So, This is Art

Many of you may not know, but the week after I got hitched, I bailed and went to Germany for 10 days. Fun, fun, fun don'cha know.

Anyway, I was in Hannover for a couple of days and managed (between the raindrops) to get out and do the tourist schlep. Grabbed a cab and took in Herrenhausen Gardens. Quite the impressive place actually. One could get lost up in there.

Figured I'd share with you what the German folk consider to be art, as they had an art exhibition in full gear within the garden gates whilst I was there. Enjoy.

Ok, so these are babydolls cocooned in Saran Wrap and hung in trees.
*scratches head* I still don't quite get it, but ok. Kinda creepy in a Blair Witch kinda way.

And this is an exhibit called (surprisingly) "Split Pea Soup & Beer"

In case you're wondering, the lil sign says no drinky the beer or do not touch or something to that effect.

This here is the Creme de la Creme. A Penis made out of a sticky bush. Nice. The exhibit was entitled "Sex".

Imagine that. I certainly could have done with a lil nookie after looking at a seven foot tall prickly penis.

And the grande finale photo is not actually part of the art exhibit, it was just one of the few flowers left that hadn't frozen it's stamen off yet.

It was cold and miserable that day, but the oversized penis... dayum, it really did make the whole thing worth it.

Cherry Poppin, Fart Wars, Makin Babies & Bankruptcy

You perverts!! I know you thought to yourself... "Ohhhh, Diva's done been rollin' in the woods again."

No. I'm a good Christian girl and I don't roll in the woods or anything of that nature. Not anymore anyway, I got married 2 months ago.

Oh, speaking of pervi-ness. It has come to my attention that I am NOT the only one around this place who had no clue what Half Nekkid Thursday was! Go me! Still doesn't mean I'm gonna tack my rack on my page. (Although it is more of a ragin' thing that I thought).

Anyhoo... the cherry I refer to is the Christmas song cherry. I am a complete and total karaoke junkie. Why, I dunno. It's not that I'm any good at it. I think it's the fact that I can go get hammered and make an ass out of myself and it not bother me.

So, I made the rounds over the long weekend to my favorite waterin' holes to partake in cold beer and greasy food whilst listening to all the other drunk monkies attempting to sing their own renditions of many-a-song. Sometimes can be scary, sometimes can be totally awesome, sometimes I need earplugs to keep from bleeding out my ears.

It's after Thanksgiving and not a single holiday ditty had been krooned. WTF? It's time to get in the spirit and make people accept the fact that they are going to spend more money than Hugh Hefner does on his playmates.

At both Ronnie's and Coyote Joe's, I popped the cherry on the beloved Christmas tune, by belting out Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. Actually, I only sang it because I felt the need to pull the Grinch out of my ass. I'm not sure if it worked yet.


Me and Big T called a truce on the fart war as he was getting way too serious and thinking of ways to smoke me out. I waved the red flag sometime on Saturday night when he was kicking my ass by close to 10 farts, er points.
Besides it was costing me too much in candles and air freshner to keep the house smelling fresh with that much shit flying.


I have been a really good girl the past couple of days. And Big T has been very cooperative! He's even trying to cut back and eat healthier with me as a show of support. Not sure how long he'll last before he caves and sneaks to Burger King for a grease bomb, but he's got my undying gratitude for not doing it in front of me.

I have sucked down ungodly amounts of water rather than Diet Dew and Diet Coke. I have kicked Taco Hell to the curb (last I heard, they're about to file bankruptcy). The fridge is filled with healthy crap like you'd find at a fat farm and we're actually eating it. My ass has even managed to hoof out 3+ miles a day on the treadmill at increasingly increasing speeds. Go me.

Swear to God, there is no way my ass is buying new fat clothes after I gave all the old ones away and done went out and bought all new smaller clothes last year. Not gonna do it.


On the baby makin' front, we gots a big fat strike out. No bun in the oven over here yet. I reckon since the doctor said my fat ass needs to lose a few pounds before actively pursuing baby makin. I have to admit I was sort of bummed out when I had to make my way to Walgreens for Midol, tampons and bon-bons (actually I got Diet Dew, not bon bons...).

I can only assume that I knew I wasn't pregnant because I had a wicked mean bout with PMS this week and felt like I was going to strangle several people for relatively small and mostly harmless offenses.


HNT - How much fun is that?

Hot damn! Even though I'm still relatively new at all this blogging stuff, I just figgered out what HNT means! Go me! HALF NEKKID THURSDAY!

If I wasn't such a pansy ass prude I'd slap a big bold picture of my ta-ta's up on this here website. But alas, we are not plucky enough to do such a thing. Although I'd consider it, because afterall Bottle Blonde swears it's ok to do and that's how she gets the traffic back to her page when things get a little laggy on her end of the world.

So, for now, I'll just be excited that I actually figured out what it means (cuz I was nozing around this page). All the web lingo kinda throws me off most of the time, so I get all giddy when I finally learn and retain something new.

