Sleep

We are having a wee smattering of sleep issues here at Sam's Stories. I'd like to illustrate it with the following texts between myself and our new babysitter: (I have a post on the babysitter issue, too.) (Not that our babysitter has an issue. I have an issue. Or twelve hundred.)

Sitter: My mom said I'm good to go for Friday.
Sam: Yes!!
Sitter: :) 5 to 7:30?
Sam: Yep! Thanks!
Sitter: No problem.
Sam: Can you text me your address so I can put it in my phone?*
Sitter: Sure. (insert address here) I'm going to your house tomorrow though, right?
Sam: Tomorrow? (at this point I am trying to figure out how to say politely that I had no fucking idea what she is talking about when she is a newish sitter and I don't know her well enough to use the word "fucking" yet) Hmmm....my brain is failing. Do you remember why? When I told you? Dude, I need a decent night of sleep.
Sitter: Haha. You said tomorrow from 5:00 to 7:30.
Sam: Friday! Today is Tuesday, right? I hope.
Sitter: Today is Thursday.
Sam: No way.
Sitter: Yeah.. Lol
Sam: ROFLMAO. I am SO dumb. Sorry!
Sitter: Hahaha no worries. You just need sleep.
Sam: Total FAIL. See you tomorrow then!

So, the combination of traditional holidays stresses, SERIOUS FUCKING FAMILY FAIL, shitty sleeping by one baby and therefore one mama and partially one daddy, and a new phone mean that I have no brain and blogging has failed me. Or I have failed blogging. Whichever. I have had mad, passionate sexor with my phone many times and OMG I lurves it so much. I can read blogs very well with my phone but typing an actual post is not appealing. I might have to get over myself and start blogging on it. I have SO much to say to you all!!


*I got a new phone so I am updating contact information. If you know me in the real world, text me so I can add you. I chose not to do a data transfer so I am starting all new. Like a baby. Or a virgin. Or a baby virgin. EW. All babies should be virgins. Otherwise is just WRONG. Sorry! One should NOT post after taking night time pain meds. No filters. Bad Sam!

Sometimes I Feel Like This...

My MIL emailed this picture to me and I didn't know if I wanted to laugh or cry. Some days this is exactly how I feel about breastfeeding. Not most days, but there are times when my poor bewbies feel battered all to fuck and the thought of one more bite from those sharp bottom teeth makes me want to hide under my bed. I don't have the energy or brain power for a full post, so this is my lame, "Still nursing full time and (mostly) loving it" update. Hey, at least the first day of my last period was 4/20/08. Fuck you PMS!

Rain, Rain, Go The Fuck Away

Note: It just rained. My body is fucking killing me. I took two darvocets. The following writing I cannot be held responsible for in any way including a lack of spelling skills, grammar issues, run-on sentences, and general fuckery of the English language.

1) Watching Bones and a character just used the term, "bump uglies." Seriously? Did I hear that right? On network television they used bump uglies? Also, spell check says that I spelled "uglies" right the first time but not the second or third and I cannot see the difference. Moving on...

2) Recently I have had a spambot issue on an old post of mine. The first time I was a little irritated, but it reminded me that a lot of my older stuff is still missing pictures from when I was in the teaching credential program and removed all of the photos that showed my darling face. So, put the picture back in and left it at that. Or so I thought. The fucking spambots came and commented again. And again. It seemed a little tacky to me. You see, the post is Posting From Colorado, where I announce that I buried my dad that day and show a picture of me at his grave. Seriously rude, right?

I finally realized that I can close comments on that post alone, did so, and now the problem is over. I think. You might be tempted to recommend that I turn on comment verification, but I already explained my issues with that ridiculousness.

The End

Halp!

I need your help, innernets. I am going to Austin, TX next week to visit my SIL. She is in need of support, yo. The kind that is found in adorable babies of awesomeness. I haven't flown with a baybee in more than a fucking decade so I am a little lost. I did not buy a seat for Egg so he is on my lap, and Chicken is staying home with TB. I am leaving Tuesday morning and returning Saturday afternoon. I tried to make my flights short, have a decent but not too long layover in Denver, etc. I've done this before with Chicken as a baby across the states (VA to CA) a zillion times, but I'm rusty.

I am flying United Airlines and according to their website it will cost me $15 for the first piece of checked baggage and $25 for the second if I prepay online. The third piece of checked luggage is $125, same with the fourth, and the fifth is $200. Holy fucking shit. REALLY? How does a parent with a child travel to a place that does not already have things like a stroller, car seat, a place to sleep that has bars for fuck's sake? Egg is too big to put in a dresser drawer at this point. I figure that I will need one big assed suitcase for clothes and such, plus checking the car seat. Two items. That leaves me without a stroller or a place for Egg to sleep other than in my arms. I have a co-sleeper that converts to a play pen that can be easily checked, but then I have to forgo A) a car seat or B) clothes and diapers.

