Would someone please tell the dwarves...

currently pounding on my fucking forehead like it's a gogdamn mine shaft, to knock it the hell off?

While you're at it, tell those elves that have managed to wrap my whole head in cotton, thereby trapping the aforementioned dwarves, on my damn forehead in the first place, that they're so, like, totally, FIRED.

For crying out loud, I have an overnight babysitter tomorrow night.

One does just

not

get

the

fuckmotherfuckerfuckshit

FLU

the day before.

Fucking asshole-ly little germs.

Bunch of inconsiderate little monsters, I tell you.

fuck off or I'll breathe on you: drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

Being NOT pregnant is so. much. FUN!

My very best friend, in the world, is pregnant. Amy and I have been best friends for more than half of our lives. She was my Maid of Honor, and I will be hers, in her October '06 wedding. She was there, throughout all of my pregnancies, even though the mere thought of little people's sticky hands, makes her all squicky inside.

She recently, found out she is pregnant. Apparently, her and Paul, celebrated their engagment, with champagne. Now, she's in her 16th week, is just starting to show, and according to her "If my boobs weren't sore, and I wasn't not getting my period, I'd never even know I was pregnant".

When I'd pee on a stick, and it turned pink, I never announced I was pregnant, "Let the vomiting commence" would do.

So, I'm bouncing around the internet last night (speaking of which, anyone else aware that the dork that married brittney spears, has his own website now, LOL?), and find a pregnancy calculator. I punch in her due date and get this....

"Your baby's nails are well formed, and some babies are even in need of having their nails trimmed at birth. The ears have also moved from the neck to the head.
Your baby is emptying his or her bladder every 40-45 minutes. The limb movements are becoming more coordinated. Your baby is about 3 ounces (85 grams) and 6.3 inches (16 cms). The gender may be detectable by ultrasound. "
http://pregnancy.about.com/cs/pregnancycalendar/l/blweek16.htm

So, like any good best friend, I sent her a quick email...

"Thought you'd like to know, that your little person is peeing inside of you, every hour or so. What do you want to do New Years Eve?"

let the peeing commence: drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

Like, the best day-after-christmas EVER.

Do you know what I got to do today???

Do you??

Do you care??

LMFFAO...

I did nothing.

Literally.

It's 8 PM, my kids are still in their pj's from last night, and have only left the living room for bathroom breaks. I got dressed about 2 hours ago, to run to the store for a salad.

That's crap.

I got dressed to run to the store for cake, but they didn't have the kind I wanted, so I picked up a salad and frozen meatballs to throw in the frozen spaghetti sauce that I threw in a pot for dinner.

And oreos.

Oh, and Lindt truffles.

I'm thinking, it would have cost me less, calorie wise, if they'd just had the damn cake, LOL. You know, the really bad kind, with the thick white icing?

Rots your teeth in under 60 seconds.

I spent most of my christmas cash, on totally not-fun-to-a-remotely-normal person kitchen crap, a 12" skillet with a lid, marked down from $99 to $39 (shitFIRE I'm old, to get excited about A pot, and not just pot, LOL), a food sealer, and a Foreman Grill, with removeable grill plates...

How old again, do you have to be, to get a senior citizen discount?

being thirty SUCKS.

early bird specials @ drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

Merry Christmas to all...

and to all, a good fucking night!

Damn, you never realize when you're little, just exactly WHY your parents are so damn tired on Christmas day, besides the fact that you were doing cartwheels on their bed at 4 AM.

I love Christmas. I mean, I LOVE Christmas. I'm that girl. The one who starts blaring Christmas music November 1, and unabashedly celebrates Christmas in July almost every year, since I just can't wait that long until December.

But, I gotta tell you. Playing Santa, with kids that just can't fall asleep until around 11 PM, followed by the ones that were asleep, waking up at midnight, and not being able to fall BACK asleep until well after 1 AM ...

I'm OLD.

I can't hang. Only through the prodigious amount of coffee consumed (I think I just may have broken a record, and with all of it prepared on my brand new Brewmaster coffee pot!), laced with equally prodigious amounts of Baileys, have I been able to stay awake. Though, the unwrapping of both seasons one, AND two, of Quincy, MD, on DVD, did produce a high that lasted about an hour, LOL.

Christmas is fun, it's sparkly, and pretty, with wrapping paper and bows, surprises, cookies, and booze, but damn.

It's exhausting.