Who knows, maybe one day when I'm all growed up I'll get a little more daring.


Only at THE Waffle House

There are some things that you just expect when you are on a 3am-after-party-food expedition. Granted at 3am, choice are limited to few establishments.

After partaking in my fair share of cold brew and closing down Coyote Joe's on Wednesday night, the whole load of us decided food was in order as it was late & we were packing a cool buzz. Never mind that my ass had to get up at 7:00am to finish brocolli casserole. So, personally, I was in need of coffee.

Where else would ya go at 3am on Thanksgiving morning for a little sobriety effort? Why, Waffle House, of course.

We wandered in giggling and cackling about anything and everything. All it takes for me to get tickled is enough beer and somebody else starting to laugh. No shit, laughing & yawning are contagious around me.

We finally played musical chairs long enough, got seated and our waitress came over. She was obviously annoyed that she was working and she was obviously even more annoyed that she was dealing with us. If you have to work that shift, at least make an effort to enjoy it.

Whatevers. This poor chick had the personality of a wet-sweat-sock. She took 2 of our orders, not speaking between, just sort of grunting at whoever happened to be next.

Just as she grunted toward #3, her cellie rang. The fact that she had her cellie on her was no big deal. Even the fact that it rang while she was waiting on us was no really big deal even. But when the bitch cut me off mid-order to answer it, now that just pissed me off. Her side of the conversation went this-a-way.

"I gotta answer this." She grunted as she lowered her head, still facing our table(presumably so her boss wouldn't see).

"Hello? Who is this? Who is this?" She acted like she didn't know who HE was.

"Who the hell is this, I'm at work and I have customers." Why the hell would you tell somebody you don't even know that you are currently at work and are waiting on them?

"Jesus, Robert. No, I'm not talking to anyone else." She DID know his ass.

"How can I be cheating if I'm working?" Apparently, Robert didn't have any faith that she was truly working. I guess that Waffle House distinct waffle and bacon smell being emitted by her apron wasn't enough proof.

Taucha, my drunk monkey friend, decideds she wants to talk to Robert. So, the waitress obliges (and takes another little bit of our order). After only 2.7 minutes, Taucha hands her the phone back and says to our lovely server, "Lose him, girl. He's a dick."

Mario getting on the phone didn't help. It made Robert believe that she really was in the cubicle of a bathroom bangin' the customers.

We all figured Robert would show up waving a semi-automatic threatening to blow up the Waffle House and everyone in it because in his head he believes that his girl was fucking us all.

Get a grip, pal. Let the girl bring home the bacon in piece you loser.


Turkey Porn and Giblets

Giblets. Who the hell named all the yack in a turkey "giblets" anyway?

And it's not that giblets aren't around any other time of year, but this would be the only time of year that I will actually touch and prepare an actual bird.

A note to all you kids who aren't savvy when it comes to turkey porn... When looking for the giblets, it is required that you stick your hand up the turkey's ass. There you will also find it's neck (please know I'm gaggin' over here just thinking about this). If you find a neck but no giblet package, pull your hand out of the turkey's ass, turn the turkey over, and shove your hand down it's throat. There you are sure to find that lovely little package of turkey gutz.

Trust me on this one kids, it happened to a really close friend of mine. You DO NOT want to bring your beautifully golden, perfectly tender turkey to the table for the ceremonial carving only to find a baked, crusty, brown bag full of nasty turkey goodies. It's just not a pretty sight.


Piss Off, Buzz Kill

I've finally figured out that most of my knee shaking epiphanies hit me while my ass is firmly planted on a bar stoll. This past weekend was, without doubt, no different.
I finally realized why, in fact, my past few months have been, how shall I say, like stink on shit.

Although I'm extremely happy with Big T, I feel like I have lost myself somewhere along the way... I've packed on 20 pounds since I got married and my clothes are too tight... which has led to me being severly annoyed at everything... which led to my lack of tolerance to drama in any circle in my life. I got enough drama dealing with my ever expanding ass to deal with anybody elses bull-caca.

I've decided that all the petty bullshit and disharmony must be flushed from my life like a Biore strip removes the blackhead on a super model's ass.

I was in the midst of three different people, on three seperate occassions, having three separate issues during the long weekend, who, for whatever their reason, seem to tote sadness, misery and all out drama in their purses.

Swear to God, after number 2 acted up, I was seriously considering becoming a recluse and avoiding all humanity until these three got it together. Jeez.

My advice to them, get happy. Nobody wants to be around somebody who can't smile and just share in the happiness. The world does not spin on its little axis simply for you to be in the center of it, no. Your problems are no bigger than anybody else's. Get a grip, get a job. It's life, get one.

There is absolutely no sense what-so-ever in all this crap.

How's that? I just needed to get that off my chest. I'll put on my hater blockers, go have some Chai Tea and meditate.


They've Recalled the Butterballs!