Any suggestions? I really like wearing clothes but if I have to fly nekkid I will.

ETA: Husband of Awesome (AKA TB) found this: "When traveling with a child, either on a paid ticket or on your lap, checking car seats and strollers will continue to be free." on the United website for me.Between that and all your VERY HELPFUL OMGILOVEYOUALL comments I think I can relax a tiny bit. Just enough to freak out about baby + plane = wild card of possible doom but likely just plain fine and I need to just shutthefuckup already.

Neighborhood Peeping Tom

My neighborhood has a Peeping Tom. His name is Rex Roofer. He looks like this:



Sometimes he bites my leg when his owner is out of town. Other times he purrs nicely when I scratch him. But every day he peeps in my motherfucking window. It's my special kitty cat window. And he peeps in it. It pisses off Reina.



Reina and Dude enjoy sitting on Chicken's old chair in front of the window and surveying their lands. Rex Roofer likes to watch Reina. She wigs the fuck out and claws at the window. Sometimes, Reina gets so into her rage that she gets startled easily. When Reina gets startled, she turns into a deadly barrage of sharpened claws.



And I bleed.

Edited To Add...

(re: previous post)

I drove about 40 miles, and most of it was freeway. Can you believe that shit? Do you think my body is working so hard at making milk that it forgot how to deal with the sun? Because that is fucked up, yo.

My Kid Is An Asshole

No, not the super cute smallish one. The big one. The big one with the super big attitude that goes with being twelve and on the verge of thirteen. You might say, "Oh Sam, Chicken is GREAT! He is not an asshole. How can you call your kid an asshole?! There is something terribly wrong with you!" To which I reply, "Fuck you. You know not of my pain." However, since I have a blog, I will tell you of my pain. Then you will agree that my Chicken is an asshole.

Chicken just finished seventh grade at a local charter school. During the school year he completed Algebra I and 85% of Geometry. This lead to an issue for next year, as I want him to attend the regular middle school near our house next year. This school changing is worth a whole post, so I shall not get into it today. The problem is that I don't want to make Chicken take Geometry all over next year at the pace of a traditional middle school, but I want him to have a thorough understanding of the subject. In addition, the local middle school does not offer Algebra II. TB and I spend much time and debate and phone calls and office visits to figure out a solution to this problem. MUCH TIME. AND ENERGY. MUCH!!

The solution: Chicken will not take math in eighth grade. He will be a teacher's assistant in a math class instead. He will take Algebra II at night at the local community college. I will be there with him. That way Chicken will not be bored out of his mind all year. Also, I purchased four workbooks for him to do over the summer, which will complete his Geometry I class. Today we started the first workbook. After a bit of fussing I said, "If you don't do this you will have to spend ALL YEAR taking geometry at XX middle school." Five minutes later Chicken says, "Okay. I will take Geometry next year."

WHAT THE FUCKITY FUCK???!! ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS? After all the, "Am I going to take him to the high school every morning to take math and wait while he is in class with a baby in the car and then take him to the middle school and even when my fibro says FUUUUUCK which it likes to do in the morning? Or should he not take math or should he do this or that and after FIVE MINUTES he says WAAAAH like a big fucking baby? HELLS NO. You are going to sit the fuck there and do this or I am going to stick my foot so far up your ass that you are going to trim my toenails with your teeth."

*Thanks to Neighbor Lady for the foot up ass/toenails/teeth saying.

**Alternate title: Why I Can Never Home School Chicken Because He is a Bastard

Post Script: I retired to my office to poop and write this post. Five minutes later my legs were asleep and Chicken shows up with completed work in hand. Asshole.

Fuuuuck Me

I am totally posting tomorrow. I swear. In the meantime, a very short and inappropriate story to tide you over:

H2's cat (which was originally my cat but she decided to love him instead) is dying. Or dead. He might have put her down today. I'm not sure. But yesterday I drove Chicken to see her before she went to the great beyond. She has been in his life since he was 4 or 5 years old, and this was traumatic for him. (this gets funny! don't cry!) When we saw Zada (the cat) she had a lion cut to reduce the spring shedding/licking/barfing cycle. As a very fluffy cat, the lion cut looks a little....ridiculous. So Chicken says, "Maybe she is dying of embarrassment." OMFG. That is totally my kid.