I'll ha-ha-have a bluuuue christmas, without you: drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

In the spirit of the season...

fuck...

the laundry

the cookies

the peanut butter balls

the wrapping

the shopping

the inlaws

the mounds of tape

the tiny little shreds of wrapping paper that are stewn through out the house, because they stuck to your ass while you were sitting on the floor wrapping

the trees that are only 1/2 lit

the ornaments that were batted off the tree by the cat, and broke

the full trashcans

the cranky/sick/cracked out on santa/ kiddos

the fucking people that steal the spot you were CLEARLY waiting for, in the Dunkin Donut's parking lot, preventing you from being able to order a caramel creme latte on a day that you really, seriously, NEED it

the fucking projects that require you to pull a colonial costume out of your fucking ASS for the damn history project that is...tomorrow

the cards that never got sent

the fuckers you forgot to buy gifts for

the crusty floors

the dusty bookcases

maids that wont pick up shit

BUT...remember that I love all of you, LMFFAO...

It's christmas DAMMIT: drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

I. am. SO. offended.

In my profile, those dirty blogger bastard's say I'm thirty.

THIRTY.

What the hell is it to them, if I've decided to skip my birthday this year?

I'm thirty?

Well you're FAT.

fuck off: drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

It's all about the kids, man...

One of the best parts about having children?

Totally being able to pull off, belting out, Feliz Navidad, with the window cracked so that random strangers stuck at the traffic light with you can share the festivites.

One a semi-related note...

I made 20 pounds of gogdamn fudge today.

Twenty pounds.

That's a lot of fudge, LOL.

Have a piece: drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

Where the hell is the damn panic button??

So, I did have a whole post planned...unfortunately, panic arrived before I was able to finish the whole thought process...

and now I forget, LOL...

which, incidentally, is why the panic initially set in.

See, normally, I click the link, and blogger takes me right to the page where I click the little gear link, and *tada*, I'm able to post.

Tonight, it asked me sign in.

Seriously?

After not asking me to sign in for months, tonight it decided, "You know what? Let's fuck with her a bit!"

I'm schrounging around in my desk (screw you, it's only messy to the untrained eye), trying to find the itty-bitty slip of paper I cleverly decided to write passwords on, at which point, baby daddy walks past and delivers..."you know, if you cleaned that thing out once and a while"...

Luckily, his reflexes are good, and he was able to dodge the shoe I hurled toward the general vicinity of his head.

No luck on the slip of paper, I'm completely freaking OUT, when I notice a cute little link...

"Log in difficulties?"

Why, now that you mention it...YES!

Now, passwords are easy to retrieve, but what happens if you forget your own name?

The scary part is, that, apparently, I'm not the only one.

Hi, my name is: drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

You tell me what you want, and I'll tell you what you get...

...you get away from me...

how sucky is it, that at the ripe old age of 29, I still can't make peace with my momma?

"For your sake, I hope heaven and hell are really there, but I wouldn't hold my breath. You wasted life, why wouldn't you waste death?"

How appropriate...

I hate the fact that the prospect of spending a day with them makes my insides twist and squirm, my skin shrink like it's a dress that's two sizes too small, but I just gotta fit in the damn thing. Gotta keep the mouth shut, can't talk too much, too loud, don't drink that beer, they'll think you're an alcoholic (which, was actually a fairly funny conversation), along with being the heathen irresponsible momma who don't take her kids to church, who is just a fucking weirdo that we all tolerate, because she'll eventually stop running away from god and us, and come BACK. How do you deal with that, when what they want, it doesn't exist, it never did, I just stopped pretending, and put on a different outfit, so they'd stop asking to see that old dress? That dress was just something my mother draped me in, like a paper doll...

I ain't NO FUCKING DOLL.

What I am, is a little drunk, a little weepy, a little angry at myself, for letting them do this to me, over and over and over again, and furious that who I am, just isn't enough. It's never enough. I could cure AIDS, diseases, poverty, world hunger, and bring about world peace, but if I'm not going to church, and praising her god, it's all ashes in her mouth.