For those of you that don't know, Ms. Pat (Big T's mom) had a severe brain aneurysm on our wedding day. Then brain surgery 2 days later on October 1st. On October 5th, they called in the family with the grim news that they (the doctors and such) gave her less than a 50% chance of making it. She was placed on a ventilator and was being fed by tubes, basically surviving on life support. There wasn't much in the way of response at all. The awesome thing is, nobody gave up hope.

Now, on with the good stuff...

The home team scored one this weekend when Tony's mom got to come home both Saturday and Sunday on a "day-pass".

It works like this... they don't do any of the therapy sessions on the weekends, so they send her home to break her back in slowly to life with husband and puppy. They start the time clock around 10AM (I think) and she's allowed to be at home all day! Yay!

Only catch is, the rules and regs state the she has to be back at Patricia Neal by 9:00 PM. No exceptions, no excuses. If she didn't show back up by precisely 9PM, they send the dogs and lynch mob out to hunt her down and bring her back for multiple lashings with a wet noodle.

Anyway, me and Big T went up to see her while she was in her own surroundings, eating her own home cooked food. I don't give a shit what they say, there is no place like home to make one snap back to theirself.

When we got there, Big T told him Mom the joke of the day. Which made her cackle like a hen.

So, the women folk were sitting around the kitchen table as women folk commonly do and the men folk were congregated in the livingroom around the t.v., farting, burping and scratching their balls as men frequently do.

The phone rang and Ms. Pat answered it. It was T's neice Christine. Ms. Pat is back to her self. She decided to tell T's joke.

"Christine, honey, don't buy a Butterball Turkey this year. They've recalled 'em. Yah, they've been recalled. They forgot to butter the turkey balls."

In all seriousness, she's come so far in the last six weeks that they are actually kicking her loose today.

So, here's to Ms. Pat, getting out to enjoy the drama and stress of the holiday season!!! I honestly couldn't think of anything that sums up the Thanksgiving holiday, like the near loss of a loved one turned upside-down by an obvious miracle.

Give thanks, Kids. You never realize how important your family is to you until an eye-opening asskicker happens.


I'm Cookin with Gas Now, Baby!

I'm officially cookin with gas now... No, I don't mean the fumes that burst periodically out of T's butt from the fart war. No, I'm actually steppin in high cotton now, kids. T acquired me a new, gas grill yesterday. Ain't it cool? I pity those ladies who get flowers and jewelery. Sheer chicken perfection came off that bad boy last night. Beautifully sliced for fajitas which I shall scarf down for lunch today.

In other flatulent news, Me and Big T have been in a fart war for a little over a week. Yah, I know, that's not lady like and totally sick. Just so you know, he started that shit...(hahaha). It has been scientically proven that, in fact, my shit does NOT stink and his could peel the paint off the walls. Please don't look down on me for being childish and obscene. Thanks!
Running score: Tony 5, Me 4

How do you keep a marriage fresh? Make time to go on a date together. Get rid of the kiddies and get 'r dun. After Big T and Me saw his mom Saturday night and dropped the boy off. We were feelin a little froggy. We went to Shoney's for their sinfully rich-half frozen tasty treat... Hot Fudge Cake. Actaully it wasn't a bona-fide date, but I told him I was goin for something sweet and yummy and that I wasn't driving not even 1/10 of a mile farther until I got loaded up with some coffee.
Still yet, we had some alone time to make fun of all the people making mountain sized salads.

The Holiday Spirit kicked me right square in the ass over the weekend. I got all holly and jolly and started up with the Christmas decorations. No, I'm not redneck enough that I'm going to light them up just yet. I'm just pre-decorating in an effort to be the tackiest, most well lit house in the neighborhood. Go me! I've got more than 3,500 little twinkle lights and I fully intend to utilize every single one of them. (Once I get in the running for Tackiest Decorations of 2007, I'll post some pix).


S.O.S. (Taco Bell's a-goin bankrupt)

I lost 70 pounds last year. I gave away all of my "fat clothes" and went on a serious shopping spree. Then BAM! All of my newly acquired, smaller sizes are officially snug to the point that my eyes feel like they're gonna pop out when I try to button my jeans. I've packed 30 pounds back on.

I went down to a sexy, curvy 16. REOW. Ooops, I've managed to get back up somewhere between a big 18 and a small 20. I'd be totally fine if it wasn't for Taco Bell and chinese food.

No, I don't want any cheese to go with my whine... LOL. I swear to Larry, Curly & Moe that I'm not whining at all. I'm just letting you kids know that if you hear me talking about bean burritos, custard Krisy Kreme donuts or sesame chicken w/eggroll, you can kick my ass for me and remind me that I should be in step class, not the fast food line. See how it works?

I'll be honest, afterall, I'm amongst friends. I'm flat lazy and wussed out of going to the gym like I should have.