Aren't we adorable? That's us at the NIN concert. Or, us in the parking lot in my car right after I pumped at the NIN concert. Which I had Chicken take pictures of (the pumping, not the actual bewbies). Must document the ridiculous, right? See Chicken's missing tooth? That fucker fell out in December and is just now coming into place. According to the orthodontist that is normal for canines. Who knew? Also, this angle is perfect for my face. Look! Only one chin! But. Not so good for Chicken's face. Oh well. As long as I look stellar, right?

PS Don't hate me. I will be a real, live, blogger again. Pinkie swear.
PPS I got the most awesome new purse today. Bright green outside, pink inside. TB says, "It looks like a frog's vagina." ASSHOLE.

Greetings From Vail, Colorado!

In July of 2007 Teddy Bear and I buried my dad in Grand Junction, Colorado while Chicken was visiting his father in Virginia. We decided then that we would travel back to Grand Junction with Chicken at some point in the future so he could see his grandfather's resting place. After I got pregnant, Teddy Bear thought that Chicken's spring break of 2009 (happening right now) would be a great time to visit Gramps. Egg would be two-ish months old (perfect for a road trip! HA HA HA) and the weather would be nice (HARDY HAR HAR) and several other ridiculous reasons that I currently can't think of in my pain stupor. HELLO FIBROMYALGIA!!! I totally fucking missed you SO MUCH.

I may possibly sound bitter but actually this trip has worked out marvelously. When we told TB's father that we wanted to visit Grand Junction, he said that there might be a way we could use a week of a time share that he owned. The time share is one of those time-banking, various places type so he searched around and found that Vail was available during Chicken's spring break. (I really want to capitalize Spring Break. Why?) Although we don't ski at all for any reason, we ended up with a week in Vail, Colorado at no cost. SWEET!!

Funny story about Vail. Chicken and I were in a sporting goods store buying a snowy-type jacket for him. The cashier asked where we were going and we replied, "Vail." She looked confused and asked, "Vail Lake?" Which is located in Southern California. Not in the mountains. Not anywhere that a reasonable person would wear a big thick snow jacket ever. Fucking dumbass.

Back to our trip. Although we are currently in Vail, our first stop to eat was in St. George, Utah. Where Chicken left his cell phone in a Denney's, and then we saw a billboard offering help to those trapped in polygamy. We also saw a billboard in Utah stating that "Don't hit pedestrians, it can change your life." Uh? Really? In Salt Lake Valley we visited a few of TB's relatives so they could meet Egg. We even had breakfast with Bad Grandma. I must post about her next. She is awesomely BAAAAAD. Hence the title.

An aside: you know how packages that are sealed get all bloaty and threaten to explode when you bring them up to high elevation? Do boobs count as sealed packages? Because mine are all ARGH and UMPH and POOF!!! and make a big fucking mess all over the bed and in Walmart and my shirt is drenched. My supply was happily calmed and normal and it is back to being all fucked off again. At least Egg is old enough now to take the extra flowage in stride.

During the first leg of our trip to Salt Lake I somehow mentioned Rim Jobs to Chicken and then refused to explain them to him. So he was forced by his middle schooler's brain to ask over and over again "What's a rim job? Huh? Huh? A rim job? What is it?" It was all kinds of awesome in the car and now Chicken is just a little smarter than he was before this adventure began.

We stopped at a gas station that advertised a Waterfall Urinal. Seriously. TB even took pictures to prove it. That, ladies and gentlemen, is a urinal. A waterfall urinal. The women's bathroom had nothing so cool.In the second picture you can even see his stream. He took a picture OF HIS STREAM.

Then we stopped in the middle of the desert to soothe and feed Egg when my bladder decided it was uncomfortably full. I haven't peed in the great outdoors in years and it was AWESOME. Chicken was so impressed by the pee spot that he took a picture of it.

(I was peeing outside his car door and he had NO IDEA what I was doing until I was done. It was an added bonus. HA HA I'm outside your door peeing on the ground!) The cool wind blowing on my Lady Bits felt so damn good I think I may take up peeing in my backyard. But only when Crazy Neighbor Lady is looking over the fence. She needs more inappropriate Sam peeing in her life. I just realized that I posted pictures of my pee AND TB's pee. For all the Innernets to see. Just another day at Sam's Stories, huh?

Last short story and then I must leave you until my hands aren't screaming in pain from the typing. We all were in a Super! Walmart when my boobies exploded and I purchased some disposable nursing pads while Chicken, Egg, and TB shopped for supplies. When I returned to the cart containing a sleeping Egg, TB and Chicken were in an aisle and not within eyeshot of Egg. As in TEDDY BEAR WAS NOT WATCHING THE BABY. IN FUCKING WALMART. BABY LEFT UNATTENDED BEEP BEEP BEEP HOLY FUCK ME OMG. So I did what any reason mother would do: I stole the baby. About a minute later I received a phone call from TB where he pretended valiently not to be FREAKING THE FUCK OUT ABOUT LOSING TEH BABY!!!11!! He is never doing that again. WIN!

