Back in January, Tater had a blood clot in her leg. After days of nasty shots in her stomach and the beginnings of what she was told was six months of Coumadin therapy, things resumed to a relatively normal state. They've had a hard time keeping her protyme levels normal and have tweaked her Coumadin dosage many times. They finally got her leveled out and therapeutic and then she started taking diet pills. It screwed her up. Even Claritin has screwed her up, as well as spinach dip and the bell peppers in her salad one week. Basically what I'm getting at is - Coumadin therapy sux. No dark green leafies, no ibuprofen, no alcohol, no fun.
During the whole travelling back and forth to the government-run medical facility (aka, the Indian Hospital) it was suggested that she has a blood disorder. Some of the doctors she dealt with poo-pooed that idea away, others reiterated that suggestion. Well, after all these months of up and down with the INR and such, it was brought up again and finally she had the test done. The guy running the Coumadin clinic took a lot of heat for it because it's a really expensive test, but he didn't back down. And he also told them that if she tested positive that he would be testing her family as well. He obviously feels pretty strong about it.
She got her test results this last Thursday - she definitely has Factor V (five) Leiden Thrombophilia. Big name. Big scary name. Basically, she has too much of something in her blood and that makes her prone to clotting. 5% of the Caucasian population has it. It's the most common hereditary blood coagualtion disorder in the United States. Whoopdedoo. You'd think that'd make a girl feel special.
Nah, not so much.
Mom is going to be tested on July 14. I'm going to be tested on July 17th. So at least we can both fret and fuss for 4 weeks together. Oh wait. I seem to be the only one fretting and fussing. Tater's totally resigned to what Coumadin Man is telling her. Oh, not me. I am looking down the barrel of Factor V Leiden and I am Googling the hell out of it. I may even break my Google if I don't stop it.
I'm very torn. Coumadin Man has told Tater that because she has had one incidence of DVT (Deep Vein Thrombosis) under the age of 30 that she needs to be on Coumadin the rest of her life. I agree with him. Mom has already stated that if she tests positive for it she will go on Coumadin for life. I tend to agree with that as well. Mom has had two blood clots. But me.....I'm not so sure that's something I want to do. I'm completely asymptomatic. Okay, so I have a slightly higher risk for DVT and PE (Pulmonary Embolism) if I test positive, but if I can get this weight under control and watch my diet I really feel like Coumadin therapy is a bit over the top for me. At this juncture.
I want to be able to shave with a razor! I want to eat my dark green leafies! I don't want to wear a MedAlert bracelet because they don't have any that are diamond-encrusted. And dammit, I'm not done getting tattoos!! If I go on Coumadin, my tattooing days are done. To hell with the risk of death by blood clot, I want my ink!! Okay, so I'm really not going to risk my life so that I can continue to get tattoos. I might be a rebel, but I also like to continue breathing. I'm kind of spoiled to it.
*sigh*
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Friday, June 23, 2006
Big Blogger 2 - Task #8 - I Know What You Did Last Blog
As if looking over our shoulders for Fitty wasn't enough, Big Blogger gave us stalkers of our very own this week. Guess she figured we needed to be on our toes more. Maybe she thinks if we stay on our toes we'll keep them attached to our bodies. I dunno. Plus, not only did being in the Cyberhouse this week get us our very own stalkers, but we became stalkers ourselves.
And because we share a husband anyway, Hillbilly Mom and I just stalked each other. Yeah. We're funny like that. (Here are her stalker notes.)
Oh yes, Hillbilly Mom and I share a lot of things, not just a husband - the main thing being our love for cabana boys. Granted, she's been kind of stingy with Carlos since I brought him into the house, but I'm willing to let that go if she'll share her three pool boys with me. It's a win/win situation, trust me. We'd also be lost without Sonic, by cracky. There's a camaraderie amongst Sonic addicts, methinks.
I've beenreading stalking Hillbilly Mom for awhile now and I've learned a few things about her over time. No, I don't have a overwhelming desire to hack her into pieces or make a lamp out of her, but I do have this strange desire to pee every time I see NASCAR stuff. I thank her personally for that.
Now, don't start thinking that you might want to stalk her, too. While this is a labor of love because I think she's the absolute bomb, she's not easy to keep track of. The whole getting up at 4:20am thing wears on a stalker after awhile and I found myself yawning at around 4:22. Not because she's boring - no! Because she gets up earlier than should be allowed by law! Fortunately she takes a nap in the recliner after a bit, so I would snuggle in with the poopies on her husband's pet pillow outside her window and grab a snooze, too.
Every day I'd drive behind her large SUV in my Astro Van while she drove erratically with bugs in her eyes all the way to school - the school where she spends her days educating the DoNots. However, she had no idea that awhile back I was disguised as a DoNot in her classroom. Oh yes. I was there to witness the Gummi Mary event, halleluiah. You didn't realize that, did you, Hillbilly Mom? I'm just that good. See, you were so busy looking at the green shirt I wore every day and dreaming of your old shirt Jeannie to notice that I am 33 years old and have gray hairs peeking through my fiery red locks. Speaking of locks, Hillbilly Mom says her beautician looks like me. Nah. It IS me! I not only spend my days duct-taping the kids to the floor, but I also moonlight as a lady mullet trimmer. I like to make people feel OH SO PRETTY. But this isn't about me. Back to Hillbilly Mom.....
Hillbilly Mom has a few interesting hobbies - like digging up rocks. Now, personally I've never been one for digging up rocks myself, but whatever trips her trigger. She also has been known to scratch. One might think it's because she's a Histinex addict, but it's because she's addicted to lottery tickets. It seems to be quite profitable for her as well. So profitable that I think she needs to take her winnings and hit a Sylvan Learning Center for some extra math lessons this summer. She's also a bit of a casino gambler as well, but I will not discuss that here, seeing as how I'm a bit of a gambler myself. I don't want to anger the gambling gods. The hobby that is probably the most entertaining, though, - if not the most disturbing - is the fact that almost nightly she dresses up as a bat-laden Coors Light can. And the Christmas ornaments on her ears? That's a nightly thing too. Oh, she might tell you that was a long time ago, but don't let her fool you. The force is still strong with that one.
One of the major perks of stalking Hillbilly Mom was getting to follow her to Branson. I likes me some Branson. I installed a high-tech listening device in her large SUV so I could get the scoop on why she and her family are in the Blogger Protection Program and are sequesterd away in the hills of Missouri, but I couldn't hear any conversation for all the Dolly Parton music. I'm thinking her paranoia has something to do with Fitty, but I can't say for sure. She duped me. She's a sly one, that Hillbilly Mom.
I could go on and on about the things I know about Hillbilly Mom, but I need to keep some info to myself. We stalkers can't divulge everything all at once. Besides I just found a box of Kraft Mac and Cheese in her pantry (you know, when I was alphabetizing it for her) and before she gets back home I'm going to whip up the cheesy goodness and have me a stalker-snack before I soak in the free hot tub. Ooh and look - Ranch dressing!!
And because we share a husband anyway, Hillbilly Mom and I just stalked each other. Yeah. We're funny like that. (Here are her stalker notes.)
Oh yes, Hillbilly Mom and I share a lot of things, not just a husband - the main thing being our love for cabana boys. Granted, she's been kind of stingy with Carlos since I brought him into the house, but I'm willing to let that go if she'll share her three pool boys with me. It's a win/win situation, trust me. We'd also be lost without Sonic, by cracky. There's a camaraderie amongst Sonic addicts, methinks.
I've been
Now, don't start thinking that you might want to stalk her, too. While this is a labor of love because I think she's the absolute bomb, she's not easy to keep track of. The whole getting up at 4:20am thing wears on a stalker after awhile and I found myself yawning at around 4:22. Not because she's boring - no! Because she gets up earlier than should be allowed by law! Fortunately she takes a nap in the recliner after a bit, so I would snuggle in with the poopies on her husband's pet pillow outside her window and grab a snooze, too.
Every day I'd drive behind her large SUV in my Astro Van while she drove erratically with bugs in her eyes all the way to school - the school where she spends her days educating the DoNots. However, she had no idea that awhile back I was disguised as a DoNot in her classroom. Oh yes. I was there to witness the Gummi Mary event, halleluiah. You didn't realize that, did you, Hillbilly Mom? I'm just that good. See, you were so busy looking at the green shirt I wore every day and dreaming of your old shirt Jeannie to notice that I am 33 years old and have gray hairs peeking through my fiery red locks. Speaking of locks, Hillbilly Mom says her beautician looks like me. Nah. It IS me! I not only spend my days duct-taping the kids to the floor, but I also moonlight as a lady mullet trimmer. I like to make people feel OH SO PRETTY. But this isn't about me. Back to Hillbilly Mom.....
Hillbilly Mom has a few interesting hobbies - like digging up rocks. Now, personally I've never been one for digging up rocks myself, but whatever trips her trigger. She also has been known to scratch. One might think it's because she's a Histinex addict, but it's because she's addicted to lottery tickets. It seems to be quite profitable for her as well. So profitable that I think she needs to take her winnings and hit a Sylvan Learning Center for some extra math lessons this summer. She's also a bit of a casino gambler as well, but I will not discuss that here, seeing as how I'm a bit of a gambler myself. I don't want to anger the gambling gods. The hobby that is probably the most entertaining, though, - if not the most disturbing - is the fact that almost nightly she dresses up as a bat-laden Coors Light can. And the Christmas ornaments on her ears? That's a nightly thing too. Oh, she might tell you that was a long time ago, but don't let her fool you. The force is still strong with that one.
