..huh)

Anyway, If anyone remembers this from many, many, many days ago - this here's the follow-up. I asked some of my favorite Internet people if they had a similar "mmmm" experience with their significant other..and if they'd like to share it.

So, here we go!

The Bloggess chose to describe her attraction to Victor in a very simple and understated way:

"Sure.
What's that 'thing' about your spouse?It's called a penis.
Love, Jenny"

Miss Carolyn is hilarious. But in a totally unexpected way. Somehow she's very authentically funny and interesting. Carolyn NAILED this assignment. Although, in light of what I just said - it's NOT funny. Not even a little. Wow - insert foot in - okay, but it's really good. I hope Carolyn's husband visits -

" The first time I saw you across that room I knew. I knew the way my stomach felt calm. For the first time. As if unbeknownst to me it had been searching for you all this time and when I caught your eye my self went, ahhh there you are. Finally. We talked. We danced. We talked some more. But the thing that got me. The thing you still do without even realizing it, was the way you grabbed my hand. As if it was yours. As if the idea of questioning whether or not it belonged to you was ludicrous. Of course it was yours. That confidence. That assurance. That's what got me. I always knew you were mine because you immediately knew I was yours. "

This made me all weak knee'd. Especially the part about loving to argue. Muskrat's wife, you better be glad Mr. Mustang can MMMMMmmmm like nobody's business!

"I think about the top Polaroid all the time--her fit arms; her breasts; her lips; her spunky, confident, intelligent demeanor. But past the initial physical attraction, it's the fact that after a couple hours of conversation, I could sense that she had the one quality I'd been searching for in my bachelorhood for the past 10+ years: she appreciated in me that which I appreciated in myself. I loved arguing with her and discussing important events and being able to tell that she not only heard, but listened, and that she cared about the living behind the content. Did I mention I hadn't been back from war all that long when we met? There was a lot going on behind the curtain back then, and she was able to see it, appreciate it, respectfully differ with it at times, and all the while look so hot I had to try and tackle her on an air hockey table to kiss her. "

And from the Mister? Just for you lil'Mama Pam:

"The next night I picked her up and we went to Denny's for a plain old no-ulterior-motive cuppa and sat and talked for hours. Somewhere in there she got to a point in a story and her eyes were flashing. They were huge and excited and pointed right at me. She was fairly glowing with excitement about whatever it was that she was talking about.
For my part of it I was trying desperately to not fall in love with her. I figured there was no possible way it would ever work out. We hated each other in high school, and she now lived four hours away and wasn't around that much. No, absolutely, positively, DO NOT fall in love with this girl. I managed to carefully construct this idea of infatuation, yeah that's it, I'm not in love.
It didn't work for a second. She started being in town a lot more frequently and we always hit the town together, usually for a pint at our favorite pub. Those blue eyes would be flashing at me constantly. I gave up. I fell. I told her. She told me she just wanted to be friends. I didn't care! As long as I got to sit across from her once in a while and take in those eyes!"

And this last paragraph? sigh...

"In addition to being wonderfully witty, intelligent and loving, my darling Missus also has this marvelous ability to transform herself from a tired, worn out mama into the sexy girl I fell in love with just by smiling. Even with no makeup and flat hair she's gorgeous when she smiles. Whenever she gets excited those baby blues start flashing at me again and I'm utterly lost. I fall. Again. mmmmmmmm,"

Pamela is very pregnant, so there's a good chance she's going to translate that into him telling her she has flat hair. . . But in a few months she can come back here hormone free and be all happy and touched.

And from Badass Geek? (Who by the way, refers to his wife as "The Boss" I really like men that tell the truth..)

"What's that "thing" about my spouse? That "thing" that solidified my previously unsteady thoughts of love for her? Here's the story: We had been dating for about three months before I took her out to dinner at a restaurant. She surprised me by ordering the same thing as I did: a bacon cheeseburger and a beer. She finished before me, and after wiping her mouth with her napkin, let out a hearty burp. It was clear that she knew what she wanted, and wasn't shy about letting others know. There wasn't enough time for her to say "excuse me" after that praise-worthy burp before I knew that she was the one for me."

And from Scott...this was so beautiful to me. I saved it for last. I'm infatuated, and fascinated with the way this man describes his wife.