Next post: Bad Grandma talks about her va-jay-jay at breakfast and I shit my brains out at the cemetary and try to use the word awesome fewer times. Maybe.

Baby News

Egg is still breech. Bah! Slightly more info here. Make sure to read the post below and give me your name suggestions for Egg. Maybe a good name will convince him to go head down?

Sorry For The Radio Silence

Between the house buying stress and gestating I have had too much in my brain to blog coherently. My brain looks like this on the inside:

• paint!
• carpet!
• wood floor!
• spackle!
• packing!
• signing docs!
• baby kicked!
• omg my stomach is moving!
• please remove my hips!
• when the fuck will escrow close!
• appliances!
• need sleep!
• want to nest!
• AHHHHHH!

See? Not a great post. In other news, I've opened a new, private blog in order to discuss things that I cannot discuss in a public forum. If you would like an invite, leave a comment or email me. I need an email address from you to invite you and I need to know you either from you commenting here or from me reading your blog. Got it? Great. Good times, people. Good times.

Bitchin' Camaro

Her Bad Mother has two blogs. A traditional blog and a blog where people come to anonymously complain about whatever ails them. For the first time ever, Catherine has engineered Betchfest, a glorious time where bloggers swap stories and blogs in a convoluted, no tracking possible manner. Or at least we all hope so! The following Bitch is from anonymous, please shower her with love and affection.

---

Sam told me that she is "fairly profane on a regular basis" and so I could betch about anything I wanted to on her blog. So I'm going to betch about sex. Namely, reminding husband that a vibrator is not a fucking light saber. Nice and goddamn easy Mr. Skywalker.

I brought this toy into the marital session because one of the side effects of antidepressants is that you shower. The other side effect is that even though your lady bits smell clean as a whistle you have no desire to use them. So out comes that hot pink, hard plastic vibrator you bought from the mall's gag gift store. (Because if you actually brought out the one that you plugged in husband's nuts would retract.) And you start getting down to business time again.

At first husband's all suspicious of the plastic. Then he realizes that you can now have an orgasm every time that the two of you get it on. Look out. And as time goes by the line between the trembling plastic goodness and his skill as a lover gets blurred. He forgets that it's actually the $14.99 vibe that you got there, and just remembers that you did it. While he was in the bed with you.

Which is awesome. He feels great. You feel great. Everybody feels great. And the neighbors are totally weirded out by the fact that every Friday and Wednesday night this strange vvvvvvvv-va-vvvvvvvvvvvvvv sound emanates from your bedroom window. But then husband's got to get all artsy with the damn thing. Dude. It buzzes. You place it on the spot. Wait a couple of minutes and ba-da-boom. You don't need to twist, jam or rub the thing against my crotch like you're trying to start a fire.

And do you understand how a see saw works? If you press one side down, the other side goes up. So when you see me approaching my wifely moment, throwing your body down on top of me causes the vibrator to lift off of the magic spot. Killing the moment, and making us start over. Then you do it again. So on the third go round I have to pretend like I'm not about to blow when the moment approaches so you don't bruise my crotch bone and stop the fun.

And lastly, additional hands, mouth and so on are more than welcome. I'll bake a cake just to let you know how welcome they all are. But sword fighting the vibrator with your dick is beyond frustrating. I can tell the difference between the vibe and your wiener. Primarily, because as lovely as your cock is, it doesn't vibrate. So trying to pull the old switcheroo midway through isn't going to work. Kay?

This is anonymous right? If you figure out who the author of this sex small talk is, pretty please keep it to yourself. Husband reads email, and reads comments on my blog. If he finds out about this I fear our household will suddenly run out of all AA batteries.

Thanks, and keep on keeping on.

I Love The Innernets...

...and hate the real world. Yesterday I saw a father watching his daughter play on the escalator in the mall. She was about three steps down and was attempting to go UP the DOWN escalator. I am guessing that she was about five or six years old. As she struggled to hop up the wrong way her father had the older brother (about eight or nine years old) go onto the escalator THE WRONG WAY and attempt to pull her to the top. While the father watched from a vantage point where he had no physical access to either child. The two children made it safely to the top of the DOWN escalator and I held back the urge to kick the living shit of the father.

People in Walmart make me crazy, too. I was attempting to look at something in a particular aisle where this woman, her cart, and her three children were milling about. I patiently parked my cart out of the way of everyone else in the aisle and waited. And then waited some more. Eventually she looked up and said, "Oh, do you want to get by?" I smiled and nodded and was perfectly pleasant as I pushed my cart down the aisle. At this point in my life (minimal medication and maximum hormones) I am very non-confrontational in public. I am afraid that if I open my mouth I am going to fucking lose my collective shit. Er, lose my shit more I suppose would be more accurate.