I'm so damn tired. I can't cut them out, maybe it's because I'm a fucking coward (entirely possible), and not that I just can't break her heart, it's been broken by so many people, over so many years, so many losses, she's just a shell that was filled with religon and bibles, and jesus...Maybe it's that I'm afraid of what she'll say about ME....the daughter who was never quite good enough, never quite athletic enough, never thin enough, never quite enough like my older brother, never thick enough,never pushed enough, never quite lived up to projected expectations...

just not quite enough, off by a hair, but if you'd just...

fill in the blank.

work out more
work harder
stop fighting
figure out why you're so angry (make no mistake about it folks, I'm one pissed off broad)

So, instead, I'll finish up making the pumpkin cheesecake, go to bed, get up tomorrow, dress, go over to my parent's house, and listen while my mother finds a way to flay the skin off my back without breaking a sweat, cracking a nail, or wearing off her bright red lipstick. Then I'll go home, get drunk, and wish I was still young enough to pull off a nice bathroom flagellation, and scrub the skin until it falls off in defeat, and all that's left is new skin, shinny and red, ready for the next round.

join the club: drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

Too much too soon?

As I finish decorating for christmas, I wonder, is it too much, too soon, to hang up the stockings?

I have everything done but the lights, garland, and the stockings...

What?

Thanksgiving?

Be thankful any day, slacker, it's CHRISTMAS TIME!

ARRGHHH...

A'hoy me maties!

and THAT is my pirate impersonation.

Shiver me timbers @: Drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

And higher still....

Oh.

My...

just one more little tidbit from the right wing. Enjoy!

"For once, the anger and intolerance which is very much a part of the gay rights movement was directed at one of their own, since John Corvino, who argued for a “No” vote in the upcoming referendum, is himself, a homosexual. "

http://www.cclmaine.org/

Anger and intolerance? You mean the rednecks who tied Matthew Shepard to a fence and then literally stoned him to death?

You mean the fuckers that drive down the road and yell "Faggot"?

Or, the assholes with signs similar to "God hates Fags" (you have to admire theioriginalityty, as well as their creativeness! Talk about thinking outside the box).

Filled with anger and intolerance @ : drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

My chance of a stroke? Higher by the word.

ARGHHHH!

No, that is NOT my pirate impersonation.

I swear to GOG. The more I read, the less I realize I know, and the high my blood pressure climbs.

What the fuck is wrong with these people, that they think they are their "god"'s representative on earth? What the fuck makes them so damn sure that they are right? Talk about fucking ego...

Here's a clip....
Two weeks from today voters across the country will head to the polls to decide on issues ranging from child custody laws to school funding. Several states however will decide on issues of personal freedom and equal rights.
One of the more astounding is an attempt to roll back the rights of homosexuals in Maine, being spearheaded by religious right leaders both in the state and nationally.
Earlier this year, Maine’s governor signed legislation banning discrimination based on sexual orientation. Maine’s Christian Civic League immediately went into action, collecting signatures to allow a “Peoples Veto”. The religious right got its signatures, so on November 8th Mainers will head to the polls to vote on whether the law should be repealed (a “YES” vote will allow discrimination, a “NO” vote will uphold the law). According to the Christian Civic League:
If sexual orientation is added to Maine’s legal code it will start the implementation of policies that discriminate against people with traditional views of morality.
This makes sense.
The majority of Mainers see it differently, as do a growing number of Maine’s Christian community. Churches across the state have come out in support of this law ensuring civil liberties for homosexuals, and opposing the position of the Christian Civic League. As David Henry of Lamoine Baptist Church told the Bangor Daily News, “Jesus never called on us to hate anyone on account of anything…..We are called to love in genuine ways.”

http://defconblog.org/2005/10/the-right-to-discriminate/#more-37

I wonder how long it would take them to arrest that long-haired hippy freak Jesus under the Patriot Act.

Born okay the first time: drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

And the mommy award of the day goes to....

My dear ol'ball and chain, informed me once, that when we are drunk together, he finds me fascinating. When I'm drunk, and he's not, he finds me annoying.

RIGHT BACK AT HIS ASS.

On the way home tonight, after attending a family (sorta, but that's a whole 'nother post. A long one, at that.) function, we picked up the schimiddos...

"WOULD YOU PLEASE SHUT THE HELL UP AND LET ME FUCKING DRIVE YOU ASSHOLE!"

In my defense, I'd like to add that I had fielded "Take this exit", followed by "Why did you get off here? 10 is much faster than 97".

A point, I'd tried to make at, you know, 97.

"Are you going really slow, or is it just me?"

followed by:

"Christ Danielle, slow the fuck down, would you?"

Please note, there was no change in speed between the two.