"Being a simple sort of man, my desires and tastes trace along the lines of familiar patterns. It might not surprise one to discover, therefore, that my desire for the woman who has now been my wife for eighteen years was first stoked by common things. She was a girl, a young woman. She was nearby, within arm's reach. She was beautiful, with long, dark hair, elfin eyes, fair skin and a body that made me want to... well, it was very nice.
Of course, she was also quite intelligent. I've never been able to connect well with people who aren't smart. She had a quick wit and a thoughtful personality. These are just prerequisites, however. They set the stage. My good friend Carl has a quick wit and a thoughtful personality, but I've never been attracted to him. With Susan, therefore, her mind just greased the wheels for my intellect to consent to allow my body enter into a long relationship with hers.
Being a woman, in one sense, is a very objective and scientific thing. Who cares, really, about that technicality? In a more interesting sense, being a woman is a very subjective thing. For me, my wife has always been an archetype of what I consider feminine, of my idea of the beauty of women. She can, when her mind wanders into carnal notions, take on a curve that boils my blood. It's a sort of sweeping in of the small of the back, a turning up of the bottom, a raising of the chest, a slight shift of balance to one side. You would know it, I'm sure, if you saw it. When she does this I forget whatever I was thinking. My priorities realign. My voice falls quiet. My breath quickens. My eyelids slide down to half mast. Usually the closest thing I can manage to verbal communication is a low growl. The time for talking, after all, has passed.
Many things have changed in the eighteen years of our marriage, but this curve and its effect on me has not changed at all."

Happy Valentine's (?) Day y'all. Kiss your babies and your better halves.

Oh Izzy, simmer down..

2009-01-28T09:12:00.000-08:00

Izzy, my dear, simmer down. Yes, you're dying, but, more importantly, you're going to get to have 'the sex' with Denny..forever. The sex, Izzy, ...lots and lots of the Denny sex. Let's try and get a grip on things shall we? Priorities? Ever heard of them?

Mr. Mustang rolls his eyes from the corner of the room. "Oh shit" he says in his disgusted, dismissive-OMG-how-retarded-tone.

If you only knew Mr. Mustang, if you only knew. I'm infatuated with Denny, because I love you. He has your deep voice, and your full lips. All stubbly and manly and shrugging your thick fingered hands into your jeans pockets. All leaned against the wall, arms crossed casually over your white t-shirt. Vibrating unintentional rugged, broad-shouldered energy into the room. Calm about it though.

Have I ever told you my dear? What did it for me? In the beginning? Surely. But I guess the question I'm really trying to ask in a way that won't offend you is this: Do you remember me telling you this? Like most events of our past I wonder if you remember. Did this conversation happen on a day you were wasted? Is it a blur? Or a surreal, moving moment? I want desperately to sift through your files. Peer inside just for little while and review what you've got stored up there. Dammit. Which parts were real for you? Which parts do you remember? Which do you try and forget. If you don't remember and I do ...what, then was it? Was it real? Never mind - I'll just tell you again. Like with the rest of our lives, we'll just start over. Relive it through my recollection,.

I was out. I was out in my white, collared, button-down shirt. My "damn-your-butt-looks-good-in-those" jeans, my hair down, straightened. The Rainbow Room was packed. It's low ceilings looked like they were being pushed upwards by the dense cloud of smoke. Generations of names were scribbled on every inch of the plywood walls. Mine was in the back corner where the band was playing. Written when I was eighteen. Such an odd mix in there. I scanned the room for my friends. No luck. I was there to hear Brian's band. Unfortunately, Brian was playing already and I didn't want to sit alone. To appear alone. The truth hurts. I saw you sitting in the corner w/ a couple of people who were also w/ the band. I took a deep breath and came to say hi. I sat there pretending to be focused on the band. Smiling at Brian, raising my glass sometimes. You sat there doing the same. I thought back to that first time we met a year or two earlier. You sitting at my kitchen table, my mom at the stove fixing lunch for you and my step dad. Me stumbling downstairs, barely awake, walking in and becoming acutely aware of myself. Embarrassed. No make-up, bed head, t-shirt and boxers. . . Everyone knowing how late I slept. I was angry no one woke me up, heard me coming and told me y'all were there. You looked thoroughly amused as you shoved fork after fork of peas and cornbread into your mouth. I knew your story. You knew mine. Two broken people - recently broken. Pain still fresh. I recognized it in you and it comforted me somehow. I thought about calling you a few times back then - seeing if you wanted to do something. Those days it hurt to be around normal people. Only my kind would do.