Are you familiar with people that need anti-anxiety medication (or any brain meds) and they go on it and feel great and then think to themselves, "Self, I am perfectly fine. I do not need medication." So they go off the medication and are stunned when they are totally fucking anxious? Yeah, that's not me so much. I like feeling like a normal person. However, I had forgotten some of the more fun and exciting parts of anxiety. Which, by the way is a super great gift from the fibromyalgia gods. Thanks! Recently I was reminded of how not fun it is to drive while anxious. No, I'm not putting myself or others in danger. Sheesh! I just have some reservations about parking in a spot to my right. I second guess myself and my inner anxious monologue sounds something like this, "Is there enough room? Are you sure? A huge truck just pulled out but are you SURE the little Honda will fit in that spot? Maybe the truck can bend space and time and fit but I don't know if you can do it. How about a bigger spot? Like the one two miles away in your driveway?"

This is where I have to (again) weigh the costs and benefits of taking my measly amount of Celexa every other day. I'm still able to DO things, I just prefer to be able to park like a person that has been driving for almost twenty years. Is my discomfort worth any possible risks? What about how my discomfort impacts Adrienne Stephanie? GAH! No wonder I hate people. My tolerance for interaction is currently at a very low level. Which brings me back to lovin' the innernets. You all rock my world. Thank you for giving me a little piece of sanity in this world.

PS. ANNA IT IS NOT A FUCKING WIG. DON'T MAKE ME DEDICATE A POST TO THE BEAUTY OF YOUR CURLY HAIR. I WILL TAKE YOU DOWN.

Dude

Because I am still feeling the backlash of emotion from the previous post, I figured that a picture of Young Dude would cheer everyone one (including ME!) up a little. Do I miss that 500 year old microwave? Not one bit.

PS I did not put him in there. I just ran for the camera to enable me to laugh at him later.

Well Shit

Severe lack of sleep plus reducing my Celexa from 40mg per day to 10mg every other day equals fussy and needing to vent Sam. I'm exhausted and frustrated but it is getting better and I am mostly keeping a positive outlook. Please allow me to let off steam without judging too harshly. I would most likely be much happier back on a full dosage of Celexa but I am trying to wean off of it for the health of my unborn child. If my anxiety and depression is too much to function as a person I will increase the medication to a dosage where the cost/benefit analysis makes sense. So bear with me please, I am struggling.

I told my mother today that I am pregnant, and boy was I ever glad that my godmother was there to curb her reaction. My mother's face contorted into the most amazing configurations while she struggled with her reaction to the news. She brought up a few points for me to think about, being that I just woke up one day and realized that SEX CAN MAKE BABIES and ZOMG I'm knocked up and I didn't think about it at all ahead of time. She is concerned about my housing situation and school.

I guess the fact that I just told her that we were purchasing a larger house this year fell out of her brain, so I gently reminded her that we are buying a house this year. Hey! Guess what? We are buying a house this year! Currently we live in a two-bedroom house, and even if we stayed here for a few months after the baby is born it is not as if the baby would sleep in its own room at that point.

As far as the school situation, my mother knows that I barely finished this past semester due to the fibromyalgia and have already seriously considered not returning in the fall for multiple reasons. One of those reasons is that I might home school Chicken for the next two years. I know that I am not physically able to teach full-time at this point, and may never be healthy enough to do so. In addition, I am not going to work full-time with an infant/small child at home. I would not be having another child if our financial situation dictated that I work full-time. Does this mean that we budget like motherfuckers? Hell yeah. Does this mean that my disposable income is really tiny? Yeah. But it is worth it to stay at home and take care of my family.

Speaking of family, after I got home today I realized that I have no more family to tell about my pregnancy. My mother will tell her siblings and they will tell their children but that's about it, folks. No ZOMGWTFBBQ I'm pregnant calls to my family. No OMG CONGRATS WOOT YAY A BABY!! I miss my dad. I miss my Celexa. It does a great job of taking the edge off of shit that hurts.

Cooterus*

On Friday I created a new word: cooterus. It refers to the whole of the female reproductive organs, including labia, vagina, uterus, ovaries, etc. Most words cover one or more implied parts, however cooterus takes care of the whole shebang at once. For example: "Oh my fuck there is a baby in mah cooterus." Or, alternatively, "Mah cooterus hurts."

*patent pending, copyright, all rights reserved, may not use without saying, "Sam made this up because she is cool."