The last straw was when, as we were driving through the neighborhood that I grew up in, and I cut down a side road, to avoid some traffic.

"Where the hell are you going? This way takes foreeevvveerr...", while playing with the radio attempting to tune in a local country station.

Now, some will read this and say "How could you use such profanity, in front of your children????"

While others will say, "Thank gog you distracted him before he subjected your children to that crap! Doesn't he know it kills brain cells??"

Oh bite me cowboy: drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

As I waited....

...Today, for news of any indictments coming down, hardly daring to breath, and spoil what time I had before the inevitable disappointment, I had time to ponder.

Not anything earth shattering, for crying out loud, calm down. I'm still working on the whole "why on earth tabloids still think it's cute to combine celebrity couple names" issue.

I wondered why I've pinned so many hopes on this. Maybe it's because I have a thing for the special prosecutor (he's cute in a nerdy sort of a vein. He IS! Whatever, screw you.), or, maybe, it's because, in a very self-delusional way, I saw this as the magic bullet. You know, the one that will make fellow Americans stop debating whether or not "TomKat" (groan) is having *twins*!!

The one that will awaken us to the corruption in Washington.

Now, I'm not attempting any Republican vs. Democrats sort of a debate. The sad fact is, they ALL are corrupt. Yes, say it with me, all you liberals. The Democrats and the Republicans are both wings of the same evil bird. One is on the left, the other on the right, but both are DIRTY. It's the name of the game. Even the most well-intentioned public official, still has to keep his donations a'flowin', in order to run for re-election. You think lobbyiests give them all that money because they'd really like to see them in blue suits, as opposed to gray?

Ladies and gentlemen, I hate to have to be the one (and if I'm the one whose word you're taking, you really, really, REALLY need to get out more) to break it to you, but our "For the people, BY the people" has become an almost laughable travesty.

It's almost laughable, if it didn't mean we all weren't so damn screwed.

People always say "The rich get richer, and the poor get poorer". This is true, of course. However, I think that the middle class just may be beginning to realize, that they are only one misstep away from BEING the "poorer" part of that equation.

How many of you have cleared $1,000,000 in a year? In 2004, 435-member House of Representatives, 123 elected officials earned at least one million dollars last year, according to released financial records made public each year. Right next door, in the Senate, 1 in 3, are millionaires.

Now, think of all the people on your block, and figure out how many people on your street would have to hit the lottery, in order to post those same statistics.

In order to even be able to afford a modest campaign, you gots to have the cash, y'all. That cash has to come from somewhere. Iff'in you've got that kind of cash, chances are (this, of course, is a generalization), you can't remember what it felt like to wonder how you were going to cover your BG&E bill, and buy your kid new shoes.

Especially with energy costs on the rise (It's the hurricanes! It's the war! It's OPEC! It has NOTHING to do with the 9+ billion in profit that Exxon, just ONE oil company, has posted!), this is being more and more a sad fact of life.

It makes me sad. It makes me sad that when I say, with actual excitement in my voice "Harriet Miers rescinded her nomination", people have actually said "Who?".

WHO???

C'mon people! Wake up and smell the winter air, and it seeps in through your drafty window!

I

just

do.

not.

UNDERSTAND.

Of course, if this was a list of all the things I don't understand, it would go on for miles. Literally, I have no concept of math strategies past 4th grade, string theory, or any number of other topics.

What I do, however, understand, is that this country has reached a crisis point.

Today, on CBS news, they did a piece on correspondents in Iraq, most of whom, are Iraqi, being held. No charges, some don't even know why they were arrested in the first place, for months. Yet, we were bringing FREEEDOM!!! to Iraq.

Nice example we're setting.

I have the upmost respect for the men and women in Iraq, in Afghanistan, in all the bases, not to put too fine a point on it. I have enough respect for them, to QUESTION what my government is doing with them. Where they are sending them. Why they're being sent without the equipment they need to keep them safe. Why they're dying, in a war we started in the first place, based on intelligence (*HA!*), that those in charge knew was false. They KNEW it. Yet, it's not patriotic to question them? To demand answers?

How many people, in a grocery store parking lot, could you ask "What do you think of the Downing Street memos?", and they'd know what you were talking about?