But I didn't it was too much...just too much. Too sticky.

I thought of these things as I sat there making loud small talk w/ you. You seemed so relaxed. I wondered about that. The night stretched on. I remember driving across the street a couple of times to purchase 1/2 pints of Jim Beam. How many? I wonder. It seems weird to think of those days doesn't it? I'm such a lightweight now huh? The Rainbow Room only served Beer and wine and I didn't care for either. I remember playing Pat Green's "Wave on Wave" on the juke box in between sets. We were in a smoky sardine can, maneuvering around pool tables and bar stools. Squeezing in and out of the tiny bathroom w/ the uneven slope. More black sharpie graffiti. I vaguely remember someone driving me across the street to Po'Boys at closing time. Was that you? Or Brian? Po'boys where everything continued. Endings and beginnings. And then, somewhere in the blurry, smoky night there was shift. My attention, no longer divided but focused, zeroed in on you. As tipsy ushered in drunk I excitedly said "Let's dance!" Fortunately drunk hadn't made himself comfortable yet, because that would have sounded more like "Lezz danth"? But, by the time we actually did the dancing deed, drunk had stolen my sight. My memory sight anyway. I have no recollection of how you looked, what was said, what was playing. Only this: Your arms felt huge and powerful around my body. Moving seductively, teasingly up against you to the music.

One can only hope said music fit the way I was dancing. And one can deduct from later experience that you were dancing however I was dancing,..letting me lead..lol You're a good man Mr. Mustang, you're a good man with a clear understanding and acceptance of your woman.

You've told me that I kissed you then, kissed you like there was nothing else in the world to do. That we just stood out there kissing. But, sadly, I don't remember that. It's a big black swirly hole that stole it from me. Here's the important part though. Somewhere in all that, I remember a deep, growly, rugged "mmmmm" sound. That's it. Just that one little sound rumbling up out of of your throat.

See Mr. Mustang, that was what did it. It undid all consideration. It was a declaration of enjoyment, of possession.. eons of testosterone howled into the night. Request wrestling demand. "mmmm" That little "mmmmm" fueled my thoughts, my fantasies, my focus for weeks afterwards. It ruled my concentration. It scared the shit out of me, and tempted me. It lured me towards something that nearly did me in before. Something that should have sent me screaming in fear, now called my name seductively, incessantly. . . It became my constant companion. And it stays with me still. It tells me to kiss you in the dark and have your babies. It tells me to trust you and love you.

See Mr. Mustang, there's a lot you could learn from Denny and Izzy. Actually, there's a lot you could learn from my attraction to them. You could learn so much about me by studying what fascinates me. Asking yourself why these things catch my attention. You roll your eyes at this. And I stop short. I remember you're a husband now. You think you know all there is to know. In the next room Comfort and Condescension are stabbing Mystery to death and we change the channel. We ignore her screams. Click.

Out of the Closet

2009-01-09T22:00:00.000-08:00

(present that girl) "Hey you"

(past that girl) "gasp.." "What the hell is wrong with you!?"

"I didn't mean to scare you. We need to talk."

"I'm in a hurry. And I don't feel like this now. I'm finally having a good day."

"I know. Hey, I've missed this car. You look hot in it. "

"No you don't. You don't know shit. You're here to bring me down."

"You had a dream about him."

"Get in, I want to be there before dark"

"Afraid they're gonna run out of cheap bouron?"

"Funny. Oh good grief, is that why you're here?"

"Hey, don't I look kinda tan in this? I just feel good you know? Excited, anxious.. and I don't even know why? It's been so long since I've felt this happy.

He's thinking about me. I can feel him. "

rolling my eyes "That's sort of what we need to discu-"

"He is isn't he?! I knew it! Dammit I hate that you won't tell me things! Why are you torturing me? You know we hate the not knowing part! That's the worst part for us. You're just mean."

"Okay, then, I'll tell you things. But you're not gonna like them."

her face falls, stomach knots up..the eyes harden

"You need to breathe."

deep heated exhale "Are you fucking with me?"

