whiskey in my sippy cup

Why the heck are you still HERE?

We're all over at the new joint. Won't you join us?

I know NOTHING about feeds, but I tried to transfer y'alls feeds and it spit at me. Here's the new feed:


Subscribe to the NEW blog in a reader

Movin' on up

So, yeah, I broke up with Blogger. I haven't actually told Blogger this yet, so keep it on the down-low, K?

Andy at World Wide Rant cleaned out a closet for me, and Judith Shakespeare kindly let me hit her in the head with my stupid-stick for a month or so, and though the curtains aren't quite up yet, we do have toilet paper and beer, so come on over...

Whiskey in my Sippy Cup. Dot COM, baby! Take 4. I swear I'll stop moving.

If loving you is wrong...

...then I am so very, very wrong.

A typical Friday night at Chez Mr Lady:

• Dinner
• Movies
• Harrass OHMommy on gmail chat

Last night?

That's right. I brushed my teeth and went out with girls. My neighbor had a birthday this weekend, and we spent the night drinking our dinner straight up schwanky-style.

In celebration of doing it like the humans do, my recipe this week is for Stay at Home Mommy Martinis, aka Shit-tons of Coffee Martinis. All you have to do is....

• Combine 2 oz Vanilla vodka (use Stoli or something equally or more not-sucky)
• 1 oz Kahlua
• 3 tbsp brewed and chilled espresso (me likey the Starbucks)
• 1 tbsp sugar
• 3 espresso beans to garnish, if you're feeling fancy-pants

Shake the crap out of it. Use a martini shaker or, dare I say it, a sippy cup without the pluggy thing in it*, filled with ice. You want to shake it, like, 30 times so it gets a little frothy.

Pour it in a chilled martini glass and go drunk dial someone.

So, what did you drink cook for dinner this week?

*Dudes, they make the VERY BEST martini shakers. Try it; you'll see.

Entirely not appropriate

Today, I would like to share a post with you that I wrote just about a year ago today. Melissa as Such Simple Pleasures invites bloggers to re-post an old story from their archives on Saturdays. Here's my post from one year ago yesterday:

Today is the day one of my 157th* period. That number should be a lot higher, but I got to take of a lot of months off due to some fantastically awesome birth control, and a lot more months due to some fantastically failed birth control. Nursing took a chunk out of that number. So, in almost 19 years, I have pulled off only having to do this shit 157 times.

And after 19 long years of reproductivity, of mature womanhood, I have but one thing to say:

This shit still motherfucking sucks. I have a goddamn inner-tube of pain. Grrrr.

But, being National Compliment Day, I will be cheery and nice while I eat a whole carton of Bon Bons and chase it with a bag of the saltiest chips money can buy.

Ready?

Wow, you are totally awesome. You are so funny and witty and nice. Did I mention cute? Dude, you are way smoking. The pants make you ass look fantastic! Did you do something different with your hair? New pomade? Are those highlights going on in there? Whatever it is, keep doing it for sure. You don't look a day over 28, seriously! And that thing you said the other day? Sheer poetry. You simply blow my mind. How did I ever get so lucky as to have you for a friend?

*Yes, I actually busted out a calculator for this post. Sad, isn't it? Any hobby suggestions?

Good to know that not much has changed in a year, huh?

Valentine's applications are still rolling in!

This is exactly why I have grey hair

Remember the other day when I got my shiny new carpets in? Remember how happy I was? How totally AWESOME it was? How I had such grand visions for the future of the basement?

Apparently, I am psychic.

This morning, my lovely, beautiful, darling daughter wanted to watch Babe. We toddled down the stairs to the basement and while she enjoyed her bowl of scrumptious blueberries, I searching in earnest for her movie. I aim to please. After 5 minutes of searching, I turned to her to tell her I couldn't find Babe and she would just have to suffer through Monsters Inc, and what did I spy with my little eye?

That chump had throw her blueberries all over the brand new almost white carpets and was making wine out of them.

Did you know that tiny little size 8 feet are the perfect size to extract ALL the gooey, blue, tannic juices from your berry of choice?

Now you do.

Day one

Just 6 days ago, I celebrated my third Blogoversary. I really meant to mention it, but I was a bit busy getting, oh, 1/3 of my house back. I guess I'm supposed to type a 100 things about me post, but really? 100? I tried that once and by the time I got to 33, I was talking about the direction my chin hair grows in. I'm just going to do you a favor and spare you all that.

I did, however, go back and read my very first post. Let me tell you, it's profound. Earth shattering. It's amazing that I didn't get picked up by some company looking for the World's Best Blogger right then and there. Wanna read it? Brace yourselves....

Well, this is my first official post.
Not much to say right now.
So hi, and see you soon!

Please, hold your applause. I'll be signing autographs at the end of the show.

Sometimes, when I find a blog that I particularly like, I go snooping. I don't read all the archives; I have been trying to read my OWN archives for a year straight now and haven't done it. Maybe I just bore myself. Bygones. I like to read the first posts people have written, however many years ago. Because I have nothing BETTER to do, that's why.

Anyway, in honor of my Happy 3rd, I thought I'd share some of my favorite first posts I had stumbled on. Some that are one bazillion times better than I could have ever pulled off.

• Suburban Kamikaze. I do not talk about her enough over here. She is, hands down, the funniest mom blogger I have EVER read. Here's her very first post. It's the perfect demonstration of her, her writing, her family.
• David. Zombyboy. My one true love. This shit makes my heart sing. I am fully aware that this is probably NOT David's first post, but it is the first one I could find aside from this page that I can't get a good link to, and it was exactly everything I'd hoped it would be.)
• I was trying to pick a little quip out of Anne Nahm's first post for you to read, but my little quip turned into a rather large paragraph and so I flipped a coin. A heavily weighted coin. I "randomly" chose this:

  Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuckit. And poop-damn-fart. There. The gentle vibration you feel in your seat is my grandfather rolling in his grave.

  Anne, dude, don't you EVER change.
• The last one I'm going to link you to is actually the catalyst for this whole post. Sometimes people start blogging with introductions, like I did. Sometimes, people swear. Sometimes, people just start talking. Kelly just started talking. Like we were all standing around the water cooler. The day I read this post was the day I got hooked into her blog. She could draw scribbles in Microsoft Paint every day if she wanted on her blog, and I would keep coming back, looking for another one of these:

  I never go anywhere without my cell phone. At work, the gym, the shower, the
  phone is always at my side. I'm waiting on a call. Not just any call. The call
  that will change everything. The call from our birthmother telling us that a son
  has been born.

  How's that for a first line? The whole post just gets better and better. I encourage you to go read it. It's beautiful.

If you all really have to have the 100 things posts, you are more than welcome to write 100 things about me and I will smack it straight in the sidebar. Just sayin'. ;)

Oh, I'm still looking for a Valentine, in case you're interested......

Um, I can't blog right now. I have to go chain up a girl so I can eat her kids.

Or maybe I could duct tape the kids together and make out with the girl.

Either way.