One of the major perks of stalking Hillbilly Mom was getting to follow her to Branson. I likes me some Branson. I installed a high-tech listening device in her large SUV so I could get the scoop on why she and her family are in the Blogger Protection Program and are sequesterd away in the hills of Missouri, but I couldn't hear any conversation for all the Dolly Parton music. I'm thinking her paranoia has something to do with Fitty, but I can't say for sure. She duped me. She's a sly one, that Hillbilly Mom.
I could go on and on about the things I know about Hillbilly Mom, but I need to keep some info to myself. We stalkers can't divulge everything all at once. Besides I just found a box of Kraft Mac and Cheese in her pantry (you know, when I was alphabetizing it for her) and before she gets back home I'm going to whip up the cheesy goodness and have me a stalker-snack before I soak in the free hot tub. Ooh and look - Ranch dressing!!
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Guilty pleasures
No, I'm not talking about the new toys I bought Saturday at my Pure Romance party.
I am not a fan of American Idol. I just haven't been able to get into it. I think I've watched one episode. Now, I do enjoy the first show of the season where they show all the dorks that audition and don't get on, but as far as watching the show, I don't. But we have discovered So You Think You Can Dance and I gotta say I'm hooked. Hooked, by cracky. I was worried I'd have nothing to watch on Wednesdays this summer, but SYTYCD has taken care of that. Not to mention it filled a hole on Thursdays, too. And what a treat that Wednesdays and Thursdays are Mr. Diva's night off! And a good thing, too, since don't have TiVo. Now, if you were to see him in the casino some night and mention that you heard he likes SYTYCD, he might deny it, but I'm here to tell you, folks, my man likes to watch. The show.
And the best part of it is that the minute the show comes on Kady does these hip-twisting moves the entire time we watch it. I tell her to brush her teeth and she pops it all the way down the hall. It's not unlike twisting to get your underwear out of your crack, but cuter on a 4 year old. Plus, I gotta say, she's got some moves. For a white kid. And even more hilarious, she now asks us, "See dat? See me? I'm poppin' my booty!!"
Tonight we were all sitting in the living room in a vicarious stupor (and I know at least I was secretly wishing I could dance like that) when Mr. Diva said, "Mm...she's just not poppin' it tonight." I looked over at him in his wife-beater as he spit in his spit cup and marveled at what my husband had just said. I said, "Did you just say she wasn't poppin' it?" He spit again and said, "Well, you can't honestly think she was."
Another recent guilty pleasure of mine is Michael Buble'. Oh. My. Gosh. I could kiss his face and not feel guilty in the least over it. He's so farking sexy and hot and cocky and that voice. *sigh* Sometimes when I'm watching him sing (on the DVD that my husband bought me a few weeks ago) I get this giddy feeling that I can only describe as pubescent angst. I could see me putting his posters in my locker and kissing it with my Bonne Belle lip gloss on in between classes. Seriously. And when I have my MP3 player plugged into my head and I've got the song "Home" playing repeatedly and he is sounding so forlorn and sad and I just know that he misses me and wants to come home and it's all I can do to not just blurt out, "Then just come home, baby. I'll kiss your face and stroke your hair and it'll be okay, honey. Just come home!"
Pussycat Dolls and Nelly Furtado are also recent fasciations of mine. Nelly Furtado and Timberland singing "Promiscuous" has me dancing a little white chick jig while I'm fixing dinner. Oooh and those sexy Pussycat Dolls talking about loosening up their buttons and bein' a freak like your girlfriend isn't - yeah....that's good stuff.
Yes, I realize I'm 33 and a responsible adult and way too old to be watching and listening to this stuff like I do, but I can't help it. Someone organize an intervention. I think I need it.
I am not a fan of American Idol. I just haven't been able to get into it. I think I've watched one episode. Now, I do enjoy the first show of the season where they show all the dorks that audition and don't get on, but as far as watching the show, I don't. But we have discovered So You Think You Can Dance and I gotta say I'm hooked. Hooked, by cracky. I was worried I'd have nothing to watch on Wednesdays this summer, but SYTYCD has taken care of that. Not to mention it filled a hole on Thursdays, too. And what a treat that Wednesdays and Thursdays are Mr. Diva's night off! And a good thing, too, since don't have TiVo. Now, if you were to see him in the casino some night and mention that you heard he likes SYTYCD, he might deny it, but I'm here to tell you, folks, my man likes to watch. The show.
And the best part of it is that the minute the show comes on Kady does these hip-twisting moves the entire time we watch it. I tell her to brush her teeth and she pops it all the way down the hall. It's not unlike twisting to get your underwear out of your crack, but cuter on a 4 year old. Plus, I gotta say, she's got some moves. For a white kid. And even more hilarious, she now asks us, "See dat? See me? I'm poppin' my booty!!"
Tonight we were all sitting in the living room in a vicarious stupor (and I know at least I was secretly wishing I could dance like that) when Mr. Diva said, "Mm...she's just not poppin' it tonight." I looked over at him in his wife-beater as he spit in his spit cup and marveled at what my husband had just said. I said, "Did you just say she wasn't poppin' it?" He spit again and said, "Well, you can't honestly think she was."
Another recent guilty pleasure of mine is Michael Buble'. Oh. My. Gosh. I could kiss his face and not feel guilty in the least over it. He's so farking sexy and hot and cocky and that voice. *sigh* Sometimes when I'm watching him sing (on the DVD that my husband bought me a few weeks ago) I get this giddy feeling that I can only describe as pubescent angst. I could see me putting his posters in my locker and kissing it with my Bonne Belle lip gloss on in between classes. Seriously. And when I have my MP3 player plugged into my head and I've got the song "Home" playing repeatedly and he is sounding so forlorn and sad and I just know that he misses me and wants to come home and it's all I can do to not just blurt out, "Then just come home, baby. I'll kiss your face and stroke your hair and it'll be okay, honey. Just come home!"
Pussycat Dolls and Nelly Furtado are also recent fasciations of mine. Nelly Furtado and Timberland singing "Promiscuous" has me dancing a little white chick jig while I'm fixing dinner. Oooh and those sexy Pussycat Dolls talking about loosening up their buttons and bein' a freak like your girlfriend isn't - yeah....that's good stuff.
Yes, I realize I'm 33 and a responsible adult and way too old to be watching and listening to this stuff like I do, but I can't help it. Someone organize an intervention. I think I need it.
It just keeps getting gloomier. I kind of feel like Eeyore.
Monday night was Ladies' Night and Bub was so kind to offer to watch the kids that I, of course, took him up on it. I don't think I'll do that very often. I was sleepy and logey on the drive to take the kids to him - that should've been a major sign that I was too tired to stay out late. Oh, but nooooooo. I went and lost a little money. I only played a little simply because lately money is a bit tighter than it used to be. The bills are still paid and the kids are amply fed, but I'm trying not to blow gigantic amounts of my montly gambling allowance at once. Just in case.
Just in case last week happens again. "What happened last week, Diva?" you ask? Ohhhh, like parking your car on Monday night after Ladies' Night and not driving it again until the next Friday, except oh, you can't drive it on Friday like you want because the stupidmotherfucking battery has gone dead for some inexplicable reason and even after your husband puts it on the charger it won't hold a charge and great, now you're going to have to pull $50 out of your ass to buy a new battery. Or like checking the mailbox and finding an overdraft notice and wondering just how in the hell you could be overdrawn because you know there hasn't been more than $7 in the checking account in over a week and you haven't written a single check, but then you look at the notice and discover that you forgot to write down the stupidmotherfucking insurance debit that has come out of your account every month on the 11th for the last two years, but yep, you forgot it, you moron, and now your account is not only $121.72 overdrawn, but they slapped that good ol' $17.43 overdraft fee on there, too. Yeah.
So understandably I'm being cautious with money.
------------------------------
The other night in bed Mr. Diva and I were discussing the not-cataclysmic-yet-not-altogether-pleasant happenings of last week and we were all snuggled up, chatting about it and how we'd managed, but only because my mother is a saint and how we're so fortunate. Then it hit me and I slapped his chest which made him holler and I said, "Ohmygosh, July 3rd's coming up!! We need to buy more insurance, have the kids wrapped in bubble wrap and you're calling in sick! We. Are. Not. Ready!"
July 3rd for us is pretty much like a gazillion bad days all rolled into one 24 hour period of hell. Seriously. It all started in 2003 when Mr. Diva got hit by a car while on his motorcycle. And the bike wreck was the icing on the cake to the previous week when Kady spiked a 105 temp and we discovered she had Roseola AND the attic fan shorted out and the attic caught on fire. Yeah. And so we thought that the bike wreck on July 3rd was just the third thing on that week's Bad Things Come In Three's theme.
Oh, but no.
July 3rd, 2004, brought tornadoes that rolled trailer houses just a mile or so down the road and caused us to be without power for about 48 hours. Certainly, it was no bike wreck and wasn't incredibly bad, but it wasn't so much fun either.
Last year, on July 3rd I discovered this. I'd post a picture of it, but Blogger is being a royal bitch right now and I can't upload anything. So clicky the linky.
So naturally I'm a bit leary of the 3rd altogether. You would be, too. I keep trying to think of anything that might go wrong and then I'm slowly, one-by-one eliminating anything that could possibly bring harm to my family or myself. I've gotten rid of all beds, sharp knives, ceiling fans, animals, pillows, tight clothing, and electrical appliances so hopefully we'll be safe. Yes, I realize that I still have the computer. I'll risk it. Although.....it was been acting a bit screwy today.....either I just need to defrag the thing or it's getting ready to blow up and kill me. Or at least maim me.