Now, I'm no freaking saint. I'll admit to piddling away hours wondering if I'm the only person bothered by the fact that our president spells his middle initial, with more than one letter....Hours I could be spending writing letters to my congressperson, or to the editors, or any myriad of other world-improving activities. I just wish, that we could all, collectively, step back. Step away from red state/blue state, republican/democrat lines, and take a good, hard, long fucking stare at the state of things, and really consider what we could do to change it.

Idealistic gal pin-up at: drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

Now is that boobie with an "ie", or with a "y"?

It's amazing the questions the supposedly adult mind can come up with, during a day filled with 5 children bouncing around the house.

But, it does lead one to wonder.

Booby hatch, is definitely a "y"...But boobies? Got to be an "ie", in my not-so-expert opinion.

Well, I DO have a set, so I wonder if that does, after all, make me an expert?

Starbucks is for QUEERS.

Recently, a friend forwarded me an article, about how Starbucks has begun putting quotes on the sides of coffee cups. Supposedly to stir up conversations, they are coffeehouses, after all. There has been some controversy over one of the quotes, from a gay person, to the effect of (I should fact check before I begin to spew, no, lOL?), they wish they hadn't waited so long to come to terms with being gay. People are upset. Seriously. Pissed off, even. How dare a company print something that espouses personal love, and acceptance of who you ARE????

I responded true to form, ripping up the religious right, their lack of tolerance for any view other than their own, etc. A good friend of mine, was offended, and a bit hurt by my comments, feeling as if I was lumping her in with those I blasted. I can see where she would be hurt, but I honestly, hadn't meant ANY offense to her, I love her, and would never hurt her feelings on purpose. I've been mulling this over since last night, and I finally managed a reply. I'm hoping she will read it in the spirit it was intended, and not as a personal attack. I'll post my reply here, for discussions sake.

"My post was in no way directed at you, and I'm sorry you found it offensive. I generally do not think of you as one of "them".

But I'm tired, and pissed off. I'm tired of having to find a babysitter, trek up to my kid's school and schedule a meeting with the principal to make sure that the boy scouts,a religious organization, don't get classroom time in my public school. I'm tired of wondering if my kids, along with their friends, and potential mates, will have access to accurate health information, be taught about how to prevent STD's and pregnancy. I'm exhausted defending the opinion that SCIENCE ought to be taught to my children in SCIENCE class, not religion.

I'm tired of one of the largest group of people, and one of the best-funded, constantly bitching about the "liberal agenda", the "liberal bias in the media", and generally complaining about how persecuted they are. I do not feel the need to have everyone agree with me. Nor do I feel the need to "convert" them to my side. Therefore, I would like the same courtesy extended to me, in the public domain. I would like for them to please remove their bible-printed boots from off the neck of us "liberal flakes", and keep their religion in their church's, in their private schools, and in their homes. This means I expect there NOT to be the 10 commandments hanging in the courthouses. It means I expect there to be no prayer in school. I expect them to allow others, to "live and let live"

I also expect those in power, who claim to subscribe to this set of beliefs, to practice what they preach. Want to handout condoms in Africa, where 1/3 of the population is HIV positive,and people are DYING? Better not mention abortion,or you'll lose your funding. And you better not expect them to provide low cost, or free drugs to help ease their suffering. They're poor and brown, fuck em'. Want your water clean, and the air unpoisoned? Tough shit, our buddy's are making $$ off the toxic waste they dump where they feel like it, and we make it easier for them, but gutting Superfund,and castrating the oversight committee, so not only are you living next door to a toxic waste dump, but you get to pay for it out of your taxes as well, while your children fight deadly cancers, so the CEO can take his Bermuda trip this fall. There is a local playground in MD, built over a landfill. There is also a K-9 unit. Over the past year, 9 out of the 12 dogs housed there, have gotten cancer, and 3 have died. The unit has been shut down. The playground,about 100 yards away, has NOT. And don't expect to be able to claim bankruptcy when your medical bills have grown so high you can't see the top. You think those lobbyists paid all that money to have you default on your bills? Try getting a tissue for under $20, I dare you.

This world, this country is FUCKED. And the ones I see in charge, are the ones wielding the bible like a fucking sword, and I'm tired of having to defend my views, and fight a fight that our founding fathers tried their damnest to prevent ever having to be fought again. There is a reason they made a point to separate the church, from the government. Now we have assholes screaming at the top of their lungs that these people, didn't really mean what they said in the constitution. They really didn't mean "SEPARATE",just that government couldn't interfere in religion, not the other way around, they were born-again, dammit. Well, I was born okay the first time, thanks anyway.