I loved the gym and looking at all the hot dudes with well defined legs and massive arms. Hell, I even loved looking at the hottie girls that have dedicated their gym time to maintaining that hottiness. I know that ain't right, but remember I'm being honest here. Whoever says people don't pay attention to the other people in a gym is full of shit.

So, today I started out very well. I got up this morning, packed my bag and went to the gym immediately after work. I trotted at a leisurely 3 to 3.5 MPH on the treadmill. I managed to crank out just under 3.5 miles before I decided I'd had enough. Made me want to throw up on the extremely fit fella right next to me that was running his ass off and didn't even get out of breath. But, then again, who's fault is that? I think I cursed myself to gain the weight back when I wrote that friggin blog about gluttony.

So boys and girls... Wish me luck. Wish me back into a sexy size.

Prayers for my PooPooPeDoo

Howdy kids. My daughter called me last night and told and asked me what she should do with Tyler, my lil angel of a grandson. She said he was spiking a bigtime temperature and he couldn't catch his breath. Turns out he was taking 50+ breaths per minute, which is way too much for a 2 year old.

After spending the evening at the ER, they told us he has pneumonia. Apparently, a kid can go from slight sniffles sans snot and goo to pneumonia in no time flat.
So, his right lung is kinda jacked up and he's taking a shit-pot of munchkin strength anti-biotics and breathing treatments.

Of course, no pneumonia epidemic is gonna get him down. Absolutely not. He was still raisin' all hell in the waiting room and wasn't diggin that nurse trying to take his vitals during check-in. It was all over when Natalie tried to strip him down to get him in a sexy, midget sized hospital gown. It pissed him off even more that he was getting a draft on his ass.

Keep my lil angel in your prayers, please. Even though he's still full of piss and vinegar, pneumonia is an ass-kicker.

Somebody Please 'Splain This To Me??

How in the hell do folks roll in a vehicle when the music is so damn loud I can hear it from inside my office when they are a mile or more away??

Why am I concerning myself with such petty bullshit on a Friday afternoon, you ask?

Well, friends and neighbors, I'll tell ya why. I just got set off like I have a fire cracker up my ass and it's the 4th of July.

We have had our office location for nearly 7 years. We are located between Fade to Black Barber Shop and Vogue Hair Salon. Our only source of entertainment here is to watch the old ladies wander in and out of their weekly hair appointments and listen to the drama/comedy coming from the barber shop next door.

But,what really pains me like a full on titty twister in cold ass weather is when the good 'ol boys next door come driving up with that shit blarin' so loud that it rattles the windows in my office, not to mention their whole damn car.

I've even had customers (mind you I work with Doctors and Researchers and other esteemed individuals worldwide) ask me why I don't turn my music down before I bother the answer the phone.

I've busted out the front door of our office and sneered dirty looks that way. How fucking hard is it to have a little common sense and public decency to turn that shit down to the point where your whole car isn't shaking along with the ground under it.

I've come to the conclusion that these kids have something to prove to one another. In addition, the music gets cranked way loud right in front of said barber shop, because I reckon they feel it impressive to the rest of humanity.

Personally, I think the louder and more abnoxious the music is, the smaller the dick of said music master is.

Asshat of the Day: Timberland

I am the type of person who requires some sort of white noise in the background at all times. The news on while I'm cooking, the stereo on while I'm scrubbing the toilet, or even just the radio on while I'm driving.

I was transporting my 16-year-old daughter to school today when Timberland's, "The Way I Are" came piping through the speakers. Have you ever listened to the words of this song? It's a duet about a scrub and some skanky chick's acceptance of his scrubiness.

I would like to take a moment to address Timberland and clear the air about what is acceptable, and what is not.

It goes a little somethin' like this:

*Verse 1* (Timerland)
I ain't got no money
I ain't got no car to take you on a date
I can't even buy you flowers
But together we'll be the perfect soulmates
Talk to me girl

Ok, first, if you have no money and no car, what are you gonna do? Are you gonna walk to my house with the intentions of gettin' a little lovin'? And trust me, even if you were lucky enough to hitch a ride with a homey, even if you hit the bell with flowers in your hand, you still ain't gettin none. And to even consider that we might be soulmates is blasphemy. Soulmates are connected. I gots a job, I gots a ride. Accept your destiny, pal, walkin and beatin off.

*Bridge* (The chick)
Oh, baby, it's alright now, you ain't gotta flaunt for me
If we go there, you can still touch my love, it's free
We can work without the perks just you and me
Thug it out 'til we get it right

Now, I'm no gold-digger by any means. But, if the boy ain't got a job, money, or car, what hell would he have to flaunt in the first place? And to think she's gonna consider "going there" with him... for free... without the perks? What perks? Massage oil? Happy Jack Rabbit? Sweet Jesus. I am going out on a limb here... she's got to be very horny and/or very desperate to reproduce.

Let's skip her part from here on out. It's repetition of the previous desparation and her forgiveness of his slackeristic nature. Let us explore the remaining 2 verses of this mockery of man-li-ness.