-----------------
A friend just called and offered me two invitations for tonight to the VIP invitation-only party prior to the public opening of the new High Winds Casino. I had just told Tater that we weren't going to come in to Mom's to help with some yardwork because this is Mr. Diva's first day off in 9 days and we were just going to chill out at home tonight, so I certainly couldn't ask her to watch the kids after telling her that because well, that would sound pretty bad - "We don't want to leave our house to do yardwork but we'll leave to gamble." I mean, she'd just told me this was their only night to do the yardwork, so I felt kinda bad anyway. So I called her and offered her the tickets - and they're going. *sigh* Sometimes it sucks to be nice. And it most of the time sucks being a good, submissive wife. What I really wanted to do was tell Mr. Diva that I was going to that party and he was watching the kids and that was that. I have friends who could get away with that. Instead I gave up the chance. See, he would've taken the ticket and gone in a heartbeat, leaving me here with the kids, and never looked back. But there's no way in heck I could've done that. *sigh* So much for the possibility of being on a commercial. *sigh* And winning an assload of money. *sigh*
-------------------------
Just in case last week happens again. "What happened last week, Diva?" you ask? Ohhhh, like parking your car on Monday night after Ladies' Night and not driving it again until the next Friday, except oh, you can't drive it on Friday like you want because the stupidmotherfucking battery has gone dead for some inexplicable reason and even after your husband puts it on the charger it won't hold a charge and great, now you're going to have to pull $50 out of your ass to buy a new battery. Or like checking the mailbox and finding an overdraft notice and wondering just how in the hell you could be overdrawn because you know there hasn't been more than $7 in the checking account in over a week and you haven't written a single check, but then you look at the notice and discover that you forgot to write down the stupidmotherfucking insurance debit that has come out of your account every month on the 11th for the last two years, but yep, you forgot it, you moron, and now your account is not only $121.72 overdrawn, but they slapped that good ol' $17.43 overdraft fee on there, too. Yeah.
So understandably I'm being cautious with money.
------------------------------
The other night in bed Mr. Diva and I were discussing the not-cataclysmic-yet-not-altogether-pleasant happenings of last week and we were all snuggled up, chatting about it and how we'd managed, but only because my mother is a saint and how we're so fortunate. Then it hit me and I slapped his chest which made him holler and I said, "Ohmygosh, July 3rd's coming up!! We need to buy more insurance, have the kids wrapped in bubble wrap and you're calling in sick! We. Are. Not. Ready!"
July 3rd for us is pretty much like a gazillion bad days all rolled into one 24 hour period of hell. Seriously. It all started in 2003 when Mr. Diva got hit by a car while on his motorcycle. And the bike wreck was the icing on the cake to the previous week when Kady spiked a 105 temp and we discovered she had Roseola AND the attic fan shorted out and the attic caught on fire. Yeah. And so we thought that the bike wreck on July 3rd was just the third thing on that week's Bad Things Come In Three's theme.
Oh, but no.
July 3rd, 2004, brought tornadoes that rolled trailer houses just a mile or so down the road and caused us to be without power for about 48 hours. Certainly, it was no bike wreck and wasn't incredibly bad, but it wasn't so much fun either.
Last year, on July 3rd I discovered this. I'd post a picture of it, but Blogger is being a royal bitch right now and I can't upload anything. So clicky the linky.
So naturally I'm a bit leary of the 3rd altogether. You would be, too. I keep trying to think of anything that might go wrong and then I'm slowly, one-by-one eliminating anything that could possibly bring harm to my family or myself. I've gotten rid of all beds, sharp knives, ceiling fans, animals, pillows, tight clothing, and electrical appliances so hopefully we'll be safe. Yes, I realize that I still have the computer. I'll risk it. Although.....it was been acting a bit screwy today.....either I just need to defrag the thing or it's getting ready to blow up and kill me. Or at least maim me.
-----------------
A friend just called and offered me two invitations for tonight to the VIP invitation-only party prior to the public opening of the new High Winds Casino. I had just told Tater that we weren't going to come in to Mom's to help with some yardwork because this is Mr. Diva's first day off in 9 days and we were just going to chill out at home tonight, so I certainly couldn't ask her to watch the kids after telling her that because well, that would sound pretty bad - "We don't want to leave our house to do yardwork but we'll leave to gamble." I mean, she'd just told me this was their only night to do the yardwork, so I felt kinda bad anyway. So I called her and offered her the tickets - and they're going. *sigh* Sometimes it sucks to be nice. And it most of the time sucks being a good, submissive wife. What I really wanted to do was tell Mr. Diva that I was going to that party and he was watching the kids and that was that. I have friends who could get away with that. Instead I gave up the chance. See, he would've taken the ticket and gone in a heartbeat, leaving me here with the kids, and never looked back. But there's no way in heck I could've done that. *sigh* So much for the possibility of being on a commercial. *sigh* And winning an assload of money. *sigh*
-------------------------
Monday, June 19, 2006
Up to my armpits
...in kids, that is.
I haven't really written that much about Diva Daycare lately - I've been too busy! Notice how sporatic the posts have been? Yeah, me, too. It's called "I Couldn't Tell You The Last Time I Peed By Myself But I Can Cook A Meal For Eight Kids While I Bounce A Baby Like An Olympic Athlete To Keep Him From Busting A Vein Because Of The Screaming Emitting From His Tiny Little Body And Why Can't My Children Just. Stop. Fighting. And OH MY GOSH Someone Help Me I Am Starting To Talk Baby Talk To Grownup Strangers In Wal*Mart." Yep, it's a clinical term. Look it up.
The newest addition to the lineup is JackJack - he's tiny. So tiny that he'd rival Waldo in one of those crazy books obviously written by someone on meth. Not that I'm comparing him to Waldo because he wears funky striped scarves and a sockhat even at the beach or because I'm on meth - not at all. I'm just saying he's tiny. Tiny like a picture of Waldo in a book. Annnnnnyway. Just nod and smile - that's what everyone else does. (And by the way, his mother did not really name him JackJack.)
This summer has been more relaxed and more hectic all at the same time. There are less kids here some days, more here others. Some days are early starts, some days are later ends, just depends. I haven't gotten to lay out but once, so I have only a moderate start on my summer freckling. I don't usually leave my house except for Monday nights for Ladies' Night at Buffalo Run, which I thought was going to stop since my husband works The Shift From Hell now, but Bub kindly offered to watch my kids while he watches his own on Mondays. He's so thoughtful - he offered and when I said thanks, but no, he said, "Isn't Monday night your only night out of the house?" When I answered yes, he said, "Then you are not going to stop going." I love that man. My sister is lucky indeed.
------------------------
Last week was Paul's first week at his new job at Buffalo Run Casino. He had his 40 hours in by Thursday so from Friday to Sunday - including the 14 1/2 hour shift he pulled on Saturday - he was on straight overtime. WAHOO! He loves the job, loves the work, loves the people. He's happier, we're happier. He didn't get to meet Big & Rich, but then again the concert itself was rained out, so when they come back to do the concert he'll get to meet them, they say. He did get to meet the guys from Frank's Custom Cycles out of San Antonio and Franko himself said he'd build him the bike of his dreams (for the low, low price of only $30k *gasp*), gave him his card and made my husband happier'n all get out. Since he's in Security, chances are he'll also get to meet Ronnie Milsap, Dwight Yoakam, Lynard Skynard and Brad Paisley in the coming months, to mention a few. Lucky.
Last week they had him on the day shift to train him, so today is his first day on The Shift From Hell - 4 to Midnight. Bleh. This means that he's here during the day griping about the noise of the children, continually walking in and out of the daycare room door which invariably makes one or more of the kids cry, he doesn't like to eat Spaghetti-O's and peanut butter and jelly so now I'm cooking not only for 8 or 9 kids, but I'm also cooking our big meal at noon as well. It also means that once school starts he'll see our kids, the ones we created, only two evenings a week and during the day on the weekends. That's going to suck. The perk of the whole thing is that once the kids go to bed, I will have 4 1/2 hours all to myself. My mom says that when Tater and I were kids, my dad used to work that schedule and that she accomplished so much in the evenings; the house was clean, she cooked and did laundry......Me, I'm just hoping I can get 4 hours of sleep in the bed by myself.
----------------------
Abby's foot is healing fine. We're still a little leary to let her go swimming, but hopefully by the time we leave for Girl Scout Mom and Me Camp this weekend, it'll be fine. Because we all know how much I love swimming and can't WAIT to just jump right into the pool.
I haven't really written that much about Diva Daycare lately - I've been too busy! Notice how sporatic the posts have been? Yeah, me, too. It's called "I Couldn't Tell You The Last Time I Peed By Myself But I Can Cook A Meal For Eight Kids While I Bounce A Baby Like An Olympic Athlete To Keep Him From Busting A Vein Because Of The Screaming Emitting From His Tiny Little Body And Why Can't My Children Just. Stop. Fighting. And OH MY GOSH Someone Help Me I Am Starting To Talk Baby Talk To Grownup Strangers In Wal*Mart." Yep, it's a clinical term. Look it up.
The newest addition to the lineup is JackJack - he's tiny. So tiny that he'd rival Waldo in one of those crazy books obviously written by someone on meth. Not that I'm comparing him to Waldo because he wears funky striped scarves and a sockhat even at the beach or because I'm on meth - not at all. I'm just saying he's tiny. Tiny like a picture of Waldo in a book. Annnnnnyway. Just nod and smile - that's what everyone else does. (And by the way, his mother did not really name him JackJack.)