Before I go, I just want to tell y'all that you rock. You are funny. You are cracking me the hell up with this contest. I let my husband read my blog for the FIRST TIME EVER to show you all off. Also, a few of you need to talk to me more in-depth about what it is I am actually looking for in a one-night-stand Valentine. Lastly, a couple of you can expect restraining orders in you mailboxes soon.

Be mine

It's almost that time again. Valentine's Day. Could they have invented a stupider holiday, really? Anyway, in my house, Valentine's Day doesn't really happen. SOMEONE has a job that (lucky for him) forces him to work awwwl night long that night, and the kids and I eat chocolate dipped chocolate for dinner and then I drown my sorrows in a bottle of Johny Depp. It's alright; I'm used to it. But this year I want a Valentine, god damn it. There is no way I'll win The Retropolitan's contest (bastard riggs it against me every stinking year) and so I thought I'd open it up to you all.

Would you like to be MY Valentine? I'll understand if you decide to just go be Retro's (he's much cooler than I am) but if you think you'd like the job, you could have it in only a few, easy steps.

Below is a short questionnaire. Simply fill in the blanks. It's like Mad Libs for booty. Leave an ANONYMOUS comment* with your answers, and I will announce the top three** winning answers on February 1st.



There are no wrong answers here, kids. It's even ok if you don't fill in all the questions; I'm all about quality over quantity***.



The mostest awesomest three answers win my undying affection, a virtual smooch, and one rockin' Valentine's Day mix courtesy of Bit Torrent very legal iTunes downloads.

"Do you like ___________ and getting _________________?"

"I would _____________ - I'd ____________, Walk the wire for you - ya I'd ___________."

"I wanna _________________on the mountains, until the _____________________."

"I swear that I can ____________ in your ____________."


"What about ____, don't you want someone to ______________?"

And last but oh, no, not least:

"You're here in my _____, and my ____ will ____________."



*I like to play fair. Not-anonymous answers will not be counted, no matter how freaking cool they are.

**Yes, three. I would like 3 Valentine's. I need one for the 5:30-7:30 shift, the awkward, sober happy hour date. I need one for the 8-10 shift, the dinner and champagne in stilettos. I also require one for the 10:30 until god-knows-when shift, the "I'm gonna hate myself in the morning for this one" date. The CD's awarded will correspond appropriately.

***The line that was GOING to go there? You'd disown me for it. Just sayin'.

I'm not entirely sure I want you to read this

Today, I am talking about choice. I really wish it was the choice between chocolate ice cream and chocolate cake, but it's not. I'm talking about women's choice, along with a bazillion other bloggers.
I could throw a bunch of carefully researched numbers at you; I could give you facts and figures and speeches by predominate leaders, but that's not how I roll over here.

Today, I am going to tell you a little story. I am in no way proud of this story, but I am telling it anyway, and then we are never going to speak of this again.

Once upon a time, I was a 21 year old very pro-lifer Mr Lady dating the wrong boy for the wrong reasons, and at the perfectly wrong point in my life I found myself all knockered up. I wasn't careless or reckless; quite the contrary, actually. I tried very hard to not get pregnant, I just failed miserably.

I had a moral dilemma on my hands. I knew that if I had a kid, I would be a single mother. A single waitress mother. With no education, no parents to help me, nothing. I would become my mother.

I went to my dad. I asked my dad what to do. Now, my dad does NOT believe in abortion. He has 9 kids, 5 of them illegitimate, backing up those beliefs. He sat me down and said, "Mr. Lady, I am giving you ONE get out of jail free card. You go, you take care of this, and you never, ever forget it."

I went to baby-daddy and told him I was pregnant. He cried. He didn't sleep for a week. His heart was broken. He knew, too, what we had to do, and he hated it in a way I didn't expect.

Shortly after I turned 22, I became a pro-choicer. It wasn't the horrible torture they told me it would be. It wasn't calloused and superficial and awful the way I was taught it was going to be. Even before the crazy rule structure got put into place, they sat me down before, told me ALL about what was happening, laid out every conceivable option in front of me, and then made me go away and really, really think about what I was about to do.

I really, really thought about it. And then I really did it.

Four years later, I was married to that same baby-daddy. We had 2 children. I was losing my mind and his was planted quite firmly in the bottom of a bottle of Mouvedre. I was trying to figure out if I could leave him. I was trying to raise two infants all by myself while he found himself. Our shit was not good.

Of-mother-fucking-course I got pregnant again. We had one very good day together, and I am as fertile as the Tennessee valley, yo. I was totally in denial, even though I was late and right back up to a DD cup. I refused to even admit it until I had to admit it. When I finally did admit it, I came immediately to one very clear conclusion; I could in no way have another baby with a man who I was *this* close to getting away from, who had hurt me and made me an evil person. I had 1 3/4 of my feet out that damn door and I wasn't getting trapped back in it. I went to my best friend, I talked to her. I cried to her. We really, really thought about it.

I really, really thought about it. And then I really did it.

I ended my fourth pregnancy, and this one was so much harder than the first time. I think it was because I knew how great being a momma was. I knew how much I loved my babies. I was so thoroughly in that place where your whole life is your kids, where every minute in a sacrifice for them, and I did something I saw as purely selfish.

It wasn't purely selfish, though. We had to go. We had to let dad figure out his crap, and we had to leave him to do it. And that's exactly what we did.

If I had kept that pregnancy, I never would have left. I never would have learned that I could leave. I would have disappeared into the haze of co-dependency that IS life with an alcoholic. Being able to leave then braced me for being able to leave in '06, when I really, really had to leave, when it was international and gruelingly difficult and totally a non-option.

There was no way I could seen those two pregnancies through.

I wish that it was different. I watch these people that are so much a part of my heart and who are going through adoption processes overseas because one little thing went awry for them and the can't have the babies they are so desperate for, and it makes me feel small and ungrateful for the gift I have been given. I am not ungrateful. Every day I rejoice in these creatures that I have made, even the days when I want to sell them to the circus. I know that this thing, this raising children gig, is the single best gig in the world, but that doesn't change the fact that sometimes, well, sometimes people just can't do it. Sometimes people try really hard to avoid the situation, and the situation finds them anyway, and sometimes it can destroy people.

I thank whatever every stinking day that I had the options I had. I will kick and fight and scream and rally and throw things and cry to make sure that some other 'me' out there has those options, too. The world is not black and white on Ariel, and everyone has a different story, a different history, and different reasons to make the choices that they make. What's important to me it that the option exists for women who need it.

This is the point where I would really like to get into everything that I think is wrong with the system now. I would like to talk about the men who don't get a say in the process because it's such a convoluted, screwed up lobbying topic and has become this drastic, political monster rather than the save-haven for people it should be. I would like to get into all the serious flaws in the system, and how I firmly believe that it should be WAY more regulated than it is, with limits, with accountability, with responsibility and compassion. I would LOVE to get into the fact that those people who make posters of aborted fetuses to propagate their own political agendas, those people who mock and abuse the pure hell that women go through in making this choice, need to be hung by the nearest tree. I am not going to get into all that though, because I know that if I had once ounce of gumption I would get off my lazy ass already and be the change I want to see in the system. I haven't, and I doubt I will, and I am totally ashamed of that.