"No, it just makes me fucking sick that you can't even remember how to survive..literally SURVIVE: Eat, sleep, breathe,.. that you don't know how to continue living , continue being a decent human being when it comes to him! I mention his name and you stop breathing! It's not normal. He's BAD for you. "

eyes widening, tears welling, ..she's stung, she's stunned. "I can't take this shit right now. I'm so tired of crying and tired of hurting all the time..and I just feel empty and I don't need this shit right now I - "

"I'm sorry., but I wish so badly that you would listen to me."

"Then fucking talk. Say it. What is so important that you have to come at me now? You know what, whatever, just get it over with because I have somewhere to be."

"I want you to stay home"

"why?"

"please? You'll thank me later."

"no way"

" Why do you have to be so freaking STUBBORN! Why can't you appreciate the fact that I am LITERALLY traveling through time to give you the benefit of hind sight. Do you know how valuable that is?"

" I'm going."

"It starts tonight"

pitifully hopeful voice "what does?"

"The part you'll regret. The part that haunts you..the excruciating part that you can't disect into separate blame. It's communal blame from here on out. No good guys left. "

"You're talking like we're going to hook up and go on a killing spree." she smirks..still young enough to have filed away Bonnie and Clyde as romantic

"You're the only one that's going to get hurt. It's going to hurt. Worse than now. Much, much worse."

"You know what? screw you! I don't want to hear any more. We're connected, we're meant to be.. he loves me. He's hurting right now too.. We WILL end up together..we have to. I don't want to be here if we don't. he's my person! And why are you being so hateful?"

"I'll tell you why. You're the weakest we've ever been. And it makes me SICK. You're not in control! Your heart is in control most of the day and fucking Kentucky deluxe is in control every night! You can't stop going there can you?! Don't deny it! I know you! You're going there every.single.night. You're waiting for him to come back! And it's stupid! He was BAD FOR YOU! He's the wolf that girl! He.is.the.wolf. Yes, I know it's like a damned gravitational pull. But you have to, at the very least, accept the fact that he's the wolf."

pulls car into space in front of local bar

"Oh please! It's not that simple. You don't believe that! There's no way you've forgotten it ALL. No way. You know how strong it is. You know you're trying to divide it all up into neat little black and white categories to make it easier to remember. And it's bullshit." slams door in my face

"Wait! Please, come back! Don't go in there! It's a mistake! Please! You're going to regret this forever. You're right! I am confused about it! I've been writing about my past and I keep trying to leave him out, but I can't stop thinking about it, so I've come here to see if we could try and do some damage control. Please, help me! You can stop this next part and no more harm done! Nothing changes except your guilt! My guilt! Help me help you!"

spins around before she opens the door

"You're writing about your past and you're leaving him out?"

"What? Don't look at me like that! There are reasons! I just need you to hear me out, please just turn around, get back in the ca-"

she flips me the bird and opens the big glass door. I run after her and make a grab at her arm, but it's too late. She's seen him. I watch her skinny little Olive Oil frame freeze..she stops breathing. Her gray skirt gives one last swish reminding me time and space aren't actually frozen, just her. She wears her violet v-neck tee. It hugs her tiny torso..her tiny frozen torso that won't breath. I want to run in and yank her back out..throw her over my shoulder.. I want to save the day. The bartender who pretends to be her friend looks at her and sighs. The wolf turns...their eyes meet and electricity crackles and skitters all over the room. It vibrates the floor, the ceiling, the door and I take a quick step back. It won't get me. I'll be damned. It won't get me. He walks the few yards to her and stops.. he smiles. she breathes.

Hey you! Remember me? I dreamt of you the other night. One

2009-01-09T09:36:00.000-08:00

Hey you! Remember me?

I dreamt of you the other night. One of those significant ones. Can't get it out of my head. You and I and Rachel were in some kind of apartment building. It had a modern theme. I hated it. Everything was white and I half expected to see that couple from Saturday night live sitting on their weird little chairs. Everyone there was young, our age. Not our age now...the age we used to be. The inside age. You sat down in the floor Indian style and I sat in front of you. You cried. I held you against me in a hug. I vividly remember the feeling of you shaking and sobbing..hard. I can close my eyes and I can feel how it felt. We didn't talk.