This summer has been more relaxed and more hectic all at the same time. There are less kids here some days, more here others. Some days are early starts, some days are later ends, just depends. I haven't gotten to lay out but once, so I have only a moderate start on my summer freckling. I don't usually leave my house except for Monday nights for Ladies' Night at Buffalo Run, which I thought was going to stop since my husband works The Shift From Hell now, but Bub kindly offered to watch my kids while he watches his own on Mondays. He's so thoughtful - he offered and when I said thanks, but no, he said, "Isn't Monday night your only night out of the house?" When I answered yes, he said, "Then you are not going to stop going." I love that man. My sister is lucky indeed.
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Last week was Paul's first week at his new job at Buffalo Run Casino. He had his 40 hours in by Thursday so from Friday to Sunday - including the 14 1/2 hour shift he pulled on Saturday - he was on straight overtime. WAHOO! He loves the job, loves the work, loves the people. He's happier, we're happier. He didn't get to meet Big & Rich, but then again the concert itself was rained out, so when they come back to do the concert he'll get to meet them, they say. He did get to meet the guys from Frank's Custom Cycles out of San Antonio and Franko himself said he'd build him the bike of his dreams (for the low, low price of only $30k *gasp*), gave him his card and made my husband happier'n all get out. Since he's in Security, chances are he'll also get to meet Ronnie Milsap, Dwight Yoakam, Lynard Skynard and Brad Paisley in the coming months, to mention a few. Lucky.
Last week they had him on the day shift to train him, so today is his first day on The Shift From Hell - 4 to Midnight. Bleh. This means that he's here during the day griping about the noise of the children, continually walking in and out of the daycare room door which invariably makes one or more of the kids cry, he doesn't like to eat Spaghetti-O's and peanut butter and jelly so now I'm cooking not only for 8 or 9 kids, but I'm also cooking our big meal at noon as well. It also means that once school starts he'll see our kids, the ones we created, only two evenings a week and during the day on the weekends. That's going to suck. The perk of the whole thing is that once the kids go to bed, I will have 4 1/2 hours all to myself. My mom says that when Tater and I were kids, my dad used to work that schedule and that she accomplished so much in the evenings; the house was clean, she cooked and did laundry......Me, I'm just hoping I can get 4 hours of sleep in the bed by myself.
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Abby's foot is healing fine. We're still a little leary to let her go swimming, but hopefully by the time we leave for Girl Scout Mom and Me Camp this weekend, it'll be fine. Because we all know how much I love swimming and can't WAIT to just jump right into the pool.
Friday, June 16, 2006
"You got here HOW?" Friday edition
It's been quite awhile since I showed y'all the sick searches that get people to The Ramblings, so what better day than a Friday to do just that?
free redneck hillbilly cards to print out for father's day - Because nothing says you care enough to send the very best than to print out a redneck hillbilly card for your pa on his day. If you're really fancy, you'll even do it on your computer.
flying ants that only come out at night - Well, whoever wanted to know about these evil things came to the right place to hear me gripe about them, but I offer no advice. But I can teach them new cuss words to call the little flying fuckers.
headlock dairy cows milking robots - Okay, I am fighting the urge to sit in the corner curled up in the fetal position sucking my thumb. HOW IN THE HELL did someone get to my blog with this search? Bullshit. (No pun intended.) When I clicked the actual link I got: "cows in robotic parlour (milking robot) cows in silhouette (night) (scenic dairy) cow in stream (pasture) cow on treated foot mat (health) cow standing in ..." What they were standing in I don't know, nor do I want to know. And then I did an image search. For the love of Gummi Mary, stay away from the image search for "milking robots". Please. I say it for your own good, kids.
marsha brady boobs - Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!!
the most popular cartoons watched by pre-schoolers and school-going children today - Oh, for the days of Captain Kangaroo and The Electric Company. Now THAT was some awesome kid programming!
red neck toothless bitches - Oops, they meant to visit any one of the many Native American Gambling Establishments around here. Trust me, one can find plenty of toothless rednecks out at the casinos. And quite a few bitches, I'm sure, too.
redneck bedding - Again, a mistake. They were looking for Hillbilly Mom and her husband's pillow. I'm pretty sure of it.
squishy boobs - Certainly not to be confused with the Uniboob.
tickled until peed tickling - That's just mean! Not to mention messy.
situpons how to make - This might've been translated by the same people who translate can labels that say things like "Spray duck sky worms" and stuff. But if someone wants to know how to make Sit-Upons for their Brownie Troop, I'm your man. I mean woman. Woman, dammit!
dead mouse smell - Which might not really be a dead mouse at all - it might be an angry, stinking swarm of yellow jackets. So be wary. And very afraid. And quit searcing for that shit!
free redneck hillbilly cards to print out for father's day - Because nothing says you care enough to send the very best than to print out a redneck hillbilly card for your pa on his day. If you're really fancy, you'll even do it on your computer.
flying ants that only come out at night - Well, whoever wanted to know about these evil things came to the right place to hear me gripe about them, but I offer no advice. But I can teach them new cuss words to call the little flying fuckers.
headlock dairy cows milking robots - Okay, I am fighting the urge to sit in the corner curled up in the fetal position sucking my thumb. HOW IN THE HELL did someone get to my blog with this search? Bullshit. (No pun intended.) When I clicked the actual link I got: "cows in robotic parlour (milking robot) cows in silhouette (night) (scenic dairy) cow in stream (pasture) cow on treated foot mat (health) cow standing in ..." What they were standing in I don't know, nor do I want to know. And then I did an image search. For the love of Gummi Mary, stay away from the image search for "milking robots". Please. I say it for your own good, kids.
marsha brady boobs - Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!!
the most popular cartoons watched by pre-schoolers and school-going children today - Oh, for the days of Captain Kangaroo and The Electric Company. Now THAT was some awesome kid programming!
red neck toothless bitches - Oops, they meant to visit any one of the many Native American Gambling Establishments around here. Trust me, one can find plenty of toothless rednecks out at the casinos. And quite a few bitches, I'm sure, too.
redneck bedding - Again, a mistake. They were looking for Hillbilly Mom and her husband's pillow. I'm pretty sure of it.
squishy boobs - Certainly not to be confused with the Uniboob.
tickled until peed tickling - That's just mean! Not to mention messy.
situpons how to make - This might've been translated by the same people who translate can labels that say things like "Spray duck sky worms" and stuff. But if someone wants to know how to make Sit-Upons for their Brownie Troop, I'm your man. I mean woman. Woman, dammit!
dead mouse smell - Which might not really be a dead mouse at all - it might be an angry, stinking swarm of yellow jackets. So be wary. And very afraid. And quit searcing for that shit!
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Big Blogger 2 - Task #7 - Sideshow Slyshow
Big Blogger decided to take us all on a field trip this week. I guess she, too, was tired of hearing Cazzie and I argue over the cabana boy and the endless Van Halen tunes and Hillbilly Mom trying to fend off David Lee Roth's romantic overtures.
So she took us to the Circus!!! I have an unhealthy fear of clowns, so I mostly cowered behind Stew and whimpered most of the time, but once we got to the sideshows and far away from thescary freaks in greasepaint clowns I was okay.
But seeing as how Big Blogger is trying to make this whole experience an educational one, she has decided we need to make a sideshow of our own this week. I personally would've rather carried around a sack of flour and pretended it was a baby if I were picking the educational task, but I didn't. So instead, I have come up with a sideshow attraction sure to give chills, thrills and make some with a weaker constitution faint.
The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe is the circus' newest and greatest sideshow act ever! In the spirit of the whole Big Blogger/Big Brother experience - this obviously insane woman volunteered to live in a giant shoe with 9 - count 'em NINE - children. Yes, it's enough to make one wonder about her mental stability, isn't it? Is she crazy? Is she stark raving mad? Or perhaps she's just a glutton for punishment. Oh, and they're not her children either! So they all have varying degrees of personality quirks, eating habits and demeanors. Not to mention they range in age from 3 weeks to 9 years. Yessiree, folks, it's a show worth watching.
Step right up and watch through the glass front wall of her shoe as she tries desperately to hide from them all day long. See her dodge flying sweet potatoes and macaroni and cheese like a pro! Watch her change a poopy diaper, talk on the phone, break up a fight and rock a baby all at the same time - it's sure to give you goosebumps! She's an amazing woman, The Old Woman - a weaker person would surely run screaming from The Shoe, never to be seen again. Sequestered in The Shoe away from indian casinos and Wal*Mart, her will to live is tested continually. Will she endure? Will she maintain control? Will she survive???
Oh yes, The Old Woman in the Shoe is a sideshow worth watching. Located a few yards down from Bobbing for Fish and just across from The Scrambler, you simply can't miss the gigantic shoe full of children!
We simply ask that you don't feed the children - they are on a strict diet of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and various other child-friendly foods, but if you visit The Shoe around 10:30am and 3:00pm you might have the chance to throw graham crackers at the kids and watch them crumble, mash and throw their snack - and if you're lucky someone will shove some up their nose! But one thing is certain, ladies and gentlemen - they're always, always guaranteed to make a mess everywhere. Especially under the dining room table.