I have this box that I keep; one, small, wooden box full of all the little favorite letters and notes and secret, special things to me. In it are plane tickets from the day I left my mother, drunkenly scrawled on cocktail napkins, birthday and mother's day cards, and buried deep in the bottom of that box is an ultrasound picture with a tiny little dot in the middle of it taken 11 years ago. I will never look at that picture, but I will also never throw it away. Because I refuse to forget. I will not ever take it lightly. I will always know that I did the right thing at the right time, and I will always be grateful that I live in a world where I could.

Would I do it again? Hell no. Would I hold your hand and rub your hair and make you tea if you had to? You bet your sweet ass I would.

OK, that's it. I cannot talk about this anymore. That is my story, and I'm sticking to it. I hope y'all don't hate me for it. I hope that no matter how you feel about it that you google Blog For Choice today and read what I can only imagine are seriously more eloquent, more poignant posts on the subject. This is merely my experience, and I share it only in the hopes that maybe someday, someone who needs to read it will.

Tomorrow we resume our normal broadcast days.

Remember

Just another Memie Monday

I got tagged for this doosey, too. Thanks, Rachel! Someone whom I can't remember!

See, the thing is, kids...I act all 'too cool for memes' and I really almost never do them, but that's only because I really almost never get asked to. Even though I'm all snooty about it, I secretly kinda like them. Not memes, exactly, but getting the invite. I hate volleyball, too, but don't think I didn't jump for fucking joy that one day the really cool girl named Dana who smoked and did it asked me to be on her team during gym.

Recently, I have had a lot of viral lovin' thrown my way. Yes, I totally meant that as dirty as it sounded. In honor of not being the very last girl in class picked, I am dedicating Mondays to memes. Only. Check out the title of the post.

So now y'all have to tag me. So now none of you will again. Bygones.

Your Month Meme
tagged by Monkeys and Princesses someone! :)
(Rules heavily edited to abide by the Laws of Common Sense)

1. Copy-paste the traits for all the twelve months (see below).
2. Pick your month of birth (see below).
3. Highlight the traits that apply to you.
4. Share the love. Or don't. Your call.

My birthday is March 20, 19somewhere-inbetween-menstruation-and-death. That makes me a Pisces, so we'll talk about them.

Before I do this, I have to mention that there is no way humanly possible for Rachel someone to have known that I am sort of an astrology buff. As in, an 'I could do your chart and all of my tattoos are astrological' buff. Already, I'm having an internal battle with this meme, because, seriously? You can't split the months up like this if you're talking personalities. The beginning of October and the end of October? Two TOTALLY different people.
Moving on...

MARCH: Attractive personality. Yeah, sure, if you like nagging, whiny, indecisive pessimists. Sexy. Your brother/boss/father thought so. Affectionate. Just to stop you from bugging us. Shy and reserved. It makes avoiding human beings easier. Secretive. We would rather eat worms than tell you what we ate for lunch. Naturally honest, generous and sympathetic. Hanging out with people who require honesty, generosity and sympathy gives us an excuse to bitch and drink. Loves peace and serenity. Chemically induced peace and serenity. Sensitive to others. Sure, we are psychic. Painfully so. We are so self-absorbed that the only future we care about is our own. Loves to serve others. Because we're terrified of conflict and would rather disappear. Easily angered. You would be, too, if your whole life was a fantasy. Trustworthy. Oh yes, and I have some lovely beachfront property in Denver for sale, too. Appreciative and returns kindness. True, true. The more story-book life is, the better. Observant and assesses others. Looking for your weakness is more like it. Revengeful. Will leave you with a bloody chunk of your heart under our red nails and not think twice about it. Loves to dream and fantasize. ONLY dreams and fantasizes. Loves traveling. Doesn't always know where we're going, or how we got there, though. Loves attention. Will always be the topless chic at the party. Hasty decisions in choosing partners. Talking to us is like talking to a bobble head doll. We'll choose whatever we're told to choose. Loves home decors. Does not love cleaning them. Musically talented. Everything talented. Just won't admit it. Loves special things. Is addicted to most of those special things. Moody. Only when conscious.

Now, this is the part where I usually 'Oopsie, I'm Blond Forget' to tag people. Today, I am greyish brunette. I'm tagging my homegirl Hucks, my Secret Agent Lover Mama, and the hottest stalker alive, Kim. Molls, I totally would tagged you, too, but I just did it for ya. Hearts. Now somebody tag me for something for next week, k? :)

All Months:
JANUARY: Stubborn and hard-hearted. Ambitious and serious. Loves to teach and be taught. Always looking at people’s flaws and weaknesses. Likes to criticize. Hardworking and productive. Smart, neat and organized. Sensitive and has deep thoughts. Knows how to make others happy. Quiet unless excited or tensed. Rather reserved. Highly attentive. Resistant to illnesses but prone to colds. Romantic but has difficulties expressing love. Loves children. Loyal. Has great social abilities yet easily jealous. Very stubborn and money cautious.

FEBRUARY: Abstract thoughts. Loves reality and abstract. Intelligent and clever. Changing personality. Attractive. Sexy. Temperamental. Quiet, shy and humble. Honest and loyal. Determined to reach goals. Loves freedom. Rebellious when restricted. Loves aggressiveness. Too sensitive and easily hurt. Gets angry really easily but does not show it. Dislikes unnecessary things. Loves making friends but rarely shows it. Daring and stubborn. Ambitious. Realizes dreams and hopes. Sharp. Loves entertainment and leisure. Romantic on the inside not outside. Superstitious and ludicrous. Spendthrift. Tries to learn to show emotions.

MARCH: Attractive personality. Sexy. Affectionate. Shy and reserved. Secretive. Naturally honest, generous and sympathetic. Loves peace and serenity. Sensitive to others. Loves to serve others. Easily angered. Trustworthy. Appreciative and returns kindness. Observant and assesses others. Revengeful. Loves to dream and fantasize. Loves traveling. Loves attention. Hasty decisions in choosing partners. Loves home decors. Musically talented. Loves special things. Moody.

APRIL: Active and dynamic. Decisive and hasty but tends to regret. Attractive and affectionate to oneself. Strong mentality. Loves attention. Diplomatic. Consoling, friendly and solves people’s problems. Brave and fearless. Adventurous. Loving and caring. Suave and generous. Emotional. Aggressive. Hasty. Good memory. Moving. Motivates oneself and others. Sickness usually of the head and chest. Sexy in a way that only their lover can see.

MAY: Stubborn and hard-hearted. Strong-willed and highly motivated. Sharp thoughts. Easily angered. Attracts others and loves attention. Deep feelings. Beautiful physically and mentally. Firm Standpoint. Needs no motivation. Easily consoled. Systematic (left brain). Loves to dream. Strong clairvoyance. Understanding. Sickness usually in the ear and neck. Good imagination. Good physical. Weak breathing. Loves literature and the arts. Loves traveling. Dislike being at home. Restless. Not having many children. Hardworking. High spirited. Spendthrift.