Back Away From The Cervix

I finally went to the doctor today and had my first appointment. I can't tell you how much I missed having not only my hoo-ha invaded by metal, my cervix scraped with something that resembles a fucking RAKE and then a couple of fingers groping around. GAH! The doctor said that my ute feels at least as pregnant as I say I am, and maybe ahead a little bit. Considering the specifically timed nookie either she's a nutjob, the damn thing is ALREADY big like TB, or there is more than one occupant. I vote for nutjob because the other two options suck ass. I did wrangle a referral to the ultrasound place and later called and made an appointment for Friday. I will feel much better after seeing a heartbeat.

The pukey feeling is still much milder than it was, but the fatigue is brutal. The fibro pain is bad when I wake up (which is often), but not horrible during the day. It is managable. Tomorrow I am going to the Del Mar Fair (shut up I will never call it the San Diego Fair, that is bullshit). I am going with my mother, Chicken, and Jesus. Chicken's best friend's name is really Jesus. We call him the Son of God sometimes. We're a little immature. Jesus calls Chicken a derivative of his real name, but with a girly twist. They're an excellent match and have a shitload of fun together.

I'm nervous about spending the day with my mother. One, because it's my mother. Two, because my mom doesn't know that I'm knocked up and I REALLY don't want to tell her. I have no idea what her reaction will be, but based on previous conversations I am not counting on it being good. After I had Chicken my mom strongly recommended that I get my tubes tied. What doctor is going to do that when I had one child at home and I was only 22?

Several times over the years she has either talked to me about the tubal OR getting a hysterectomy. The hysterectomy because I have crappy periods that tend to be painful. Not like endometriosis, just a little miserable. So take out my uterus, right? CRAZY. She got a hysterectomy when I was six months old. According to her it was because the doctor told her not to have any more children. According to my secret source, it was because she wanted to be damn sure never to have any more children. She didn't want anymore-when I was six months old. Can you imagine? No baggage here people!!

My mother loves Chicken, but she has issues. I know better than to expect her to be excited about this pregnancy but it always hurts a little when she reacts crappily. Some of you are probably asking, "Why do you want to tell her now?" The answer is that I am getting to the point where I am having trouble hiding it for long periods of time. My lower abdomen is all fat, my boobs are bigger and eating is a chore. The only reason that I am going tomorrow (instead of letting Chicken go without me) is that I have never been to the Del Mar Fair with him and next year I will hopefully have a sixth month old baby. Not a recipe for a day of fun with a fucking zillion people.

I loved the Del Mar Fair as a child. LOVED IT. I want to share the experience with my favoritist Chicken in the world. I hope that tomorrow is fun and I can tune out any negative energy spewing from my mother. Maybe she'll be happy for me? HA HA HA.

Damn Meme

Longtime readers know how I feel about memes. However, Thanksgiving Mom gets a free pass because I think she's cool. And, she is sending me a book. Yay book! I refuse to tag anyone, however if you decide to take on this meme-leave a comment and I promise to read your meme AND leave you a fascinating comment on your blog. Make sure you tell me which category of bloggy person you fall under (read the directions at the bottom for clarification) I will not throw feces at you, metaphorically or literally when I visit your blog. Unless you appear to be in dire need of some fresh fecal matter. Then I'll take one for the time. Oh! I also deleted a few questions because it's my blog and I'm a narcissist.

---

Favorite person (outside family): Dude. Don't even tell me that he's not a person. He's a fucking person, he just has a short stature and body hair issues.

Favorite food: How about funnel cake? I can't eat it but OMFG good funnel cake is WAY better than mediocre sex.

Quirks about you: Hmmm...I am fairly sure that I am one big Quirk, but for the sake of brevity I hate it when dish soap builds up around the cap of the dish soap bottle.

How would the person who loves you most describe you in ten words or less? I am going to make Teddy Bear answer this in the comments.

Any regrets in life? I regret giving up my son for adoption.

Favorite Charity/Cause: I have issues with charities, which are succinctly illustrated by the handy dandy Lowest-Ranked Charities graph I uploaded for your viewing convenience. I would rather do good deeds on a smaller scale than contribute to a charity that may or may not be helping people.

Something you cannot get enough of? Thai tea snow bubbles with boba from Tapioca Express.

Worst job you have ever had? I worked at a rotisserie chicken place where the manager and an employee made fun of my not super huge rack. They would compare it to pre-teen girls that would come into the restaurant. I fucking hated it.

What job would you pay NOT to have? Anything involving sales.

Guilty Pleasure: Caffeine-free Coke. YUM.

Got any confessions? I was over H3.2 long before I left him.

If you HAD to spend $1,000 on YOURSELF, how would you spend it? At Nordstrom on clothes. Duh!

Favorite thing about your house? That it is a house, more specifically a single family home that I live in with my family. I am grateful to have it.