At some point we noticed a commotion in the hallway. We opened the door and were whisked away into the herd. Everyone was leaving at the same time. As the elevator door closed I looked over at Mr. Mustang holding both our children, worried look on his face. You vanished from my mind. Erased. We weren't leaving we were evacuating. "What happened" I breathed, as the door slid open again. Someone answered with a word I didn't comprehend. Didn't matter anyway because I could see for myself. The structure was surrounded by water. It was rising or we were sinking. I'm still not sure. People dove into the water on all sides..easy, smooth, like little penguins sliding off the edge. They were immediately eaten by something. Sharks? The fuse lit and panic exploded. It was chaos. Water was lapping over the only walkway leading to safety..to land. Either the building swayed, or the water receded and I used the opportunity to jump into a muddy spot. I looked back unsure if that had been right. I realized the kids now had to be thrown..could I catch them? Would a better mother have thrown them first? What about the sharks? Who would've caught them? It was such a short window to jump. Did I think of myself first? NO, no, no. I was just acting on instinct. Doesn't a mother's instinct apply to the children first? What had I done?

I don't know what happened to you. I didn't care.

Please resist the urge to dissect this, to jump start the engine. It doesn't matter what it meant. Just a stupid dream. I don't know which night.. I don't work that way, remember? Maybe you don't. My internal clock isn't really attached to time - more to feeling, sighs, breaths of air. That's where I live. Not a solid straight line, just a maze of memory..a labyrinth of ancient, beautiful, crumbly walls.

Don't worry, I'll keep your secrets there.

Hello Darlin.....IT'S BEEN A LONG TIME - -

2009-01-07T14:31:00.000-08:00

Hmm..

I don't' know what to say.

I never do in these sort of situations. Yes, this a pattern..

Yes, I'm that friend.

I'm that family member.

I'm that acquaintance.

The one that disappears for long periods of time w/ out explanation. Who avoids contact when something's wrong. And then doesn't know how to show up again. And then that becomes the new what's wrong.

I don't know why. I'm sorry.

Initially, yes, there was a plausible reason. There were many.

But they seem distant now,and I don't feel like talking about them. Does that sound selfish? It does in my head..It sounds exactly like when 5 yr old doesn't feel like picking up his toys.

It's not that I don't feel like talking about them so much as there's just so much to talk about that it makes every individual thing seem very, very irrelevant. And it sort of puts a knot in my stomach. I don't' know why I'm this way.

I hate this kind of thing. This conversation (ironically one sided as it may be) is making my stomach hurt.

Screw it. Okay listen, we're just going to pretend like this whole conversation..this whole lame, unproductive attempt to explain things didn't happen. I could make it actually not happen..just press delete right now..But if I publish it, I think it'll make me feel a little better.

Also, I love y'all. Thank you for concern..your suggestions...the award...the hugs..and for coming back to see if I'm back yet.

And also, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. (I'm well aware of how lame that was..Don't expect your birthday cards to be on time either..yes, I'm that girl)

(This is me and Mr. Mustang dancing at the company Christmas party.. Mr. Mustang is doing his signature dance-behind-me-with-his-arms-up move. See how my arms look like two blurs at the bottom? That's how my brain feels today. By today, I really mean lately. But today I'm choosing to blame Pearl Jam..for all the confusion, nostalgia, emotion, defeat, introspection. Some would say the blame belongs with me for inserting the old burned CD into my player at lunch,..and then turning the volume up really loudly.
But I blame Eddie for writing "Footsteps". It's all his fault today.)

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sor-...

2008-11-18T13:47:00.000-08:00

I'm painfully aware that the you all have either cast me into the slacker/she's-bored-with-this-already/non-commital-underacheiver category or are concerned there might have been a tragedy...and while I'm not sure either is entirely true...they both might be a little teesy-tiny, eensy-weensy bit true (except for the 'bored with this' thing) Although the sun is out over here in that girl's neck of the woods it's cold as shit and she's still feeling the effects of "Hurricane October", whose damaging winds have knocked the breath slap out of this small community of one and certainly dampened her spirits..

On the heels of Hurricane October came the nearly devastating F5 which was previously refered to as "Early November Bi-yotch" but in her refusal to let up has been aptly renamed "November Bitch"..we're still not sure if there will be anything left of that girl in the aftermath of such an exhausting 45 days.