JUNE: Thinks far with vision. Easily influenced by kindness. Polite and soft-spoken. Having ideas. Sensitive. Active mind. Hesitating, tends to delay. Choosy and always wants the best. Temperamental. Funny and humorous. Loves to joke. Good debating skills. Talkative. Daydreamer. Friendly. Knows how to make friends. Able to show character. Easily hurt. Prone to getting colds. Loves to dress up. Easily bored. Fussy. Seldom shows emotions. Takes time to recover when hurt. Brand conscious. Executive. Stubborn.

JULY: Fun to be with. Secretive. Difficult to fathom and to be understood. Quiet unless excited or tensed. Takes pride in oneself. Has reputation. Easily consoled. Honest. Concerned about people’s feelings. Tactful. Friendly. Approachable. Emotional temperamental and unpredictable. Moody and easily hurt. Witty and sparkly. Not revengeful. Forgiving but never forgets. Dislikes nonsensical and unnecessary things. Guides others physically and mentally. Sensitive and forms impressions carefully. Caring and loving. Treats others equally. Strong sense of sympathy. Wary and sharp. Judges people through observations. Hardworking. No difficulties in studying. Loves to be alone. Always broods about the past and the old friends. Likes to be quiet. Homely person. Waits for friends. Never looks for friends. Not aggressive unless provoked. Prone to having stomach and dieting problems. Loves to be loved. Easily hurt but takes long to recover.

AUGUST: Loves to joke. Attractive. Suave and caring. Brave and fearless. Firm and has leadership qualities. Knows how to console others. Too generous and egoistic. Takes high pride in oneself. Thirsty for praises. Extraordinary spirit. Easily angered. Angry when provoked. Easily jealous. Observant. Careful and cautious. Thinks quickly. Independent thoughts. Loves to lead and to be led. Loves to dream. Talented in the arts, music and defense. Sensitive but not petty. Poor resistance against illnesses. Learns to relax. Hasty and trusty. Romantic. Loving and caring. Loves to make friends.

SEPTEMBER: Suave and compromising. Careful, cautious and organized. Likes to point out people’s mistakes. Likes to criticize. Stubborn. Quiet but able to talk well. Calm and cool. Kind and sympathetic. Concerned and detailed. Loyal but not always honest. Does work well. Very confident. Sensitive. Good memory. Clever and knowledgeable. Loves to look for information. Must control oneself when criticizing. Able to motivate oneself. Understanding. Fun to be around. Secretive. Loves leisure and traveling. Hardly shows emotions. Tends to bottle up feelings. Very choosy, especially in relationships. Systematic.

OCTOBER: Loves to chat. Loves those who loves them. Loves to take things at the center. Inner and physical beauty. Lies but doesn’t pretend. Gets angry often. Treats friends importantly. Always making friends. Easily hurt but recovers easily. Daydreamer. Opinionated. Does not care of what others think. Emotional. Decisive. Strong clairvoyance. Loves to travel, the arts and literature. Touchy and easily jealous. Concerned. Loves outdoors. Just and fair. Spendthrift. Easily influenced. Easily loses confidence. Loves children.

NOVEMBER: Has a lot of ideas. Difficult to fathom. Thinks forward. Unique and brilliant. Extraordinary ideas. Sharp thinking. Fine and strong clairvoyance. Can become good doctors. Dynamic in personality. Secretive. Inquisitive. Knows how to dig secrets. Always thinking. Less talkative but amiable. Brave and generous. Patient. Stubborn and hard-hearted. If there is a will, there is a way. Determined. Never give up. Hardly becomes angry unless provoked. Loves to be alone. Thinks differently from others. Sharp-minded. Motivates oneself. Does not appreciate praises. High-spirited. Well-built and tough. Deep love and emotions. Romantic. Uncertain in relationships. Homely. Hardworking. High abilities. Trustworthy. Honest and keeps secrets. Not able to control emotions. Unpredictable.

DECEMBER: Loyal and generous. Sexy. Patriotic. Active in games and interactions. Impatient and hasty. Ambitious. Influential in organizations. Fun to be with. Loves to socialize. Loves praises. Loves attention. Loves to be loved. Honest and trustworthy. Not pretending. Short tempered. Changing personality. Not egotistic. Take high pride in oneself. Hates restrictions. Loves to joke. Good sense of humor. Logical.

This is Dedicated...

For Hucks, for whom I will happily ignore my children on a Saturday night until 11 to gossip on the phone with.For Molly, because it didn't work and I wish it did because I love you so bad.For tiny little baby skates, one of the many freaking awesome natural resources of Canada.For Aimee; don't forget the 2T's. They are the coolest. For more of Lotus' Weekly Winners, click right here.

Rate the Hate Version Duh.

2of3 doesn't eat.

Period.

Is he anorexic? No. He's just way too cool for forks. Chopsticks, however, are right up his alley. After 7 years of trying to explain to this kid that we live in North America and that forks are just the Way Things Are, I broke down and bought the kid his own pack of chopsticks.

Needless to say, the theme o' the week has been Asian food. Chinese, Japanese, whatever. If it comes on rice, he's in.

Unfortunately, the theme o' the week was not also Going To The Grocery, so we came down to that lovely place called What Exactly Can I Make With A Can of Sauerkraut?

Behind the sauerkraut was a can of pineapples. In the freezer were 2 chicken breast. And so was born the Night of the Aki.Teriyaki, for you non-parents. I never make this at home because I never knew how to make it. But, when push comes to shove, I'm willing to guess. Or eat Sauerkraut Oatmeal.

So, you grill 2 chicken breasts and steam some rice. Once they're BOTH done, you drain the juice from a can of pineapples into a pan. You add to that enough PLAIN teriyaki sauce to make it the right color (stick your finger in it a few times and taste it. You'll know when it's right.) Bring that to a boil and then turn the heat to simmer. Add to it, oh, I think around a tablespoon of cornstarch. Add it slowly and whisk it in until it gets kinda thick. Add the pineapples from the can to the sauce. Slice the chicken into strips, place them on top of some white rice, and dump the sauce on top.

Now, I am as far from Asian as Tom Cruise is from straight, but god golly, Ms. Molly, that was a fine dinner. And super freaking easy. And ready in less than 20. We all loved it. Except for one of us."The teriyaki at the mall is better," he says. The kid eats his own snot. Bygones.

What did you have this week?

Possibilities

The new carpets? Totally in. After 3 1/2 long ass months, we have our basement back. I can hardly wait to get all the crap out of the carport, the kitchen and my bedroom and back where it belongs. I can almost picture it......

The most boring post in the world

The NEW CARPET is coming in 40 minutes, so we don't have a lot of time this morning. I wanted to run a few things by y'all, though.

One: This right here?

.Canadian Blogger's Awards. All you have to do is click a button. If I win, everyone who votes, at the request of Kelly, gets an autographed pair of my undies!*

Two: I am knee-deep in the throws of building my new website. It's gonna be ready really soon and my blogroll doesn't have its moving buddies. If you should be on my blogroll and you are not on it, please leave me a comment and I'll fix that this weekend.

Happy Friday!

*No one is getting an autographed pair of my undies.