Least favorite thing about your house? That we will need to move to have enough room for a new family member.

One thing you are good at? I give an awesome blow job.

If you could change something about your circumstances, what? I wish I didn't have fibromyalgia.

Who would you like to meet someday? My bloggy friends that I have not met. (I stole this one from Thanksgiving Mom) Oh, and Clint Eastwood a few decades ago. RAWR!

What makes you feel sexy? Dressing up from head to toe and having TB give me that look.

Who is your real life hero? My husband. The way that he takes care of me is amazing. I don't mean financially (although he does that, too) but he fills in all the gaps caused by my fibromyalgia plus a few more.

What is the hardest part of your job? Not being physically capable of having a full-time job means the paychecks suck ass.

When are you most relaxed? In bed with my half of the electric blanket on high, a book or my laptop and a cold drink (water, soy milk, soda) beside me.

What stresses you out? Um...stress? Shit...my bowels stress me out. The OMG I have to: take a horrible shit, fart while getting a massage in a small room, etc. Which I suppose is linked closely to the whole stupid not eating wheat issue, because if my diet is PERFECT my tummy is happier and my ass smells better. Today I realized that if I am a bad person in this life and reincarnation exists I will come back as a Pomeranian with intestinal issues. I cannot imagine having that much ass hair and being that close to the ground.

What can you not live without? Burt's Bees lip balm. I typically have three or more tubes at any given time because cracked, bloody lips are gross. Also, my Dude. I'm not going to talk about humans because like many other normal human beings I am really fond of my family. But Dude? He's the most awesome cat in the history of cats. Ask Gus, she'll back me up on this.

Do you agree or disagree with the recent article that reported that blogs are authored by narcissists? Well that is just stupid. I agree that people that write articles attempting to pigeonhole a diverse group of people are assholes.

Why do you blog? In the beginning, I had quit smoking, my Chicken was at his father's for the summer and I needed something to fill the gap. Now? Writing is therapeutic for me and I enjoy the social aspect. Since I am physically broken I don't get to do things like hiking and skiing and whatever active people do. Blogging is my hobby, my link to the world when I hurt too much to participate and my creative outlet.


Rules:
1. Answer the questions
2. Link back to whoever tagged you
3. Tag eight bloggers to do the same, 2 from each category:
a. New/newer bloggers
b. Bloggy friends
c. Bloggers you would like to get to know better
d. Bloggers you don not think will respond, but you hope will.

Fun With Mah Cooter Pal

Some of you might be wondering where the fuck I went off to when my semester ended. Well, I started student teaching full time and blah tired blah feet hurt blah fucking exhausted. My two-week Spring break started Friday at 4:00pm PST and at 9:00pm PST that very same day my cooter pal flew into town. She lost her shit, needed some immoral support, and got on a plane bound for California. Luckily I was just hanging out at the airport when she flew into town. She'll be here until Tuesday night when your regularly scheduled visit will be planned. Hush. I'll get there. Don't worry.

Also? The blogging? Will return! I have many, many things to say, including:

1. The time I jumped off the wall in my backyard and peed a little.
2. The time Chicken said in class "Clitoris? That sounds like Glitterbus!"

Half-Nekkid Pussy Cat

Dude the Cat says:

"Back off of my tits, yo!"
For more pussy shots, go see the King of Nekkid, Osbasso!

I Can Haz Cheeseburger

Like I have nothing better to do, I was at the lolcat place and found this picture in dire need of a caption. So I captioned it. You may now laugh.


moar funny pictures

Oh Lordy!

I am fairly sure that I would like to be shot now. When I initially scheduled my visit to Doolittleville, USA it was to hang with my Cooter Pal (Teddy Bear coined that very special nickname) and to accompany her to Big University Hospital. This trip was scheduled for an appointment with a Special Doctor for the Very Small Animal AKA Eliza's youngest child. I was to attend this little jaunt for moral support and to help wrangle the Medium Animal (middle child) while Eliza was busy with the youngest.

Well, if that didn't all go to hell and back and then to hell again. Eliza went and got herself the MRSA again and the last few days have been grueling, exhausting, and very necessary. Although I would prefer a visit that included trips to a spa and plenty of naps, I am still glad to be here. My body, however begs to differ with that opinion because HOLY FUCK I am so tired and ouch and tired. The good news? If I can manage to tube feed a 2 year old, take care of a 6, 28 and 3 year old with PDD's I believe that I might be able to manage Chicken and one small newborn child if Teddy Bear and I decide to go that route. And yes, I've included Eliza in that sentence because although she is super great and I am so glad to be with her, health-wise she is FUBAR and in a slight coma off and on this week. Not a true "coma" but one in which she passes the fuck out while eating in her big comfy chair and then is not quite able to be roused for hours at a time.