*Verse 2*
I ain't got no Visa
I ain't got no Red American Express
We can't go nowhere exotic
It don't matter 'cause I'm the one that love you best
Talk to me girl

I wouldn't care much that there is no plastic, so long as he has a J-O-B that results in some sort of cash flow. It's nice if a man has the money to give birthday and Christmas presents that aren't from a Cracker Jack box along with small tokens of his affection through-out the year.
No exotic trips? It's mandatory to go somewhere to have sex, other than ones own bedroom, at least occassionally. A trip to the Keys. A trip to Vegas. Sex is good in Vegas. But, still he spouts that he's the one she loves best. Again, most likely her poor self image. Get therapy.

*Verse 3* (The finale)
Baby girl, I don't got a huge ol' house I rent a room in a house
Listen baby girl, I ain't got a motorboat but I can float ya boat
So listen baby girl, once you get a dose of D.O.E. you gon' want some mo'
So listen baby girl, when I make it I want you back, want you back, yeah

He rents a room. Nice. A room in a house where other people live. Which means either the home owners are going to hear the headboard bangin' and the naughty sounds coming from the room or we'll only be gettin busy in my house. Uh. No.
No boat floating from you until you get a job, a car, flowers, some select pieces of jewelery.

They Grow Up So Fast...

My youngest clone is 16 years old. She and her friends are so much more "grown up" than me and my friends were at her age. All we really cared about was ditching school to go to the beach, sneaking a cigarette now and then, and other stupid crap.

These guys talk about saving the world, like the little tree huggers they are.
They talk about saving the rain forest. They talk openly about so many things.

I guess I'm the type of mom who, for better or worse, never kept any secrets from my kids. I've never pretended that smoking, drugs, alcohol, or sex don't exist in their worlds. I took the preemptive approach of actually telling my kids the pros/cons - good/evil of these things.... and from a young age.
All of these things were unthinkable and taboo in our house when I was growing up.

Don't get me wrong. I don't encourage my kids to smoke it up, drink it down and knock boots. Quite the contrary. I encourage them not to do any of it, at least the youngest one and her friends (who still listen).

I just think it to their advantage if they know they can talk to me about anything and that I will be there for them and they won't be treated as if they have the plaque and be banned from my sight for being human.

With that in mind... the youngest and her lil friend designed and baked me a penis for my bachelorette party. Dear Lord.


Telemarketer - The Tables Are Turned

** The name of the company in question has been changed.

Ok, kids. I have been doing my bestest trying to be nicer to people. This has been going on for some time now. However, nothing gets the better of me than those annoying ass automated phone calls from Joe Solicitor. Or the calls you get from Sally Salesperson where they ask for you by first name and try to act like an acquaintance... Dayum. I thought that shit was borderline illegal on a harassment level.

Anyway, today I turned the tables. I got an automated call from "Kelly". She was offering us the moon and stars and possibly the sun too if we would "press one to stay on the line for a representitive".

So, I press one. I hold for a brief 20 seconds or so, expecting "Kelly" will pick up personally and explain to me this great pitch of hers. A pitch I intended to let her waste her time giving before asking to have all of our business numbers removed from her bullshit auto-dial system.

All that went out the window, when rather than "Kelly", some deep voiced, crankity, old british dude picked up.

"You're not Kelly." I say to him, agast that the wool was pulled over my eyes.

"No, that was a recording. Are you interested in learning more." He blurts out in harsh monotone.

"Uh. No. Actually. I'm really, really tired of you people calling us and would like you to remove our number from your database."

"Done." He said as he disconnects my call.


God bless *69. I annoy the shit out of many-a-telemarketer when I can actually get my hands on the number they called from.

So I dial *69 and get the number. I press each digit and the little british weasel that hung up on me answered.

**"First Asshat" He answers.

"Yah. I was connected to you to be removed from your call list and you hung up on me." I lament.

"Well, I didn't hang up, but you have been removed." He sneers.

"How the hell am I removed when you only called one of our numerous numbers, sir? Can you explain that? Do you have a list with every company that notes every number within that company?"

I'm ready to fight with him by this time.

"We have them." He hangs up again.

So, me (being me), I dial them up again.

"First Asshat" It was some uptight manly sounding british woman this time.

"I'm calling to be removed from your call list."

"Yes, that's why I answered, I heard the conversation with my employee." She says.

"It's pretty simple. Remove all of our numbers, now, or I will call you 500 times a day until Jesus comes back." I tell her.

"They will be removed." She retorts as SHE hangs up on me.

Needless to say, I have spent the last hour randomly picking up the phone, dialing the number and saying...

"Hi it's me. Only XXX number of the promised calls left today."

I kind of wonder if I can get in trouble for it. If anybody would like to have the same big ball of fun as I am, and help me annoy the shit out of these people, I'd be glad to share the phone number with ya.

Happy dialing!