UPDATE: Yes,the carpet dude is here. Yes, the new carpets are half way in. And hey? Are you missing summer? Dreaming of Hawaii? Well, come on over. 'Cause, see, the carpet dude needs the horribly insulated basement to be warm in order to stretch the carpets properly and apparently the only way to achieve that lofty goal is to crank the heat up in my house from Cozy Warm to Fires of Hell. I've lost 3 pounds already.

Lame-O

Here's my Thursday Thirteen brainstorm:

1. I wanted to list 13 dates I've been on, but I haven't been on anywhere near 13 dates. That's sad.
2. I wanted to list 13 things that make me homesick, but there is really only a handful. A heavy handful. (Who are you that comes here every night from Phili, anyway? You're killing me, dude)
3. I thought it would be fun to tell you about 13 awesome, death-defying feats I have performed, but really? I can't even get on a roller coaster.
4. Maybe I could talk about 13 radical places I've been, but I have never even been to Detroit.
5. What about my favorite 13 childhood memories? Please.
6. My 13 favorite people? I'd have to do that list 6 times. I know awesomely awesome people.
7. Perhaps I could narrow it down a bit to 13 favorite neighbors. I counted. I have, like, 7. So much for that.
8. 13 reasons why potty training is my new BFF? Sure, I could do that, but if you look at NO MORE DIAPERS 13 times in a row, they don't look like real words anymore.
9. I'd do something about my relatives, but I don't know the full, legal names of anyone beyond my parents.
10. What about old ex's? Oh yeah, that's right. I have ONE.
11. There are, maybe, if I really stretched, 13 places I'd like to see before I die. I honestly only have to see one, though.
12. I could write an ode to the 13 random body hairs that I hate with a fire that burns with the heat of a thousand suns. But who wants to read that? That's gross, even for me.
13. I know! I could totally do a list of the 13 reasons that Mr Lady is much cooler than her real life alter-ego. Oh, wait. I just did that.

Should be filed under "Inner Monologe"

Things I have lost:

• My keys (over and over again)
• Other people's keys
• My wallet
• My purse
• Scrabble
• My mind (that was fun)
• My children (recovered shortly thereafter under clothing rack at Old Navy)
• My wedding ring (intentionally)
• Risk
• My shit
• Every watch I've ever owned
• Every race I've ever run
• A job
• Battleship
• Pole Position
• My cell phone

And there is one more thing I've lost, and I lost it 14 short years ago today, and there is no way to further this conversation without crossing my imaginary line I have drawn.

But, well, you know. You really know.

This, right here, is my dream come true

Da duh dum, dum da du-dumDa duh dum, du-dum

Upside, inside out

Living La Vida Withdrawal!

I never have writers block. Why? Because I never write anything of substance. I am an excellent rambler. You should hear the crap I say to me all day long.

Anyway, it seems that I have made a wee little mistake. See, my prescription for my pills (did you really think I am this pure genius without chemical assistance?) has almost ran out, and being the good little hoarder that I am, I refused to take the last 3 pills, just in case. And now I am switching from Wonder Drug A to Wonder Drug B and I haven't filled Wonder Drug B yet, so I am a bit, well, scattered.

I never realize how much I need Wonder Drug until I stop taking Wonder Drug, and then I start to fidget. Last night, it seems my au naturale mind decided it would be a super great idea to start picking at shit. I am a picker. And now I am a picker with 1/2 a toenail on one toe and that toe has gone from the size of a toe to the size of a bloodied, abused grape over night. A throbbing, bloody, abused grape.

Ouch.

Point is, I don't much think I'm having a coherent thought for the next few days. That makes the blogging the teenciest bit laborious, you know? I decided that this might be a fine time to clean out the drafts that were drafted when I was all clear and drugged and sane.

Here goes:

1. See, I told you. I AM a 12 year old boy.



2. Ah, music. Secret Agent Mama hit me with this one a LONG time ago, but my iPod wasn't tan or buff enough to show it's privates in public. 16 hours and one headache later, here goes:

You need your iPod/mp3 player, for this. It’s a list of questions that you
answer with the title of a random song. I put my iPod/mp3 player on shuffle and
here are the questions with the song title answers. HILARIOUS!

What would describe your personality?
The City and the Traveler, HEM.

What do you like in a guy/girl?
No Surprises, Radiohead (oh, that's right)

How do you feel, today?
Sugar Kane, Sonic Youth

What’s your life’s purpose?
Plan B, Badly drawn Boy

What is your motto?
Let's fall in Love, Ol' Blue Eyes

What do your friends think of you?
Mama, Genesis (WEIRD)

What do you think of your parents?
Schizophrenia's Weighted Me Down, Cat Power

What do you think about very often?
Saints, Breeders

What do you think of your best friend?
Love Spreads, Stone Roses

What do you think of the person you like?
Black Star, Radiohead

What is your life story?
Somebody's Gotta Do It, The Roots

What do you want to be when you grow up?
Lesbian Eskimo Midget, The Dead Milkmen (you can't make this shit up)

What do you think when you see the person you like?
Sweet Children, Green Day

What do your parents think of you?
No One Ever Is To Blame, Howard Jones (Oh, that one is way off)

What is your hobby/interest?
When the day is Done, Samples

What is your biggest secret?
The Rockafeller Skank, Fatboy Slim (I will not divulge. Don't ask.)

What do you think of your friends?
If You Want To Sing Out, Sing Out, Cat Stevens (wow, that's an excellent response)

3. 4x Mr Lady:
Four Jobs I've held:

• Bounty Hunter's bitch (it's true)
• Money Launderer (also true)
• Fry Cook (horrifyingly true, but I make great fries now)
• Like, almost all of my jobs are already posted here and here.

Four places I've Lived:

• Philadelphia! The city of Brotherly Love, also Gansta shootings, The Fresh Prince and some awful movie.
• Denver! The Mile High City, the Fittest City, the Naughtiest City.
• Vancouver! Home of the 2010 Olympics. Also home of the palest people in the world. Sheesh, could it stop raining already?
• Delaware! It's the speed bump in between Pennsylvania and Maryland.

Four places I've been on vacation

• Philadelphia!
• Nashville (almost didn't make it back)
• Mesa Verde
• Idaho. No exclamation point.

Four of my favorite foods:

• Butter Chicken
• Chicken Parmesan
• Brownies with cream cheese swirl
• Sharp White Cheddar. Mmmmm.

Four places I'd rather be right now

• Denver!
• Philadelphia!
• In a clean house
• Hawaii. Damn it's cold here.

I think that's just about it. Excepting this birthday one that Rachel (I think) tagged me for. Soon.....

More than half is better than none.

• Laundry? SO not done
• House break-ins? Well, the door is totally broken now, so I shouldn't ever have to do THAT again. Please don't come rob me.
• Coffee? Of course I got that right. What is one without one's priorities?
• Possessions? Moved. Currently being rained on.
• Kids to school? Yep, early for once.
• New carpets? Fucking teases. 3rd time in a row new carpets promised, delivery failed. Grrr.
• Doctor? Not helpful. Not one little bit.
• Hot date? Better than hot. Made up for rest of it.
• Dentist? Will it never end? I'm considering dentures.
• Find kids floor? Going right now.....