Previous crowds have been witness to hair-pulling events amongst the children, especially the younger ones. Occasionally there's a flu-bug in The Shoe and someone barfs. The Old Woman and her plethora of children have also been known to dance the Cha-Cha with wild abandon. And one time, The Old Woman just sat down in the floor amidst all of the screaming, whining children and had a good cry. The crowds were so moved, they left offerings of Thin Mint cookies, Marlboro Lights, casino credit and one particularly helpful visitor left one of Aunt Crytal's Old Tyme Salt Licks.
Come one! Come all to The Old Woman That Lived in a Shoe and witness the insanity!
So she took us to the Circus!!! I have an unhealthy fear of clowns, so I mostly cowered behind Stew and whimpered most of the time, but once we got to the sideshows and far away from the
But seeing as how Big Blogger is trying to make this whole experience an educational one, she has decided we need to make a sideshow of our own this week. I personally would've rather carried around a sack of flour and pretended it was a baby if I were picking the educational task, but I didn't. So instead, I have come up with a sideshow attraction sure to give chills, thrills and make some with a weaker constitution faint.
The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe is the circus' newest and greatest sideshow act ever! In the spirit of the whole Big Blogger/Big Brother experience - this obviously insane woman volunteered to live in a giant shoe with 9 - count 'em NINE - children. Yes, it's enough to make one wonder about her mental stability, isn't it? Is she crazy? Is she stark raving mad? Or perhaps she's just a glutton for punishment. Oh, and they're not her children either! So they all have varying degrees of personality quirks, eating habits and demeanors. Not to mention they range in age from 3 weeks to 9 years. Yessiree, folks, it's a show worth watching.
Step right up and watch through the glass front wall of her shoe as she tries desperately to hide from them all day long. See her dodge flying sweet potatoes and macaroni and cheese like a pro! Watch her change a poopy diaper, talk on the phone, break up a fight and rock a baby all at the same time - it's sure to give you goosebumps! She's an amazing woman, The Old Woman - a weaker person would surely run screaming from The Shoe, never to be seen again. Sequestered in The Shoe away from indian casinos and Wal*Mart, her will to live is tested continually. Will she endure? Will she maintain control? Will she survive???
Oh yes, The Old Woman in the Shoe is a sideshow worth watching. Located a few yards down from Bobbing for Fish and just across from The Scrambler, you simply can't miss the gigantic shoe full of children!
We simply ask that you don't feed the children - they are on a strict diet of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and various other child-friendly foods, but if you visit The Shoe around 10:30am and 3:00pm you might have the chance to throw graham crackers at the kids and watch them crumble, mash and throw their snack - and if you're lucky someone will shove some up their nose! But one thing is certain, ladies and gentlemen - they're always, always guaranteed to make a mess everywhere. Especially under the dining room table.
Previous crowds have been witness to hair-pulling events amongst the children, especially the younger ones. Occasionally there's a flu-bug in The Shoe and someone barfs. The Old Woman and her plethora of children have also been known to dance the Cha-Cha with wild abandon. And one time, The Old Woman just sat down in the floor amidst all of the screaming, whining children and had a good cry. The crowds were so moved, they left offerings of Thin Mint cookies, Marlboro Lights, casino credit and one particularly helpful visitor left one of Aunt Crytal's Old Tyme Salt Licks.
Come one! Come all to The Old Woman That Lived in a Shoe and witness the insanity!
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Urgent Vacation
This will be the title of the next National Lampoon's "Vacation" movie - Urgent Branson Vacation. And the Diva family will be starring in it. Because we can't do a vacation without some kind of drama occuring.
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Thursday evening the kids and I went down to Tater's Farmette to have birthday cake for TotOne's birthday.
While we were there Abby stepped on something and got a couple of splinters in her foot. Being a normal parent (relatively so) I did what any normal parent would do - I got a needle and tried to get them out. I got one, but the other was in just too durn deep. So after making her cry I decided to leave it alone. Then Friday evening it was still bothering her, so Mom took the needle and tried to get it out. She couldn't get it either. I put some drawing salve on it and put her to bed. Within 30 minutes she was crying that it hurt worse and she couldn't sleep. I gave her some Motrin and put her back to bed, thinking she was just tired.
Saturday morning we got up and around and started getting ready to leave for Branson. She said it was sore, but not too bad. She seemed fine to me - a little whiny, but she's always nervous before we travel.
We drove on in to Branson, got our motel room and then headed over to Celebration City. Abby was walking on her toes, but I figured it was because her heel was sore. It certainly wasn't enough to keep her from going bezerkers out of sheer glee at the amusement park and enjoying the sweltering 100 degree temps like the rest of us.
Vacation isn't complete without a gigantic pink feline and some talking mutant vegetables. (If you look closely, you can see she's favoring that right foot in the pictures.)
We left the amusement park a little before 10 that night and went back to the motel for a swim. You know how much Iloathe love water. Yay. We really did have a good time. Kady has mastered the art of putting her face in the water, which is a big gigantic feat for her, so she practiced that a lot while the other three practiced splashing me in the face and making me squeal.
We put three very exhausted kids to bed around midnight and then we collapsed into a dehydrated sleep on a horrible motel bed.
The next morning we stumbled to the breakfast room of the motel and Abby said, "Mom, you're gonna wanna take a look at my foot," and started to stick it up on the table. I nearly spit donut all over the table as I hissed, "Git yore foot offa that table, girl! No one wants to see your ol' foot at breakfast!" I told her I'd take a look at it back up in the room. I had no idea what awaited me in that motel room.
And trust me when I say, that picture just doesn't do it justice. It looked so much worse in person.
I called Mom and we all agreed to try to carry on with the day's plans and if it got to where Abby couldn't walk, she'd bring Sam and Kady on home later and Mr. Diva and I could take her to the ER at home. We had plans to build bears and eat incredibly incredible pizza in Springfield for Addison's birthday, dammit! Of course, by this time Abby was bawling that she'd ruined vacation and such. So Mr. Diva was consoling her. He said, "We'll just keep an eye on it. We don't want to let it get away from us and you end up with red streaks running up your leg. That would be bad. " Her eyes got big as saucers and I swear every drop of blood drained from her face. She whispered, "Like these?" Oh yes. There were streaks starting up her leg. I was so busy looking at the actual goriness of the abcess that I hadn't paid any attention to her ankle.
I placed a call to DivaDad, the family RN, who said, "Either take her to Urgent Care in Branson or head home and take her to the ER in town. Either way, she needs to be seen today." Well, imagine the tears from the child then. After promises to let her listen to my MP3 player AND the promise of just her and me going to see Nacho Libre this weekend, we managed to calm her down some. Not all the way, but some.
We packed up, checked out and headed across town to the hospital where we waited. And waited. Finally she was called back where they took her vitals, history and then told us they were backed up and to go back and wait. It was reminiscent of the indian clinic. We waited another 20 minutes or so and then they called us back again. She said there was one ahead of us and the doctor would be right in. We waited 45 minutes in that room. I can probably tell you everything there is to know about planting azaleas in the South and which restaurants to visit when you vacation in Tennessee. Back issues of Southern Living are life-saving sometimes.
When the doctor finally came into the room he asked a few questions, grunted at my answers, tsk'd at me when I said I'd tried to get the splinter out with a needle, then mumbled that it needed to be lanced, drained, and cultured. Abby began with the panicking again. He moved us to the procedure room and then took his sweet time getting ready, which of course, gave Abby time to panic more. My gosh, she needs some Junior Strength Paxil or something.
When I told him that I'd put drawing salve on it he went off, griping and bitching about it being a waste of time and money, it caused more problems than it solved, etc. He wasn' t making me happy. He wouldn't like me when I'm angry. He even got the little aide guy in on the griping. Grr.
Anyway, nearly 3 hours after we first arrived, we left Skaggs Hospital Urgent Care Plus in good ol' Branson, MO. We didn't see Hillbilly Mom's Dolly, but we did get a bandaid and a prescription. And I can help you plant your azaleas.
If you live in the South.
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Thursday evening the kids and I went down to Tater's Farmette to have birthday cake for TotOne's birthday.
While we were there Abby stepped on something and got a couple of splinters in her foot. Being a normal parent (relatively so) I did what any normal parent would do - I got a needle and tried to get them out. I got one, but the other was in just too durn deep. So after making her cry I decided to leave it alone. Then Friday evening it was still bothering her, so Mom took the needle and tried to get it out. She couldn't get it either. I put some drawing salve on it and put her to bed. Within 30 minutes she was crying that it hurt worse and she couldn't sleep. I gave her some Motrin and put her back to bed, thinking she was just tired.
Saturday morning we got up and around and started getting ready to leave for Branson. She said it was sore, but not too bad. She seemed fine to me - a little whiny, but she's always nervous before we travel.
We drove on in to Branson, got our motel room and then headed over to Celebration City. Abby was walking on her toes, but I figured it was because her heel was sore. It certainly wasn't enough to keep her from going bezerkers out of sheer glee at the amusement park and enjoying the sweltering 100 degree temps like the rest of us.
Vacation isn't complete without a gigantic pink feline and some talking mutant vegetables. (If you look closely, you can see she's favoring that right foot in the pictures.)
We left the amusement park a little before 10 that night and went back to the motel for a swim. You know how much I
We put three very exhausted kids to bed around midnight and then we collapsed into a dehydrated sleep on a horrible motel bed.
The next morning we stumbled to the breakfast room of the motel and Abby said, "Mom, you're gonna wanna take a look at my foot," and started to stick it up on the table. I nearly spit donut all over the table as I hissed, "Git yore foot offa that table, girl! No one wants to see your ol' foot at breakfast!" I told her I'd take a look at it back up in the room. I had no idea what awaited me in that motel room.