Or not. It might just be my man snoring as he sleeps. I was blog browsing today when I came upon a blog by Zoning Out Again - Can A Uvuvla Be Cut Out While Someone Sleeps? and it brought back memories of nights that border on semi-insanity.

First, I am so glad that I am not the only person who has a semi-glazed look on her face sometimes from a lack of a good nights sleep.

Second, Anthony still swears I'm insane because he's never heard himself snore. But he does. He must be deaf if can't hear that.

Actually, he was a sport and went to the sleep clinic to get it all checked out after this particular night.

When Tony and I first started dating, we generally would see each other when we could. Then we progressed to staying weekends at one another's house, since we lived nearly an hour away from each other.

We had went to bed after we had watched a movie and cleaned up the kitchen from dinner. We lay there all snuggled and quiet when it started. At first it was just deep, deeep, deeeeeeep breathing. But after about 5 minutes, it sounded and felt like an earthquake. After lying there for a few minute and assessing the situation, I realized he would breath in really deep, quit breathing then exhale. This attibuted to the volume of the snoring itself.

Well, the snoring set off the dogs, which are caged at night. The two dogs took turns howling and barking. I got up, opened the door and they barked even louder.

So, there I am, in fairly unfamiliar territory, in my PJs, standing in a scary dark hallway with two caged and barking dogs.

I covered my ears and closed my eyes, but when I opened them, I was still there. It's not a dream. He'd snore in really loud, the dogs would freak and bark like crazy. All of this at 1:30 am.

I made my way down the hall to the couch only to find his son sleeping there instead of his bedroom. So, I went in his room to find my daughter had called claim on the bed, which is why the boy was on the couch to begin with.

By this time, the symphony of loud snoring and dogs barking was making me insane. I really thought I was losing my mind, since all this racket didn't seem to be bothering anybody else.

I had no other choice. I had to escape. I fumbled around and found my way back to the bedroom. Somehow I located my purse and shoes by the side of the bed. I grabbed the small throw blanket from the bottom of the bed and took off. Back down the dark and scary hallway I went. Feeling my way along until I made it to the back door. Yes! I made it! This was December and it was cold out.

I found my keys in my purse and got in the car. I fired up the car, cranked up the heat, pulled the blanket over my me. No sounds but the sound of the radio as low as it would go and me still be able to hear it.

Somewhere around dawn, Tony realized I was gone, but saw the headlights shining through the livingroom window. He came outside to find out what had happened, so I told him.

Needless to say, he made the appointment and went to the doctor over it. He told the doctor he had to fix it or I'd never marry him.

Ain't that the sweetest thing you've ever heard???


These Boots Ain't Made For Walking....

It's Monday. In most cases, that would be enough. Not today. Actually my head started to spin around last night thanks to my wonderful, caring EX-husband. But, that's another story all-together now isn't it?

No, today (after last night), I decided to:
-- get up early - check
-- drink some coffee - check
-- Have a nice long shower - check
-- Do my do - check (thank God for Aussie Freeze)- check
-- Actually put on some war paint - check

and be somebody and have a great day...

Yah, right.

I managed to amp up on caffeine, have a shower and look like somebody today. Most days, I go to the office looking scary because who the ever comes in our office? Not a damn soul but the UPS guy and he's used to seeing me look like something my cat just yacked up.

All is going well, I main-lining my Juan Valdez coffee, I get dressed and look pretty damn good for a Monday, drop my purse and coffee cup on the end table so I can run up to the kitchen and grab my lunch. I get back downstairs, I stick my lunch in my purse, grab my coffee and out the door I go. So far, so good, eh?

Well, not so much because as I hear that click that signifies the door is indeed shut and LOCKED, I realize my damn keys are in the house... Figures.

"Damn!" I said out loud to myself and the trees. "No biggie. I'll just call OG and she can pop over and get me."

It was already 8:30 and since 8:30 is merely a suggested time to get to work, I knew I wouldn't be able to reach OG for at least another few minutes.

"Good grief. Here they fucking come." I muttered to myself standing in the middle of the driveway.

THEY are my nosy neighbor and her moppy looking muts. I can't stand her or them. She's the one neighbor that everybody has. She knows everything about everybody in the neighborhood well exeption for us, we avoid her like the plague.

I saw them coming at me, barking like there's no tomorrow. I looked at the one taking a shit the neighbor across the street's yard and looked up to see NOSY in her front yard, yelling "No jump! No jump!" Whatever.
Those dogs don't understand plain English because they still run and jump all over anybody that has the balls to walk anywhere on our road when she has them out.

I looked her dead in the eye and gave her my "you're a skank" glare her before I made a snap decision to take off and walk to work.

Off I went, thinking I'd make it a little ways, be away from psycho neighbor and her muts, I'd get hold of OG in a few minutes and she'd come get me. I try her again.

"Hey. Come get me. I'm a dork, I locked all the keys in the house..."

"Dude," she said in a solemn tone, "You just take this like a man. But you're F-U-C-K-E-D."