So, I'm sorry if you were offended. I love you, and I don't want to hurt you. But I'm NOT going to apologize for blasting the religious right, and I'm not a bit sorry for my views. Perhaps if more people were screaming, if more were really as pissed off as they ought to be, I'd feel less strongly. But right now, I feel as if we're fighting a fight we'll never win, because most Americans are too afraid, or too lazy, to take a good hard look at their leaders, what they stand for, and what they're doing. And most of them are doing it in the name of gog.

If I were gog, I think I'd be pissed, and if he/she isn't,he/she can kiss my ass too.

d "

flagellation always welcome: drried-blockston@cavtel.net

The beatings will continue until morale improves...

Well fuckmotherfuckerfuckshit. You know, for a change, my house is clean. Laundry is folded, even put away, dishes are done, things have been dusted, floors have been vacuumed....and I can't decide what to do first.

I have a mosaic that I desperately need to work on. It's going to be gorgeous.

If, I ever finish it, which, would mean, I'd need to start it.

Our upstairs bathroom, is very narrow, and has a clawfoot tub in it. We've decided, at least for the moment, to forego adding a shower fixture, for fear that the shower curtain, when closed, would make it appear that you actually ARE in a shoebox. Apparently, when the house was built, indoor plumbing was a thing of the future ("I heard George say the other day that in the future, you'll be able to crap indoors!" "Never happen"). When the house caught up with the technology, which, given the wallpaper I've seen in this house, I'd say it took them a few years to even find their way to the front door, in order to leave to purchase the toilet. Talk about your eyes crossing. To continue, there was no room to put a bathroom in, upstairs, so they sliced off a section of the master bedroom, turning into a bathroom. An extremely narrow bathroom. Seriously, I can stand in the middle (almost the middle, the tub's in the way of the exact middle. yeah.), of the room, and touch both walls. So, in an attempt to make the room appear slightly wider (why is this never a problem with my ass?), I bought a large mirror, and I'm attempting a glass tile mosaic, on the mirror. If I don't manage to put an eye out, playing with the tile nippers, it should go well, LOL.

So, I can work on the mosaic, but I think I just talked myself out of that, since I did vacuum today, and I'd have to repeat that particular hated form of torture, to get the small glass shards....

I'm finishing "The Foutainhead", fantastic, stunning, in love with Roarke a little, but since I'm also crushing on the sword swallower we saw on Saturday, I may find it hard to concentrate...

I think me and my boyfriend may need some quality time tonight...

Oh Ti-Voooo.....

Killing brain cells one button at a time: drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

I hope you have a permit for that thing.

In Los Angeles, you cannot bathe two babies, in the same tub, at the same time.

In Colorado, it is illegal to lend your vacuum cleaner to your neighbor.

In Devon, Connecticut, it is illegal to walk backwards after sunset (What if it's cloudy in the evening? How do you tell if the sun has set? Does this only apply when it's obviously nighttime?)

In Indiana, if you need a little help in the reproductive area (none for me, thanks), you're fucked like a monkey trying to smoke a cigarette in South Bend.

If Sen. Pat Miller, R-Indianapolis, gets her way (yes, that's right, no need to play "It's Pat", the hag is a woman) before you attempt IUI, or IVF, you must petition the court for permission. http://www.in.gov/legislative/interim/committee/prelim/HFCO04.pdf

Seriously. I couldn't, or rather, I wouldn't, make this shit up, since it's not remotely amusing.

Single people, and faggots, need not apply.

"an unmarried person may not be an intended parent."

Now, I can see how it would be so very easy to assume that because you happen to be in love with a member of your own sex, you are much more ill-equipped to handle a child, a child that would require expensive medical intervention to conceive, let alone carry to term and raise, as opposed, to, say, the 14 year old girl down the street, dating the charming stringy-haired fellow who is, ah, dentally challenged, who isn't being taught how to prevent a pregnancy, let alone STD's, since her school now teaches an "abstinence only" program.

"A description of the family lifestyle of the intended parents is also required, including individual participation in faith-based or church activities."

http://www.fortwayne.com/mld/fortwayne/12813691.htm

So, I guess pagans, atheists, agnostics, need not apply either.