And trust me when I say, that picture just doesn't do it justice. It looked so much worse in person.
I called Mom and we all agreed to try to carry on with the day's plans and if it got to where Abby couldn't walk, she'd bring Sam and Kady on home later and Mr. Diva and I could take her to the ER at home. We had plans to build bears and eat incredibly incredible pizza in Springfield for Addison's birthday, dammit! Of course, by this time Abby was bawling that she'd ruined vacation and such. So Mr. Diva was consoling her. He said, "We'll just keep an eye on it. We don't want to let it get away from us and you end up with red streaks running up your leg. That would be bad. " Her eyes got big as saucers and I swear every drop of blood drained from her face. She whispered, "Like these?" Oh yes. There were streaks starting up her leg. I was so busy looking at the actual goriness of the abcess that I hadn't paid any attention to her ankle.
I placed a call to DivaDad, the family RN, who said, "Either take her to Urgent Care in Branson or head home and take her to the ER in town. Either way, she needs to be seen today." Well, imagine the tears from the child then. After promises to let her listen to my MP3 player AND the promise of just her and me going to see Nacho Libre this weekend, we managed to calm her down some. Not all the way, but some.
We packed up, checked out and headed across town to the hospital where we waited. And waited. Finally she was called back where they took her vitals, history and then told us they were backed up and to go back and wait. It was reminiscent of the indian clinic. We waited another 20 minutes or so and then they called us back again. She said there was one ahead of us and the doctor would be right in. We waited 45 minutes in that room. I can probably tell you everything there is to know about planting azaleas in the South and which restaurants to visit when you vacation in Tennessee. Back issues of Southern Living are life-saving sometimes.
When the doctor finally came into the room he asked a few questions, grunted at my answers, tsk'd at me when I said I'd tried to get the splinter out with a needle, then mumbled that it needed to be lanced, drained, and cultured. Abby began with the panicking again. He moved us to the procedure room and then took his sweet time getting ready, which of course, gave Abby time to panic more. My gosh, she needs some Junior Strength Paxil or something.
When I told him that I'd put drawing salve on it he went off, griping and bitching about it being a waste of time and money, it caused more problems than it solved, etc. He wasn' t making me happy. He wouldn't like me when I'm angry. He even got the little aide guy in on the griping. Grr.
Anyway, nearly 3 hours after we first arrived, we left Skaggs Hospital Urgent Care Plus in good ol' Branson, MO. We didn't see Hillbilly Mom's Dolly, but we did get a bandaid and a prescription. And I can help you plant your azaleas.
If you live in the South.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Friiiiiiiiiiiiiiiday
And boy, am I glad. It's been a fast week, a good week, but for some reason I'm ready to sleep for about 4 days straight.
Lots has gone on this week. I have just hit the highs and lows with short posts here and there. Let me see if I can fill you in on the happenings, in no particular order or sense for that matter ....
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Mr. Diva and I did manage to stay awake through all of Brokeback Mountain. Mr. Diva even stayed in his recliner the entire time. After the first uh, "scene" in the tent up on ol' Mt. Brokeback there I was nervously looking at him out of the corner of my eye, expecting him at any second to bolt, mumbling redneck things and such. But nah, he stayed hooked. He didn't like it, but he watched it.
I, personally, was very confused by the way the two main characters acted - they'd go from lovin' on each other one minute to knockin' the ever-lovin' horseshit out of each other the next. I guess there are different dynamics to a male/male relationship. No, I'm not making fun here, I'm really being serious. Men are naturally more physical, naturally more aggressive - I guess that's just how they expressed themselves. I'm just glad that my heterosexual man doesn't kiss me one second and black my eye the next. We'd be havin' none of that shit around here.
I found the absolute depth of their love to be so intense that I teared up several times during the movie. I, however, didn't like the way they treated their wives. Maybe that comes from being a wife myself, I dunno. I realize that they were living in a different time - a time not so open about homosexuality - but Ennis really pissed me off. Jack not so much because his wife didn't like him anyway, but Ennis' poor wife....
Anyway, all in all I thought it was a good movie, just frustrating. I wanted everyone to be happy. But I guess they made it very true-to-life because in my experience, life ends up with everyone pretty much being miserable.
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Swimming pools suck. We decided this year to forego a 3 1/2 footer like we've put up the last two years. I just don't have time to keep one up, not to mention the fact that I'm overrun with babies - I certainly can't put them in the pool and I certainly can't let the big ones run amuck without adult supervision. So we bought the ol' $29.96 "Family Swim Center" at Wal*Mart (where my husband is no longer employed, ya know) and blew 'er up and stuck 'er in the yard and told the kids to have at 'er. After a few dunks the pool water was grassy and cloudy assy, so today we emptied it. HHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO DOGGIES, did that pool stink!! Okay, actually I should clarify - UNDER the pool did stink! Holy crap it smelled like crap! In fact, the comment made by Divinity Child #1, "Ugh! It smells like a rodeo out here!" I found it to smell more like a hog farm, but still stinky whichever.
So after emptying it, moving it, cleaning it, sanitizing it and then refilling it I was beat. Especially since my darling casino-employed husband's good mood has done worn off and he's now back to his usual assy self and we fought all morning and I cried all morning and probably traumatized Divinity's kids with my senseless bawling. Tonight my eyes are all dry and puffy and my head hurts and I just want to sleep. I swear that man needs a hormone patch.
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Gotta shout out my niece, TotOne - HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! She turned 8 at 4:03am. I didn't stay awake that long to commemorate the occasion. Having been there in person myself 8 years ago it is still pretty vivid in my mind and I can relive it any time I like. 4:03am is not when I chose to relive it either.
I was about 5 months pregnant with Sam when that beautiful, perfectly round-headed baby girl was born. I was invited into the delivery room and Mom and I stood in the corner and bawled like babies as we watched her come into this world. She was Mom's second grandchild and my first niece. If you ever get a chance to just watch a childbirth and not be an active participant, I heartily recommend it. It's the most beautiful thing you'll ever witness. I've been in on three of my own and they aren't nearly as fun and a lot more tiring. A whole lot messier, too. Don't get me wrong, it's incredibly rewarding doing it yourself, just a lot more work.
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Ever been so tired you can't settle down enough to even think about sleeping?
Me, too.
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Tomorrow we're going to Branson. The kids and I are so excited we tinkle ourselves constantly. Mr. Diva hates Branson. Probably as much as Stew does. But this is his only vacation this year and by golly he's going. I never ask him to go with us. I did this time. He agreed amicably enough at first. Now he's pouting. He'd better get over that or I will make his life hell. Mark my words - HELL, people. He's going to earn himself a title of Asshat if he keeps it up. Grr.
There I go again. Sorry. I'll try to refrain from bitching about myown personal Asshat husband from here on out.
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Anyway, tomorrow we're going to Celebration City in Branson and then Sunday we're going to Springfield to Build a Bear Workshop and Incredible Pizza. I love them all. I just love Branson in general, so if they had a Hitlerland I'd probably go just because it was in Branson and I. love. Branson. I hate Chuck E. Cheese with a passion and would rather set my hair on fire and run around pissing gasoline than go there ever again, but Incredible Pizza is like Chuck E. Cheese on crack and is so totally awesome that I well.....I *heart* Incredible Pizza. Because remember - I got Skeeball skillz.
I haven't packed a single thing. That's just not like me. Most trips I'm packed three days ahead of time and no one can find their toothbrushes because I keep snatching them out of the holder and repacking them. But meh....I am just not motivated enough to do it tonight. I'll do it tomorrow and make everyone crazy with me while I run around barking orders and starting our vacation off with a crash, a bang and a good threat or two.
All I know is my MP3 player is already fully charged and tucked away safely in my purse. If nothing else gets packed I'll have 50+ Michael Buble' songs to keep me relatively sane on the trip. I have found that if I cram the earbuds far enough into my ears and nod my head every now and then the kids think I'm answering their questions. I think it's safe to assume that the reason they now are completely convinced we're going to have them a baby brother is due to the MP3 player.
--------------------
Ever been so tired that you know you need sleep, but you know that you really should take a shower and turn on the dishwasher and charge the batteries in the camera and double-check the back door to make sure it's locked? And you are exhausted - mentally and physically - yet you still have so much to do?
Yeah, me, too. But I'm still going to give sleeping the ol' college try. That dishwasher can run its bad self. I'm going to bed.
Lots has gone on this week. I have just hit the highs and lows with short posts here and there. Let me see if I can fill you in on the happenings, in no particular order or sense for that matter ....
-----------------------------------
Mr. Diva and I did manage to stay awake through all of Brokeback Mountain. Mr. Diva even stayed in his recliner the entire time. After the first uh, "scene" in the tent up on ol' Mt. Brokeback there I was nervously looking at him out of the corner of my eye, expecting him at any second to bolt, mumbling redneck things and such. But nah, he stayed hooked. He didn't like it, but he watched it.
I, personally, was very confused by the way the two main characters acted - they'd go from lovin' on each other one minute to knockin' the ever-lovin' horseshit out of each other the next. I guess there are different dynamics to a male/male relationship. No, I'm not making fun here, I'm really being serious. Men are naturally more physical, naturally more aggressive - I guess that's just how they expressed themselves. I'm just glad that my heterosexual man doesn't kiss me one second and black my eye the next. We'd be havin' none of that shit around here.