I'm automatically assuming some more fresh cooked drama is coming my way.

"I rode my bike to work today." She concludes. Excellent, no drama, but it appears I'm walking the 6 miles to work today in these friggin shoes.

They are Gloria Vanderbilt and they were expensive. These are the most comfy slides I own. However, I don't think Gloria had me walking to work in them. Cuz after the first mile and a half, my dang dogs were barkin.

I made many personal observations on my trek this morning.

1. I shouldn't wear silky, thin pants in fall. It's fucking cold and I might get locked out of the house.

2. I really, really don't like my neighbor. Her dogs shit in everybody's yard but their own (trained to do so by their proud owner I assume).

3. Random people who walk along the river in Oak Ridge are super friendly. I suppose I exchanged 10 smiles and at least that many "hello" and "Good mornings".

4. Our ex's are never going to go away. They are part of our pasts and we just have to learn to deal with it.

5. I can indeed do two things at once. I can walk and text at the same time.

6. People really do throw some nasty stuff on the side of the road. For example:
some dude chucked his Joe Boxer tighties out the window... Ewwwww...

7. There is too much roadkill for a Monday morning... The count goes a little somethin like this:

* One disemboweled and half masticated deer (bllluch)
* Two squished baby skunks
* A racoon that had just been plowed down
* A poor bunny rabbit that being eaten by crows

Ah, but... ya gotta love a Monday.



Happy Birthday Big T

Tony's birthday was Tuesday, but we started celebrating over the weekend. When there's a birthday, it lasts through the weekend before or after, sometimes both... cuz that's the way we roll.

So, last Saturday, it just so happened that his favorite bluegrass pickers were in Maryville for their final show of this year!! Go BlueMoon Rising! You saved the day, boys, because I had no idea what to get my man, the who has every-damn thing.

So, we ventured to the Palace Theater for a knee slappin, toe tappin helluva time.
They did two one hour sets and at half time they took the time to wish Tony a Happy Happy Birthday from the stage. They also signed a t-shirt for him wishing him a good one!

On his birthday Tuesday, he was Hooter'd. He'd never been to Hooter's before and it's one of my favorite places to go.

Who doesn't love tits and ass? (Oh God, if that didn't sound sexist.. wait I'm not a man)...


Paging Dr. Tony

I’m sure everybody knows that Tony’s mama got really, really, REALLY sick on the day we got married. It is amazing, incredible even to see Ms. Pat now and how incredibly far she’s come along since that day. Had I known the day we got married, before I walked down the aisle, that she wasn’t there I’d have postponed the whole damn thing again (yah, yah Spanky, you’d have won the bet again). But I didn’t know until I actually walked up to Tony and they played the first song in the ceremony that she was even sick.

By 4:30 that afternoon, Tony’s brother called and said that Tony needed to come to make Ms. Pat go to the hospital because she was “out of it” and really, really ill. We made it to Methodist Medical Center, where they quickly found out she had suffered a life threatening aneurysm and needed to be transferred to Univeristy of Tennessee hospital immediately. They did surgery and it honestly appeared that things weren’t going so well and the outlook was grim.

That was six weeks ago. Today she is in EXCELLENT shape! The first thing she got back was her since of humor. When asked “Mom, how do you feel?”

She’d shoot back, “With my fingers.”

She is breathing and eating without any assistance from machines, which 6 weeks ago she could not have lived without.. Her right side is getting stronger and stronger by the day. She has improved so much that she has been moved from UT to Patricia Neal Rehab Center where she’s walking with parallel bars and peddlin’ her ass off on the bikes. GO MS. PAT!

So, we were there to visit her last night. Tony keeps her laughin all the time, which is what she needs for sure. Nobody needs to be sad and worried anymore!! She’s made it through the bad stuff already.

We walked into her room and Leacha is sitting on the end of the bed with her. I took the real chair and Tony got to sit on the portable shitter.

“Damn, mom.” He says. “If you’re not careful on this thing, you’ll shit on your shoes.”

It’s always so good to see her smile and laugh.

As it turns out, Ms. Pat had found out what all had happened to her in the last six weeks yesterday. When we got there, Tony’s sis (Leacha) asked his mom to tell him what had happened.

She looked at Leacha really sad, then over to him still really sad, like she was afraid she’d scare him if she told him.

“He already knows what happened, Mom. He just wants to hear you tell him so he knows you know what happened.” Leacha told her.

Ms. Pat looks over at Tony, still worried, “Well, they told me I had a brain aneurysm and that I was real sick.”

“Yah. You were pretty serious, Mom.” Tony pets her arm. “You know how that happened don’t you?” He asked her all serious like.

“No.” She tells him as we all sit and wait for his professional diagnosis.

“Well, it happens when people hold in their farts.” He explains. “If ya don’t let it out, then it travels up and causes real problems.”

“That’s your son.” Leacha tells her.

Ms. Pat laughed to hard to say anything back.

Thank God for Dr. Tony and his warped since of reality.