If any of you read Eliza's blog and think "This girl is batshit crazy AND making shit up because no one has so much shitty shitness in their lives" you would be very wrong. I am too fucking tired to explain it all, but it involves projectile vomiting and a fever at the Big University Hospital courtesy of the Medium Animal. I am so tired. I am pretty sure that upon arriving back in California I will need to go into a slight coma of my own. Thankfully the semester is over and Chicken is fairly self-sustaining.

*No, Tobiwan, Chicken is at home.
**Erin, I am not near you and I don't have a layover near you. I'm flying through Atlanta on the way back. I'm sad, too.

Squeeeeee!

I AM ALMOST DONE WITH THE SEMESTER.
I HAVE ONE PAPER LEFT TO WRITE.
I APOLOGIZE FOR SHOUTING.
I AM THAT EXCITED.
WHEEE.

Also? On Sunday I am getting on an airplane and going here. I am so super excited I can barely keep myself from peeing a little right now. Oops.

Squee!

Ahhh....the Holidays

A time of gathering, food, merry-making and cheer, isn't it? Or maybe a time of angst, terror, horror and fear? Yes, most definitely the second choice. This year, I had two Thanksgiving dinners. The first was at my Aunt S's house on Monday night. My Uncle P was coming into town from New York and most of the siblings (my mother's siblings) gathered to have a Lebanese & Pizza affair. The Lebanese because my mother (and her siblings) are all 1/2 Lebanese. The pizza because all of their children (except for me) do not eat Lebanese food.

This was the first meal I had eaten with my mother's family in several years. I had been opting to eat ANYWHERE else with fairly good results. For some reason, when I eat a holiday meal at another family's house they make me wheat-free food. Not everything is free from wheaty goodness, but there are usually meats and vegetables and salads and desserts that I can gain 10 holidays pounds from eating. Yummy turkeys and gravies and PIE, oh how I love pie. I still miss H3.2's mom, the mistress of fabulous gluten-free food ALL FOR ME.

Does anyone see where this is going? Do I even need to continue this post? Fuck it, I will anyway. I need to vent. So... Monday night. My Aunts S and B, my Uncle P, my mother, a few other random people and my Uncle P's Vegan Girlfriend. This is where a little, itty bit of background is needed. Uncle P has been married for about 25 years. I am not sure if he is officially divorced yet, but he moved out some time ago. Vegan Girlfriend was the only woman I have ever seen my Uncle P with that wasn't my Aunt M. It was a little weird, but we rallied and my mother and Aunt S planned a wonderful meal that included many, many varied assortments of delicious food that did not contain meat, dairy or egg. Isn't that so sweet, and courteous and wonderful?

When I inquired about the wheat content of the food, a stunned silence ensued. "Oh noes!" cried everyone. "How could we have forgotten that Sam cannot eat wheat? What shall we do?" Yeah, whatever. I got a "Maybe you can eat the stuffed grape leaves, why don't you call the place that catered them and talk to the gentleman that barely speaks English and see if the two of you can figure out over the phone if you can eat?" Thanks Mom! Thanks Aunt S! You're the best!

I ate the stuffed grape leaves and some plain salad. Luckily, I am enough of a slut for stuffed grapes leaves that I wasn't very bitter. Let's move on to Thanksgiving, huh? Where there was gobs of food and joyousness abundantly spread throughout the kitchen. Three items were not swimming in Wheaty Goodness. The turkey, the ham, and the mashed potatoes. I politely requested that people use only one utensil for those items, and not to double-dip the serving forks into wheaty items. To which my Aunt replied "Ho, ho, ha ha! We've been drinking for four days so that might be a problem. I recommend you serve yourself first and make sure you have enough for seconds. That way we won't have to worry about it! Yay!"

Do you feel the love? 'Cause I sure do. Fuckers.

No-Reply Comment Blogger

AKA I can't fucking respond to you, you stupid douchebags pleasantly refreshing readers!

If your name is on this list, either you change your Blogger setting or settle for the cold hard truth: I cannot reply to your comment. I will not reply to your comment. I will take a veritable piss on your comment. (Unless it is a nice comment, in that case then I will "squeeee!!" with delight and promptly forget it ever happened)

• LD2
• Boobless Brigade Master
• EB72
• Manblogger
• Daisy- went private
  
• Eliza
• Anne
• Treespotter
• Gus Greeper
• Slyde-yes, it totally makes you gay and I love that about you!
  
• Colds Hands
• Sheen V
• Osbasso
• Badgerdaddy

Are we in understanding together in glorious goodness? Really? Okay! Change it muthafuckers. I want to make dialogue/witty comments with/at you and or your closest clone person.