I found the absolute depth of their love to be so intense that I teared up several times during the movie. I, however, didn't like the way they treated their wives. Maybe that comes from being a wife myself, I dunno. I realize that they were living in a different time - a time not so open about homosexuality - but Ennis really pissed me off. Jack not so much because his wife didn't like him anyway, but Ennis' poor wife....
Anyway, all in all I thought it was a good movie, just frustrating. I wanted everyone to be happy. But I guess they made it very true-to-life because in my experience, life ends up with everyone pretty much being miserable.
--------------------
Swimming pools suck. We decided this year to forego a 3 1/2 footer like we've put up the last two years. I just don't have time to keep one up, not to mention the fact that I'm overrun with babies - I certainly can't put them in the pool and I certainly can't let the big ones run amuck without adult supervision. So we bought the ol' $29.96 "Family Swim Center" at Wal*Mart (where my husband is no longer employed, ya know) and blew 'er up and stuck 'er in the yard and told the kids to have at 'er. After a few dunks the pool water was grassy and cloudy assy, so today we emptied it. HHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO DOGGIES, did that pool stink!! Okay, actually I should clarify - UNDER the pool did stink! Holy crap it smelled like crap! In fact, the comment made by Divinity Child #1, "Ugh! It smells like a rodeo out here!" I found it to smell more like a hog farm, but still stinky whichever.
So after emptying it, moving it, cleaning it, sanitizing it and then refilling it I was beat. Especially since my darling casino-employed husband's good mood has done worn off and he's now back to his usual assy self and we fought all morning and I cried all morning and probably traumatized Divinity's kids with my senseless bawling. Tonight my eyes are all dry and puffy and my head hurts and I just want to sleep. I swear that man needs a hormone patch.
-----------------------
Gotta shout out my niece, TotOne - HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! She turned 8 at 4:03am. I didn't stay awake that long to commemorate the occasion. Having been there in person myself 8 years ago it is still pretty vivid in my mind and I can relive it any time I like. 4:03am is not when I chose to relive it either.
I was about 5 months pregnant with Sam when that beautiful, perfectly round-headed baby girl was born. I was invited into the delivery room and Mom and I stood in the corner and bawled like babies as we watched her come into this world. She was Mom's second grandchild and my first niece. If you ever get a chance to just watch a childbirth and not be an active participant, I heartily recommend it. It's the most beautiful thing you'll ever witness. I've been in on three of my own and they aren't nearly as fun and a lot more tiring. A whole lot messier, too. Don't get me wrong, it's incredibly rewarding doing it yourself, just a lot more work.
-----------------------
Ever been so tired you can't settle down enough to even think about sleeping?
Me, too.
-----------------------
Tomorrow we're going to Branson. The kids and I are so excited we tinkle ourselves constantly. Mr. Diva hates Branson. Probably as much as Stew does. But this is his only vacation this year and by golly he's going. I never ask him to go with us. I did this time. He agreed amicably enough at first. Now he's pouting. He'd better get over that or I will make his life hell. Mark my words - HELL, people. He's going to earn himself a title of Asshat if he keeps it up. Grr.
There I go again. Sorry. I'll try to refrain from bitching about my
----------------------
Anyway, tomorrow we're going to Celebration City in Branson and then Sunday we're going to Springfield to Build a Bear Workshop and Incredible Pizza. I love them all. I just love Branson in general, so if they had a Hitlerland I'd probably go just because it was in Branson and I. love. Branson. I hate Chuck E. Cheese with a passion and would rather set my hair on fire and run around pissing gasoline than go there ever again, but Incredible Pizza is like Chuck E. Cheese on crack and is so totally awesome that I well.....I *heart* Incredible Pizza. Because remember - I got Skeeball skillz.
I haven't packed a single thing. That's just not like me. Most trips I'm packed three days ahead of time and no one can find their toothbrushes because I keep snatching them out of the holder and repacking them. But meh....I am just not motivated enough to do it tonight. I'll do it tomorrow and make everyone crazy with me while I run around barking orders and starting our vacation off with a crash, a bang and a good threat or two.
All I know is my MP3 player is already fully charged and tucked away safely in my purse. If nothing else gets packed I'll have 50+ Michael Buble' songs to keep me relatively sane on the trip. I have found that if I cram the earbuds far enough into my ears and nod my head every now and then the kids think I'm answering their questions. I think it's safe to assume that the reason they now are completely convinced we're going to have them a baby brother is due to the MP3 player.
--------------------
Ever been so tired that you know you need sleep, but you know that you really should take a shower and turn on the dishwasher and charge the batteries in the camera and double-check the back door to make sure it's locked? And you are exhausted - mentally and physically - yet you still have so much to do?
Yeah, me, too. But I'm still going to give sleeping the ol' college try. That dishwasher can run its bad self. I'm going to bed.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Big Blogger 2 - Task #6 - Urban Legend
Well, now that I'm back in the house and all it's time to get back into the swing of tasking. Or the task of swinging, whichever you prefer. I'm pretty open to anything.
This week, Guest Big Blogger Rachy has requested we come up with an urban legend and then tell y'all about it. So I'm going to go with a tried and true legend, the scariest legend of all to those that blog and have paranoid mothers -
Fitty (insert scary slasher movie sound effects here)
Oh yes, Fitty is a scary fella for sure. If you blog you are a target. No blogger is exempt. The threat is real, people. REAL! Just ask my mother.
Now, I have no proof to back this up, but stories say that not only will he kidnap you, chop you up into itty bitty pieces and stuff your grisly remains in a fifty-five gallon drum, but he's also been known to put possums in the dog food, snakes in your windows AND your bush. (The rosebush, people.) Yep, he's a force to be reckoned with, that Fitty.
I personally blame him for my ghostly happenings and if she were to admit it, Hillbilly Mom could probably blame him for her ghosts, too. No, Hillbilly Mom, they aren't Civil War soldiers or rogue indian spirits - they're Fitty's minions. Trust me on this one, friend. Be afraid.
Be
Very
Afraid.
The Asshats work for him, too. I'm telling you, folks, he's got connections. He's everywhere! He's everywhere! Just like Ray Stevens' The Streak.
Do you suffer from night sweats? Acne? The heartbreak of psoriasis? Flying ants? Constipation? My friends, these aren't just random illnesses and inconveniences - they are the work of Fitty. Trust me on this one.
So beware. When you blog, lock your doors, keep a gun by the keyboard and above all, don't be the dumb chick that checks out the mysterious noise behind the CPU. If you do, chances are you'll be his next victim. I don't want to open up Yahoo! News and see your tragic story. And more than that I don't want my mom to open up Yahoo! News and see your tragic story then call me to tell me that I'm next.
I also hear he's responsible for waist boobs.
Yes, he's that scary.
This week, Guest Big Blogger Rachy has requested we come up with an urban legend and then tell y'all about it. So I'm going to go with a tried and true legend, the scariest legend of all to those that blog and have paranoid mothers -
Fitty (insert scary slasher movie sound effects here)
Oh yes, Fitty is a scary fella for sure. If you blog you are a target. No blogger is exempt. The threat is real, people. REAL! Just ask my mother.
Now, I have no proof to back this up, but stories say that not only will he kidnap you, chop you up into itty bitty pieces and stuff your grisly remains in a fifty-five gallon drum, but he's also been known to put possums in the dog food, snakes in your windows AND your bush. (The rosebush, people.) Yep, he's a force to be reckoned with, that Fitty.
I personally blame him for my ghostly happenings and if she were to admit it, Hillbilly Mom could probably blame him for her ghosts, too. No, Hillbilly Mom, they aren't Civil War soldiers or rogue indian spirits - they're Fitty's minions. Trust me on this one, friend. Be afraid.
Be
Very
Afraid.
The Asshats work for him, too. I'm telling you, folks, he's got connections. He's everywhere! He's everywhere! Just like Ray Stevens' The Streak.
Do you suffer from night sweats? Acne? The heartbreak of psoriasis? Flying ants? Constipation? My friends, these aren't just random illnesses and inconveniences - they are the work of Fitty. Trust me on this one.
So beware. When you blog, lock your doors, keep a gun by the keyboard and above all, don't be the dumb chick that checks out the mysterious noise behind the CPU. If you do, chances are you'll be his next victim. I don't want to open up Yahoo! News and see your tragic story. And more than that I don't want my mom to open up Yahoo! News and see your tragic story then call me to tell me that I'm next.
I also hear he's responsible for waist boobs.
Yes, he's that scary.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
They don't party like they used to
Abby went home with Irish Divinity tonight after work. Kady and Sam went home with Tater after work.
Mr. Diva and I have the house all to ourselves. Did we immediately run in here to make wild, loud, passionate monkey-love? Did we get our shoes and my huntin' purse so we could make a casino run?
Nah.
Gosh, I hope we don't forget our Geritol before bed.
Mr. Diva and I have the house all to ourselves. Did we immediately run in here to make wild, loud, passionate monkey-love? Did we get our shoes and my huntin' purse so we could make a casino run?
Nah.
- We took the trash to the dumpster.
- We put flea stuff on the dog and pulled the most ginormous tick I've ever seen in my life out of his ear which made him yelp and pee all over the place.
- We discussed worming the cats, but neither of us felt suicidal.
- We leaned on the truck and talked about finishing the playhouse and various other tasks that need to be done before the new job starts.
- I waxed my upper lip.
- He watched COPS.
- Now we're going to watch Brokeback Mountain. IF we can both stay awake.
Gosh, I hope we don't forget our Geritol before bed.