Pushing it a bit

Normal day:

• Coffee
• Kids to school
• Blog
• Blog
• Tickle babies
• Facebook
• Lunch
• TV
• Blog
• Blog
• Blog

Today:

• Desperate push to do laundry
• Break into own house
• Coffee
• Move 1/2 of possessions to carport
• Kids to school
• New Carpets
• Doctors appointment
• HOT DATE!
• Dentist Appointment
• Find kids' bedroom floor

All of that? Before the kids come home today.

I already have a headache.

Peace Out, diapers!

"Hi Mr Lady!"

"Hi yourself!"

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Not much, just sipping some coffee and enjoying my 4th day of NOT changing a diaper."

"Oh, Mr Lady, you didn't forget again that your littlest kid isn't potty trained yet, did you? The last time you forgot, you had to spend your life savings on Desitin, remember?"

"See, that's where you're wrong."

"Yeah, but I thought she couldn't get her pants up and down around that J Lo booty?"

"The Stripper Butt? Yeah, we figured that out. I just dug into the box of clothes for next year, and voila! Pants that come up and down like a breeze."

"For the record, I hate changing diapers and vow to never do it again. This is AWESOME."

"Well, it looks like your little girl is all grown up now."

"Um Hum. She even let me do her hair.""The whole reason I agreed to having a girl in the first place was to put her hair up in braids, but so far she's only ever let her Auntie N do it, and Auntie N is a teency bit far away now."

"Oh Mr Lady, I am so happy for you! Looks like the kids are all awesomely self-sufficient now. Maybe you could get a job or do your laundry or something now."

"I think you may be right. They all can even get themselves food when I'm not looking.""Hey, 3of3! What's that all over your face?"

"Isa Yummanummy!"

"I see that. WHAT yummanummy?"

"Yummanummy!"

"I guess we still have to work on the whole bi-lingual illiterate thing, too." *sigh*

Sarcastic Mom has more awesome Weekly Winners right this way....

Rate the Hate the Playing With Others Edition

So, yeah, it's Saturday again. We're talking chicken. Before we do that, though, let's talk about that little box way down there.

See, this is where you all can play, too.

Hucks is joining me in trying really hard to post recipes on Saturdays. And while I was lurking about today, I saw that Judith Shakes also posted something about food today too.

Um, you guys wanna play with me?

Saturday, if you are so inclined, whip up a post about something awesome or easily or color coordinated or otherwise generally eaten by you and yours. Again, if enough people play along, I will totally cook someones recipe each month and send you an awesome prize in the mail. A kitcheny prize. Just ask The Retropolitan. HIS winning chili recipe prize has been wrapped, boxed, addressed and shoved in the back of my closet for 3 months now. (Dude, I'm working on it.)

Anyway, chicken.

The default.

The vodka of proteins.

"Oh, I don't know, I guess I'll just have a vodka ______." Sure, a Maker's Manhattan would be so very much better, but vodka is the Windows Media Player of drinks, and chicken is the vodka of dinner.

Unless, of course, you get creative.Those are chicken toes. You just take a couple chicken breasts and slice them short-ways, you know? Not down the length, but the width. Toss them in olive oil and some salt & pepper. Pop the strips onto the end of skewers and grill them. Then drown those suckers in your favorite barbecue sauce.

I like to put a big old pile of mashed potatoes in the middle of the plate and then prop the skewers around it, like a tee-pee. Maybe boil some corn on the cob. Perhaps bake a biscuit or two.

This is my kids single favorite dinner, because, I imagine, it looks lethal. I love it because it takes 20 minutes tops to make. And I am having a full-blown torrid love affair with barbecue sauce. Sue me.

So that's it. Whatcha got for me?

730 days later

I already have this perfectly good Saturday thingy I do, and now Hucks is going it with me, and maybe someday we'll take over the world with it, but damn it if Melissa didn't go and one-up me, with something better. Curse you, woman. I must play along.

You're supposed to repost some old, random post from your archives that you really like. Well, dude, I write utter crap, but fortunately, this one is a breeze for me.

See, I have this niece, a niece who I have never managed to meet, but 2 short years ago she took her first breath.

Baby K, your very shitty auntie who never has bothered to make the eencie little drive to Albuquerque to meet your cute wittle butt loves ya. Happy 2. Have fun ruining your parents lives.


Here's my post from 730 days ago today:

So much for dear 3of3 being the only baby girl in the family. Kaede Niamh was born to my brother and his wife around 8:20 this morning. More details and pictures are coming later.
Yeah niece!and a very proud papa...

Survival of the Fittest

What a fun little box!I wonder what's in it. Could it be chocolates? A new necklace? Some gizmo for the computer? What could it be?

Is the suspense killing you yet?

How ironic. That box contains one un-hamster. It is the new home of the furry friend who recently inhabited these cool digs.Our dear friend Timex has moved on to the Great Big Wheel in the Sky after only 16 short days with our family.

Santa ought not bring disposable gifts.

Or, at least, he could bring ones that do not expire 2 days after their warranty does. Did you know hamsters come with a 14 day warranty? Neither did I.

Timex was a beloved member of the Mr Lady household. Timex's daddy, 1of3, spent his entire allowance last week on a fun new exercise ball and treats for him. After carefully negotiating their relationship, Timex had finally consented, not two days earlier, to being fed by hand.Oh, a father's love is a powerful thing. There were 3 failed escape attempts that all ended quietly and peacefully. There was a water change every day. Treats were given daily, too. The food and litter in the cages have been refreshed often. I swear to god my kids didn't kill this hamster.

Dudes, it was totally me.

Remember this post where I gave you a sneak peek at our Christmas stash? Well, my BFF left this nugget of a comment.

Dear Mr. Lady's Children:

You mother is about to give you hamsters for Christmas. Under no circumstances are you to relegate Hamster-care to your mother. Do not allow her to feed them, pet them, look at them, or otherwise be alone in the house with them.

I know what you will say, and yes, you have a good, loving mama. She has not lost a single one of you to an air vent or lawnmower. However, she can not state the same fact regarding hamsters. What she hasn't told you is that at 16, she moved to Colorado because she had already killed all of the hamsters in Delaware.

The life you might save are those of your beloved hammies.

God speed.
Love,
Your Auntie Molly

See, Molly knows something you don't know. She knows that of all my many talents, hamster-killin' is my greatest strength. She has heard the tales. She has watched me laugh so hard I almost peed, retelling the stories of Mr Lady's adventures in genocide. To date, I have had a hand in, or been within suspicious proximity of, the deaths of:

• 9 hamsters (10 now)
• 2 cockatiels
• one lizard
• one salamander
• an entire tank of salt-water fish

Yes, yes, we were not children fit for the burden of pet-care. And yet, for some incomprehensible reason, people kept giving us animals. Those beloved pets died in rather unpleasant manners, including but not limited to:

• burning to death (2)
• bottle of fantastic brand household cleaner (1)
• learning to swim (1)
• eating own toes due to starvation (1)
• over-feeding, namely over-feeding with acid and alkaline bottles (1 tankful)
• gnawing off own leg to escape cast on it after break-out and subsequent broken bone (1)
• decapitation (1)

The list goes on and on. The fact that I have kept one dog and 3 children alive for as long as I have is a Christmas miracle.