Is there anything more personal, than the decision to become a parent? Generally, people who are attempting IUI, or IVF, have struggled long and hard to become parents. It's a heartbreaking thing, infertility. Though I've been fortunate that it's not an issue for me, I have friends and family that have dealt with it. Some have had successful pregnancies, some have chosen to lovingly adopt. How DARE, another person, suggest that grown-ups, not minors, not mentally incompetent, GROWN-UPS, pass a litmus test, to be allowed access to MEDICAL CARE. Medical care, I might add, that they're paying for.

mastercard and visa accepted at: drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

On a slightly serious note...

I've been MIA lately, and I'm sure all 32 of you that have viewed these pages, are on the edge of your seats, as to why.

There actually, are a few reasons.

#1. No one actually came to my aid, with the whole picture loading issue, prompting me to switch to a MSN blog, which is idiot-user friendly. However, since, apparently, most MSN bloggers just post pictures, and don't, you know, WRITE ANYTHING, I found it enourmously irritating.

#2. I am saddened (seriously, this is the note to which I was referring to in the title), to report that Batman and Wonder Woman went to the big Superhero heaven in the sky. My SIL went to the doctors a few weeks ago, and discovered that the baby/babies had died. This was kind of a blow. I'm finished having children (Lordisa, am I done), and I only have one sibling. I adore my 'pews, I spoil them rotten, as is my right, as FAVORITE AUNT. I was really, really, really looking forward to having more babies to baby. Babies that I can hand back to their mothers when they get cranky, LOL. She's doing really well, I went over to babysit my guys the same day, since they had tickets to a baseball game, in a skybox, and we cried a bit together. The twins didn't really understand, though Cameron asked "Does that mean that the baby won't get to play with our toys?". Yeah.

That's pretty much it. I could add a #3, in that, I'm lazy, and lately, haven't had any inspiration, but that sounds like the load of shit it is.

My mother and I had an enourmous blow-out. Well, really just she had the blow-out, I got to watch, LOL. It did, however mean, that I had a legitamite excuse to ignore her phone calls for a week. That, is always satisfying, in a very, very, mature sort of a way.

In summation, I'm back, MSN blogs suck (here's where I shamelessly insert my OTHER blogs address http://spaces.msn.com/members/ramblebramble/ ) and I'm back on the wagon.

Comments always welcome with morning coffee!
drreid-blockston@cavtel.net

Shall I just tell you how much I love bunnies??

on toast, LOL?

Jkjkjk...

http://www.angryalien.com/

LMAO...

d

OH FOR THE LOVE OF SMUSHY MONITORS!

Won't somebody please help the girl, LOL?

If not, my pretty smushy computer monitor may end up on my lawn with a damn hammer through the screen!

I've been screwing around, trying to add pictures to this damn blog, and cannot noodle it through.

Yes.

I fully realize how pathetic, and computer illiterate I am.

I downloaded that stupid "Hello, you're a dumbass" Picasso, or Hello, whatever it's called, and now, it prompts me to sign in when I boot up, and then tells me how basically idiotic I am when it won't load...I've re-downloaded it twice now...

ARUGHH!

Help me out, and I'll post a dirty pic.

Like, of my dog's poo in the backyard, after she's eaten a few crayons.

Colorful ain't the word, LOL...

and I want full credit for the lack of profanity in this post.

Would you please pass the hooch?

Why is it, that mothers feel compelled to get around other mothers and talk shop ALL THE FUCKING TIME?

I was recently invited out, by my mother's best friend's daughter (got that?). She is a perfectly nice girl, she really is. She has three children, though hers are a little younger than my own, and is just...nice.

She has been asking me for a few months, to attend a meeting of MOPS, or MNO, some organization with an "M" in the acryonym, with her. Now, I am sure that MOPS, or whatever, is a lovely group of women, with lovely children, and lovely...hair. However, not really my cuppa tea, you catch?

I sidestepped the issue for a few, well, months (procrastination? Me?), and was finally cornered on the issue. All of the the "Uh, I think I'm having my tonsils removed that day" excuses had already been used, I was out of disposable body parts. So, finally, I had to explain that I just didn't want to go.

She proceeded to share with me how a "meeting" goes. First of all, not to iterrupt, but I don't want to attend ANYTHING with the word "meeting" in it. This is why I am self-employed. Apparently, they have a speaker, who speaks on a child/parent related topic, then they break up into groups, depending on zip code, and discuss the previous speaker.

"Sometimes we discuss disipline, how to handle temper tantrums, crafts to do with them, and sometimes we just share cute stories about our children".