Whaa? You don't believe me? Okay, I got your disbelief right here!:

mmmm, hmm..who's doubting her word now..huh? here you go, here's another one just cause I'm nice:

And this one. See that lonely little pair of bananas? I'm trying to keep snacks close because I've been getting dizzy spells out of the fucking blue! Spent a whole weekend wondering if I was pregnant..and blinking...through the tears...and mourning...mourning the 6 hours of sleep a night I've finally mananged to wrangle for myself.. blink,..blink...and then shaking with fear at the thought of having a girl..that might be like me..that will hate me..for having a daughter just like me...

I'm trying not to blink today though, today there's migraine fighting it's way into my world and I refuse to let that old bitch put me down!

As you can see there, I've chosen to fight with huge sunglasses - inside even - and as you cannot see - two Aleve (at the same time..gasp), strong coffee, my husband's sweat shirt, and an ornery spirit. Oh, and blogging..because not blogging has put another knot in the knotty stomach I'm carrying around these days. So there, scratch that off my list and exhale..whooosh.

P.S. - don't send hugs..send energy and perhaps a personal assistant who is young and eager, and energetic...and plain, if anyone sends me a young, energetic, BEAUTIFUL personal assistant I will hunt you down and pretend like you're Mr. Mustang's old pill dealer.
kisses.

I have a DAMN good idea...

2008-10-17T11:54:00.000-07:00

Actually, Badass Geek had a damn good idea, and I am taking the liberty to expand on it a tad. He wrote something bad-ass and I truly, truly, from the depths of my being believe we should all copy, paste, insert our various names, print it out on actual paper, put it in an actual envelope, press an actual .42 on it and send it off. Prepare yourselves dear Internet, this will be an action requiring you to briefly (oh-so-very-briefly) take our fingers off the mouse/keyboard and maybe turn slightly to the side...some of you might have to make a trip to the post office, or the junk room to find the stamps and an envelope that doesn't have the window from some bill you paid online instead of using that window endowed envelope. Although, by this point in the post you might be rolling your eyes thinking "dadgummit, didn't I just have to do something like this for my candidate of choice? and to get 'my' senator to vote down that fucking highway-robbery, reverse-robinhood-bailout-bullshit?!" But listen up y'all, this is IMPORTANT. Do it for your children, who just want a fucking hot-fudge-sundae and a little red slide action, do it for your sanity on a busy Tuesday morning when you're hungry enough to eat a horse and they're danglin that breakfast burrito riiiiiiiight under your nose, do it for my red-headed mother who nearly lost it last week and has staged a one woman boycott that's costing her tremendous stress and suffocating guilt every time my children beg for "I-tce-crwm, Meemaw, peeees?" Do it for her dammit..do it because it's just the right thing to do!

*If you are reading this from some nice ass neighborhood where the public schools rock and the social service office-workers are bored because things are gravy and the fast food service is spectacular..you should immediately STOP.READING.THIS.BLOG. because, to put it mildly, I hate you. (giving you the Stanley look (from the office idiot - you've never had to 'work' have you? Get the fuck out of here before I knock your head clean off your shoulders!))

From now on, we'll just call it "the Stanley"

The source of my irrational anxiety..

2008-10-15T13:43:00.000-07:00

This chick asked me to guest post...yes, that's right..her..one of the coolest bloggers I've encountered..mm hmm, and after happily agreeing I immediately shifted gears into neurotic-not-good-under-pressure-OMG-what-if-it-sucks!-mind-going-blank-stomach-turning-and-churning-must-rock-or-hopes-of-blog-popularity-will-plummet mode. Then, the theme came to me and I was extremely happy with myself and in total bliss..for a few minutes. The first few times I got stuck I went back to her blog and researched..cruised for inspiration. Then I stumbled upon the fact that her family's from Arkansas...now the pressure was really on, on as in the weight was crushing.. Bone by bone, I began snapping under the weight. By yesterday afternoon I was seriously considering doing away with the blog altogether, pretending that you super cool, smarty-pants, heart-warming, hilarious, awe-inspiring, feeding my soul, awesomely supportive, infinitely interesting and informative, fancy-writing, kick-ass people with your moving determination didn't even exist!....kind of like college. After chewing on that old nasty, stale piece of gum for a few days..I plum spit it out. done. Fuck it.

Then, I wrote this, hope y'all like it.