Seriously, though, these hamsters that Santa brought? SO WELL TAKEN CARE OF. I have sat up at night, watching them, relishing the fact that my children love them so much and that these boys will never know the pain of pet-death that I knew all to well as a little girl. These hamsters made me happy. I liked them, Timex in particular. I wanted them to live.

It would appear that I am cursed. Animals of the world, be warned: You enter my house at your own risk. No matter my intentions, regardless of my efforts to the contrary, odds are your days are numbered.

I wonder how long poor Mae has left.

So gangsta

It's friday, and that means one thing...really naughty Haiku! Here's some more. Less naughty, but more.

How could I forget
the greatest cover song of
all time? I'll fix that.

Please be warned that this
song is NOT for your children.
Put in your earbuds.

There are loads of bad
words and naughty lyrics, but
listen anyway.

How I get out of washing dishes

Last week, I tried really hard to sift through the Thursday Thirteen roll and read all of the other entries. The problem is, there were, like, 250 of them. if I ever get 250 comments on this blog, accept my apologies now. I can't read 250 anythings.

Anyway, I did stumble across one in particular that I liked (can't remember where now) where the writer listed their 13 favorite song remakes.

The best things come to those who steal.

I'm so going to give this a whirl.

1. Mrs. Robinson: Originally done by Simon and Garfunkel. Rocked the hell out by the Lemonheads. Normally, I'd decapitate you with my eyes if I caught you daring to touch a S&G song, but this one is totally sweet.


2. Losing My Religion: I own every single stinking REM album. It's not that I love them so very very much, but sheesh the husband does. After having them shoved straight down my throat for 12 years, I have grown to appreciate their genius. They have this lead singer with a specific sort of voice, and they write their music specifically for him, at least as I see it. I would never have approved of someone covering them until Higher Learning came out in 1995. Tori Amos covers REM's (arguably) biggest hit and takes it from its tongue-and-cheek poppy blasphemous nature and makes it fragile and tender. I think that song was written for her to sing. Of course, Tori Amos could sing Hot Crossed Buns and make you cry. (You can't get it on iTunes, so that's the Amazon link)


3. South Central Rain: Again, I have serious issues with those who try to redo REM songs, only because Michael Stipes has one of those voices that makes the songs he write work. But see, there's this band, and their name is Hem, and they are quite possibly the greatest band alive today and they covered South Central Rain. It is is a thing of beauty.


4. I Hope That I Don't Fall in Love With You: (Also not available on iTunes. Grrr.) God may strike me down for saying this, but Tom Waits has got nothin' on Darius Rucker's version of this song with Hootie and the Blowfish. Listen to it before you start throwing rocks at me. It's brilliant.


5. Tangled up in Blue: I am not old enough to really really love Dylan the way some people do. I think I missed the cutoff by 3 years tops. I like him, but I'm open on the subject. And so, naturally, when I first heard the Indigo Girls crank out this song in their rocky, harmonic, bluesy way that they so do, I about died. I have bought many albums for one song, but I have never bought a $40 double cd for one song before. It was worth it. The whole album is phenomenal, but this song takes the cake.


6. Hallelujah: In 1984, Leonard Cohen first recorded Hallelujah. (It's my favorite word in the English language, btw.) Since then, oh, everyone has covered it. It's in 8,000 tv show and movie soundtracks. Your kids know it from Shrek. No one, however, not one single person, has ever or will ever sing it like Jeff Buckley. I first heard Jeff Buckley soon after he died, and my world has never been the same. He had the most beautiful voice I have ever heard, and he sings Hallelujah like his cat just died and the IRS took the house. It never doesn't make me cry.


7. Maybe I'm Amazed: I am totally old enough to love the Beatles like some people do. And thank GOD for that. Once upon a time, some horrible little teeney-bop show called the OC went kind of mental with sound-tracking their episodes, and to their credit, they did a good job. A band called Jem decided to take on the gargantuan task of doing-up Sir Paul with a cover of Maybe I'm Amazed, and I would bet you $5 that Sir Paul has it on HIS iPod.


8. Little Wing: Since Jimi Hendrix first sang this in 1967, people far and wide have tried to cover it. Stevie Ray Vaughn may have the most famous cover of it. Sting also covered it on his album Nothing Like the Sun. It is the only Sting album I have ever liked (*ducks*) and Little Wing is definitely one of the main highlights of the album. I think it does justice to and pays respect to the great great greatness that is Jimi Hendrix. Sting didn't try to change the song, or improve it, he just sang it from his heart. Jimi would be proud.


9. When Doves Cry: I am head over heels in L.O.V.E. with Baz Luhrmann. You know, the insane man who did Moulin Rouge? I love his movies for the cinematography, the casting, the raw grittiness of what he does. Mostly, though, I am gaga for his soundtracks. That man is a freaking genius with the music. When he did Romeo and Juliet in 1997, he found Quindon Tarver and had him cover When Doves Cry. I think that's what Prince meant that song to be when he wrote it. Even if you hate Prince, you can't help but love listening to this 10 year old belt out his song.


10. Thank You: I really like Led Zeppelin, and this song in particular. When Encomium was released, Duran Duran covered Thank You and it was super good. But when Tori Amos did it, when she sang the song originally sung by the man who inspired her to be what she is today, she meant it. She felt it. She sang it for Robert Plant. It almost hurts to listen to it.


11. A Friend of the Devil: (Seriously, iTunes. You're killing me here.) I am by no means a Dead-Head, but I get it. I get how they spoke to people like Elvis did. I never was blown over by them myself, but the husband likes them a lot and so every now and then we wear the tie-dye and don't shower and listen to a cd of theirs. All I have to say is Thank Jebus for Lyle Lovett. Lyle Lovett could come to my house and sing me Belinda Carlisle songs all day long and I would swoon. He nailed A Friend of the Devil.


12. Try a Little Tenderness: (You know what, iTunes? I hate YOUR taste in music, too.) Yeah, yeah, yeah...I know. No one should touch this song. But one day in 199-something, this local group in Denver called The 17th Avenue All-Stars came to my high school and did a show. They sang this song. We all died. They are an incredible a cappella group and I cannot believe that they don't own you yet. I love this cover because A) it's good and B) you remember my ex that I posted about the other day? The one who hates my guts now? Yeah, he can sing that song just as well as those guys do, maybe better. And he totally used to sing it to me all the time. Go listen, and be 19 year old Mr Lady in love for 5 minutes.


13. Whiskey in the Jar: I am of Irish decent, and being of Irish decent with a rock and roll lineage, I am contractually obligated to like Thin Lizzy. I do, I really do. Now, if you were ever to meet me, you'd be all, "Oh, look at the mild-mannered milf. how cute! I bet she likes classical music and air fresheners." Dudes, please. I need Metallica like Kathy needs Regis. And man, seriously, oh man. They do to Whiskey in the Jar what I can only hope and pray Johny Depp does to me someday.

Honorable mention, only because it's not fair to include her 3 times on one list? Tori Amos, Smells Like Teen Spirit. Wowzas. Who knew?

So it is written

...so it shall be done.