The Love of a Sarcastic Mother

I was sitting in my office today when a friend of mine sent me a text message on my phone that had little hearts and said "I love you". At the bottom it instructed me to send it on to all of my friends. So, I did. I sent that bad boy to everybody, including my teenaged boy, who hates that kind of crap.

About 20 minutes later, my phone rang.

"Hola!" I answered. I have caller ID so I knew it was my boy, Matt.

"Hey! Guess what!!!!" He said, all giddy and excited like.

"Uh... what?" I played along.

"My phone's workin!!!" He exclaimed.

You see my boy has a really bad habit of tossing, flipping, pitching his phone..(along with other various forms of abuse). About two weeks ago, the phone, in an act of ultimate retribution, just up and quit working. He could still send and receive text messages, but not talky talky.

"No shit?!?!" I get giddy with him. "You mean the phone you called me from works?!?!?"

"Ha. Ha. Ha." he retorts. "But I wanted to let you know."

"Well, very cool, baby. I'm glad its workin." I tell him.

And I am genuinely glad it's working because he's been on an "I want a new phone" kick for about 2 months now. So right at this second, he's thrilled to have one he can speak into and hear from.

Then it hits me that he's calling from school, because I can hear all the chatter of teenaged boys in the background. So I ask him, "Why the hell are you in school?"

"Cuz we're rednecks and apparently we don't vote up here." He says as serious as can be.

"Did you get my text message?" I ask him all lovey dovey.

"Yah. Yah." He says trying to put me off like teenage boys do when they are confronted with the "L" word.

"Well? Do you love me, dammit?" I push out of sheer enjoyment knowing he was squirming in front of his buddies.

"Come on, Matthew. You can say it." I prod.

"Oh, God." He said. "I gotta go."

"Fine. Love you." I tell him. He knows I really do love him.

"Ya. Ya. Bye." He said and hung up. I'm pretty sure his eyes were rolling in back of his head too.

That's ok. He has to come home sometime.

Santa's Sexy In His Jockey Shorts

You know, for the past decade, I kept thinking to myself "Damn. Christmas seems to come earlier and earlier every year. I thought it was only in my head because I am simply annoyed by how commercial Christmas has become.

I took note, back in August no less, that as soon as Wal-Mart took out the swimming pools and other summer items... in came the Christmas stuff. IN AUGUST! Before even halloween had time to come and go.

Pisses me off, the money-grubbing devil stores peddle as much as they can for as long as they can. And what really slays me is the fact that, everytime I'd pass through lawn & garden, even back in late summer, there were people buying that shit up. It wasn't on sale, it was just out on display and for sale at regular prices.

Now I don't know about you, but I certainly don't want my house decorated with little elves and the like that early in the year. I'm the type that as soon as Christmas is over, I'm ready to jerk the ornaments down and sling the tree in the yard.

What I think should happen is, since the the stores have all the Christmas crap out that early, the Salvation Army should round up sexy bell ringers and have them out there in the heat of summer in a Santa-like underwear or a swimsuit made of red velvet with white trim.


Refreshed, Rejuvenated, Renewed

I'm working on finding my sarcasm again after losing it somewhere between the altar and Germany. In hindsight, I don't actually think I ever lost it. I think somehow it got kicked in the corner, or under my dresser with the dust-bunnies when I started having girl problems. Nothing like some girl issues to jack one's system completely up. None-the-less, I started to feel my sassy self coming back to life.

Honey, I've Been Violated... again

"Baby!" I hear Tony calling out as he comes down the stairs to the bathroom where I was in the shower.

"Baby?!?!" He calls out again before bursting into the bathroom.

"What's wrong?" I ask him reaching for the towel.

"Well, that damn cat. That damn cat keeps on bothering me." He says shaking his head.

"What'd she do this time, baby?" I asked, as this is quite a normal conversation in our combined domicile.

"Well, I went up there to see if the cheesecake was thawed out, and she was trying to get it. I had to push her fat ass off the table just to get to it. She went down swingin. It was like she was trying not to let me get it." He says, serious as can be. "I think she's got something against me."

"No baby, she's a psycho. It's not just you. She attacks anybody and everybody. She's an equal opportunity hater." I try to mend his feelings.

"That's not all she did, baby." He laments.

"Ok. Tell me." I roll my eyes as I towel dry my hair.

"Then I decided I had to pee, and she followed me in there." He goes on, "She jumped up on the toilet as soon as she saw me go in there. And I shewed her down, so she jumped up on the sink and she started swatting my butt while I tried to pee."

"She's always hung out in the bathroom, Tony. She's not out to get you."

"But the cat violated me. She was grabbin my ass while I was in a vunerable position. I was tryin to pee!" He protests.

"Well, baby. All I can tell you is to keep your back to her or she's liable to swat somethin else."

Adreneline Bubble Has Burst...

Just down in the dumps. Don't feel good. Blah. Miserable and on a self serving pity party.