A happy wife
I've been so dang busy lately that I haven't had a chance to tell all of Blogdom -
Mr. Diva quit his job at Wal*Mart!!!
He is now employed by Buffalo Run Casino.
The decision wasn't made hastily. He works a less desirable schedule for now. He also took a paycut by leaving the Big W, but he's already a happier person. A completely different person, to be honest. If you've never had a job that you hate going to every day, or been married to someone who hates their job, you probably don't have a clue what we've endured these last few years. If you've ever hated your job you know exactly what I'm talking about. He turned in his two weeks notice on Monday and because his boss turned bitch on him he went ahead and just took two weeks of vacation. (Hey, she's the one who started playing nasty.) He's already a different person. I kind of like him.
Case in point: He went to town today to pick up dog and catfood, diazinon for the front yard and some sugar. He came home with all of that - plus three Michael Buble' CDs for me.
I want him to get a new job every day.
Mr. Diva quit his job at Wal*Mart!!!
He is now employed by Buffalo Run Casino.
The decision wasn't made hastily. He works a less desirable schedule for now. He also took a paycut by leaving the Big W, but he's already a happier person. A completely different person, to be honest. If you've never had a job that you hate going to every day, or been married to someone who hates their job, you probably don't have a clue what we've endured these last few years. If you've ever hated your job you know exactly what I'm talking about. He turned in his two weeks notice on Monday and because his boss turned bitch on him he went ahead and just took two weeks of vacation. (Hey, she's the one who started playing nasty.) He's already a different person. I kind of like him.
Case in point: He went to town today to pick up dog and catfood, diazinon for the front yard and some sugar. He came home with all of that - plus three Michael Buble' CDs for me.
I want him to get a new job every day.
Let's go huntin'
Yes, it's a purse. It's my Huntin' Purse. At least, that's what Mr. Diva calls it. It's authentic RealTree Hardwoods. Hell yeah.
A friend of my mom's made her a purse awhile back - a cute little chambray thing with pretty foo-foo fringe. Tater and I both had commented on the purse so one night Mom took us to Wal*Mart and let us pick out fabric for purses of our own. Tater picked out floral and stripes. Very cute, very stylish, very Tater. I couldn't find anything I liked and trust me, we looked for a long time. I just happened to walk by the row that held all things camouflage and it hit me - a camo purse! So I picked up the bolt of fabric and took it to Mom's cart, dropped it in and said, "Let's go pick out some fringe to match." Mom and Tater both stood there, mouths hanging open, speechless.
Mom's friend finished the purses last week. She told Mom, "I sat down and put Tater's together and it turned out so cute. Kristin's, however.... I had to get drunk before I could even start."
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Hey, it's good to be back home again (Aka Big Blogger 2 Re-entry to the Cyberhouse Task)
No, I'm not channeling the late John Denver. I'm just expressing my extreme elation at being BACK IN THE CYBERHOUSE! Yep, that Big Blogger, she's a bit fickle at times, but she's got a big bloggin' heart. I'm just glad I could complete the task as she laid it out. Now, to completely complete the task by tellin' y'all just where in the heck I was for the week.
Well, as Big Blogger stated, I didn't go out that infamous one-way door to the Great Beyond. I, instead, spent the week hangin' out in
The Holding Room
(Which is not the be confused with the Diary Room [Or is it Dairy Room?] or the way-cool VanHalen-infused Basement or even the uber-magnificent Kitchen.)
Big Blogger escorted me through the mysterious door - if by "escorted" you mean grabbed me by the nape of the neck like a bouncer in a biker bar - and slammed the door behind me. It was dim inside and I was confused. Suddenly the lights came on and I was in virtually any redneck's idea of Heaven.
Oh yes, methinks that Big Blogger decorated the Holding Room just for the redneck in me. The diva was completely forgotten and the redneck was embraced with much fervor. The walls were painted a tan that would go with any variety of RealTree camo and the severed heads of many, many formerly-living wildlife-ish creatures adorned those walls. The couch was just like Larry the Cable Guy's - a rather garish piece of furniture with a quaint mill or barn or something on the cushions. I looked around, stunned at first, and blinked my eyes in disbelief. I felt like I was at home.
When my heart stopped pounding in my ears I heard the faint sounds of banjo music that were obviously being piped in through a magical redneck sound system. I wondered briefly if I was in hell when I heard the banjo twanging softly, but when the next song started and it was a Dolly tune, I knew that all was going to be okay. Now, granted I'm not a big Dolly fan like Hillbilly Mom, but still Dolly's much better than eternal banjo music.
The fridge against the far wall was not only decorated in bumper stickers saying, of course, "Git R Done" and "This Car Protected by Smith & Wesson" to name a few, but it looked like it was circa 1960. Yep, it was a true good ol' boy fridge. I figured that when I opened the door I'd be greeted with a case of Old Milwaukee and a package of bratwurst and I wasn't disappointed. Well, I was disappointed that it was Old Milwaukee and bratwurst, but at least it wasn't a van turkey. I popped the top and gagged down the amber liquid, wishing for a tall, grinning Coors Light instead. But there was none to be had, so I had another Old Milwaukee. After two, though, the Old Milwaukee started grinning at me, so it was okay.
Istaggered walked to the couch and kind of fell sat down. What was this? A remote? I pushed power and a TV the size of ..... the size of .....well, it was BIG! And what was it tuned to but The Outdoor Channel. Now, had I been sober I'd have been apt to turn it, but seeing as how I was getting drunker'n all get out and all alone with no one to hold my diva-ness accountable, I just laid back, belched loudly and learned all about which duck call works best and which brand of deer urine is "gare-on-teed" to bring 'em running to the service end of your gun begging to be shot and mounted. (Mounted on the wall. Not that kind of mounted. Not that there's anything wrong with that. Okay, wait. Yes, I gotta say there is something a bit wrong with that.)
I know Ipassed out fell asleep at some point and when I woke up I was covered up with a warm, comfy camouflage blanket and the fridge had been restocked with more redneck vittles, including pork n' beans and Little Debbie Cakes.
I pretty much lived this past week in a haze of cheap beer and wild turkey calls while I waited patiently for Big Blogger to let me back in. I'm not going to say it was a bad week. No, in fact, I rather enjoyed getting in touch with my redneck side a little more.
Upon entering the Cyberhouse once more I gathered up my sewing supplies and made myself a little something, just so I can always remember my week in The Holding Room. I've been trying to post a rassin' frassin' picture of it here for 15 minutes now and Blogger is being a real hassle, so I'm giving up for now. But rest assured, I'll post it as soon as I can.
Now, because it's become a bit of a habit, I'm going to have a beer and then go pass out on the couch with my hand stuck down in the waistband of my jeans and drift through my dreams with the sounds of deer in rut echoing in my head.
Well, as Big Blogger stated, I didn't go out that infamous one-way door to the Great Beyond. I, instead, spent the week hangin' out in
The Holding Room
(Which is not the be confused with the Diary Room [Or is it Dairy Room?] or the way-cool VanHalen-infused Basement or even the uber-magnificent Kitchen.)
Big Blogger escorted me through the mysterious door - if by "escorted" you mean grabbed me by the nape of the neck like a bouncer in a biker bar - and slammed the door behind me. It was dim inside and I was confused. Suddenly the lights came on and I was in virtually any redneck's idea of Heaven.
Oh yes, methinks that Big Blogger decorated the Holding Room just for the redneck in me. The diva was completely forgotten and the redneck was embraced with much fervor. The walls were painted a tan that would go with any variety of RealTree camo and the severed heads of many, many formerly-living wildlife-ish creatures adorned those walls. The couch was just like Larry the Cable Guy's - a rather garish piece of furniture with a quaint mill or barn or something on the cushions. I looked around, stunned at first, and blinked my eyes in disbelief. I felt like I was at home.
When my heart stopped pounding in my ears I heard the faint sounds of banjo music that were obviously being piped in through a magical redneck sound system. I wondered briefly if I was in hell when I heard the banjo twanging softly, but when the next song started and it was a Dolly tune, I knew that all was going to be okay. Now, granted I'm not a big Dolly fan like Hillbilly Mom, but still Dolly's much better than eternal banjo music.
The fridge against the far wall was not only decorated in bumper stickers saying, of course, "Git R Done" and "This Car Protected by Smith & Wesson" to name a few, but it looked like it was circa 1960. Yep, it was a true good ol' boy fridge. I figured that when I opened the door I'd be greeted with a case of Old Milwaukee and a package of bratwurst and I wasn't disappointed. Well, I was disappointed that it was Old Milwaukee and bratwurst, but at least it wasn't a van turkey. I popped the top and gagged down the amber liquid, wishing for a tall, grinning Coors Light instead. But there was none to be had, so I had another Old Milwaukee. After two, though, the Old Milwaukee started grinning at me, so it was okay.
I
I know I
I pretty much lived this past week in a haze of cheap beer and wild turkey calls while I waited patiently for Big Blogger to let me back in. I'm not going to say it was a bad week. No, in fact, I rather enjoyed getting in touch with my redneck side a little more.
Upon entering the Cyberhouse once more I gathered up my sewing supplies and made myself a little something, just so I can always remember my week in The Holding Room. I've been trying to post a rassin' frassin' picture of it here for 15 minutes now and Blogger is being a real hassle, so I'm giving up for now. But rest assured, I'll post it as soon as I can.
Now, because it's become a bit of a habit, I'm going to have a beer and then go pass out on the couch with my hand stuck down in the waistband of my jeans and drift through my dreams with the sounds of deer in rut echoing in my head.
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