My #1 blog crush, Chris at Rude Cactus, has taken upon his own shoulders the mighty weight of saving the blogosphere. Or, at the least, adding some transparency to it.(Greeblemonkey sure does make some cool buttons, doesn't she?)

DO NOT pass go. DO NOT collect $200. Go straight to the comments and say hello. What up? Howdy. Whatever it is you say, today is the day to say it!

Delurk, you lurky lurkers. Chris said you have to.

(You know you want that badge. Ask for it when you LEAVE A COMMENT today, because it's delurking day, so you will totally leave a comment, right, and I will email it straight to you!)

The 16 year recap

Happy birthday to me.

Oh, it's not really my birthday, but it sorta is.

16 years ago, today, I did something brave. I did something I didn't want to do, and didn't know how to do, and didn't think I could do. I did the one thing that scared me the most; I had an independent thought. I had the very first independent thought I think I'd ever had before that day, and that thought and its subsequent choices have altered my life in a way I don't even want to think about. The alternative was completely unacceptable.

16 years ago today, I gave myself a window to grieve, to wallow, to hurt, and to let it all end. I gave myself exactly as long without that nightmare as I had with it, 16 years, to accept it, maybe forgive it, and to move forward.

16 years ago today I snuck onto an airplane and I left my mother, my family, my church, my friends and my whole world behind. I flew all day and landed one mile higher than I had departed and that moment when I stepped out of the plane into the snow and the dryness and the nighttime sky, my life finally began. I never looked back.

For 16 years I have been working through this thing, this running, this burying of anger. I have cried, I have dreamt murderous dreams in shades of red that I have never seen with my waking eyes, I have yelled and lashed out, and each day I have grown.

Today, I almost forgot about it. This thing, the very thing that formed me and made me what I am today, it doesn't own me anymore. It is a book that I read a long time ago. It is a nightmare after too much wine and chocolate. It is of almost no consequence at all.

I had 16 years with my family, and I have had 16 years without them. I hardly remember them anymore, and I don't miss them, and I almost never think about them anymore. I can't remember the smell of my mother or the sound of her voice. My brother and sister will never be older than 13. My friends will always have zits and braces.

I am totally ok with that.

Maybe tomorrow there will be more. You know, details. For tonight, raise a glass to the little girl who thought she could.

She could. And she did.

Hanson's got nothin' on us

The Great 08 Battle of the Bands will feature Factsheet Five against David, Andy, Hubs and The Retropolitan's bands. Who ARE Factsheet Five, you ask? Only the greatest collection of sugar-crazed, stinky musicians who have ever been to bed before 9, that's who!*

This is our debut album, which Secret Agent Mama produced.

Love Factsheet Five. Adore us. Buy our plastic Fischer Price records. Throw your diapers and onesies at us. Wave your lighters cell phones in the air for our sweet, sweet melodies.

Wanna meet the band? Sure thing! I just so happen to have Backstage Passes.

On keyboards and flute, 1of3, the rage of the Tween-Age. Greatest influence? Jethro Tull.

On the electric guitar, 2of3, aka TXU (don't ask). Greatest influence? Flock Of Seagulls.

On classic piano and dancer for the band, 3of3. Greatest influences? The Connells, Alkaline Trio and the Killers. God damn it, I love this kid.

Do you have a great band, too? Find out!

How to Play:

1. Go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random - The first article title on the page is the name of your band.

2. Click http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3 - The last four words of the very last quote is the title of your album.

3. Visit http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days/ - The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

4.Use your graphics program of choice to throw them together, and post the result. And then ask someone else to play.

*Guys? Um, er, that was me subtly tagging you.

I really stand a chance with THIS one

Updated: Ignore this until Friday. But, come Friday, hit it HARD.
Go! Go right now! Go right now and vote! Vote for me, vote for Huckdoll, vote for LatteMommy, for for Rilah. Vote for me! I'm totally, 100% Canadian, eh? All youhave to do is leave a comment. GO GO GO!

Seriously, are you tired of voting for crap yet?

GO ANYWAY!

I'm gonna get killed for this one

(Updated: Yep, totally busted. Shit.)

Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's Elvis' birthday. Who cares?

That's right. I just talked smack about the king. Whatcha gonna do 'bout it? I also wear tacky clothes and eat Twinkies soaked in gravy, and ain't nobody ever screamed and/or fainted when I walked on a stage. As for the whole "hip-gyration" thing, clearly you've never seen me drunk.

Anyway, today is someone else's birthday, too. I have two paths in front of me right now; the shiny, pastely, gold-plated road of adoration and the dark, weedy, overgrown path of bitchiness.

Guess which one I'm heading down.

The nice thing about having ex-boyfriends is that sometimes, if you are very careful and very lucky, you get to keep them around long after you've broken up with them in the horrid, teenaged way you did. Keeping them around is nice, because you get someone to giggle about the good ol' days with, someone who knows little things about you that even your very best girlfriends don't, someone who rocks your socks all the time. (In the laughter way, not the adultery way, you pervs.)

You know what makes it even more fun, though? Having a blog and a prideful ex, that's what. See, my ex will never admit to reading this blog, and the precious few comments he's left have been so carefully anonymotized that I had to do a bit of googling before I could figure out who they were even from. He's strange like that. I read his blog and my comments are all, THIS IS FROM MR LADY, THE FIRST GIRL YOU EVER SAW NAKED. His? Hi. This is some random reader. Shhhh.

There is a point here. Someone turns 33 today, and someone else thought she'd flip through some old pictures of him. Because, honestly, what's he going to do about it? Leave me a comment? That would totally be outing himself, and there are things Funny Ol' does do and there are things Funny Ol' doesn't do; outing himself from his cloak of invisiblogity would be in the doesn't category.

This is one of the few pictures of us together, which is odd because we dated for 3 1/2 years and have known each other for 16. In case you're wondering, we are both 19 and he is wearing a sweatshirt with, if I remember correctly, Donald Duck on it. *snicker*This is a picture I cropped out of a group picture in our high school yearbook. I was one of the photographers for the yearbook. Why? To take pictures of him, that's why. I was sorta stalking him in high school. And yes, he totally hated me for it. (I think I made up for it after high school, though.)Every single person I have showed this picture to has said one thing, and one thing only. "Suspenders?"

Be ye not fooled by the suspenders.

There are some things in life that one can do well, very well, even if one wears suspenders, by simply reading a book or two.

That's all I'm saying about that.

How trampy do I have to get here?

See, this year I just so happened to get a little nod.



I never, ever win anything. Once, I won $100 on scratch tickets and I had a heart attack and died. Other than that, nada. Never first place in the three-legged-race, No Spelling Bee victories, not one heart of one fair maiden, nothing. And I won't win those two up there, either. But the one I could win, the one I have IN THE BAG, is the Hottest Mommy Blogger. They invented that category FOR ME. I'm easy like Sunday morning.

And heck, that Blogitzer one wouldn't suck, either.

And so, the first people to go over to Blogger's Choice and nominate me for ones of those damn categories already will receive one totally naked picture of me in their inbox. Prizes for subsequent votes will be happily negotiated.

Why yes, I have thought this through. Why do you ask?