Well goodie. That is exactly what I want to do, when I have two hours without my children. Sit around and talk about them.

And, by the way? Those "cute" stories we mothers like to tell about our kids? Other people don't think they're cute. They're either waiting their turn to tell what their kid did that was REALLY cute, thinking "OH MY GOD, WHAT IS WRONG WITH THEIR CHILD???", or "Why the fuck wont she/he SHUT UP about their fucking kid already?"

When did it become wrong, for a mother, especially a SAHM, to not want to be mommy 24/7? Why is it perfectly acceptable, in fact, expected, from mothers who work outside the home, to have other interests, hobbies, other topics of discussion than motherhood? I stay home with my kids, because it was important to Doug and I that one of us be home, and be with the littles when they get home from school, when they're sick, etc., and we've finanically, been able to make it work. Not because there was nothing else I could do with all that time.

Being a SAH, does not mean that I lost my ability to think about things not involving how to get little Timmy to shit on the potty, and not eat his boogers (for the record, NONE of my children are booger-eaters). I love my kids. I love staying home with them all the time. I really do. However, this does not mean that I have to immerse myself in them to the point of drowning the gal who I am, OUTSIDE of being da'momma. If I have a few child-free hours, I want to spend it celebrating who I am, outside of parenting, I want to use explicit profanity, have a screaming debate over world politics or religon, while smoking excessively over shots of bourbon.

You should have SEEN the silence on the other end of the phone when I told her that. I think she was a little shocked, but at the same time, I think it made her pause and think.

It's OKAY for us to not spend all of our time parenting. It's OKAY to need adult conversation that doesn't involve the words "potty", "binky", or "wooby". This isn't an excuse to get drunk at noon while they're eating their PB&J for lunch. Needing some time to be YOU, doesn't make you a bad mother. It might just make you a better one.

Hey, that's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

The kids are gone for the day, so pass the hooch, would ya?

a tisket a tasket

shove that fucking basket right up your...

I'm in a funk.

Which is much different that feeling funky, let me tell you.

I do this a few times a year, feel blecky and hibernate. I'm firmly convinced that if more people wallowed a bit more frequently, they might not drive me apeshit.

I'm watching a person, whom I've always viewed as being just a hair above a functioning village idiot, achieve success in a field that has frustrated me for years.

One, I might add, for honesty's sake, I desperately desire to, if not succeed in, to at least be viewed as competent and mildly entertaining.

Goes to show how much I know, LOL.

I do not begrudge others success, at least, I don't think I do.

As long as it's not something I want that I can't have.

Not really all that gracious of an outlook, eh?

I made the mistake of, while not complaining (seriously, I take a break every now and again), discussing, if you will, my life with some friends of my mothers. They asked me about the boyos, which, in turn, lead to Lucien starting pre-K this year, I'll have more free time, and I mentioned that I was planning on going back to college.

They looked *shocked*

I guess when you get knocked up at 19, people's expectations of your life tend to fall off the chart a bit. I don't need a degree. I WANT a degree. Ask me what I'll do with it, the answer is a bit more hazy.

Everything I've accomplished so far, has been a combination of dumb luck, and biology. I've made three kick ass children. Biology. Doug has a great job, we have a great marriage. Hard work on his end, and dumb luck.

It was pointed out to me that I should be thankful for my children, rather indignantly, I might add. Well of course I'm thankful for them! What a stupid ass statement to make. However, not to be a wet blanket, but eventually, they will leave home. Hopefully before they are 30. I'll only be 43 when my youngest turns 18. There's alotta living' after 43 (or, so I'm hoping).

My children's needs determine what I do, and when I do it.

NOW.

Not always.

A gal has to plan.

For some reason, I guess I always assumed that when I was ready, the mantle would simply fall about my shoulders, and I would take my rightful place in the world.

Turns out that mantle is a poopy diaper.

I'm not handling it all that well.

The stupidest part is that I know that it means nothing. I know that her success is a good thing. It may mean that I'll get that $2000 she owes me back.

I'm just plain old jealous.

Green is my color, being a redhead and all.

Having to admit that you are jealous, sucks ass, just for the record. It's such an ugly emotion. I'm not jealous of girls that are prettier than me, or smarter, or have more money....

maybe it's that I just don't care about that stuff. Maybe that is what jealousy is all about. I suppose it doesn't really count when people have something you don't want. Not that I wouldn't mind having more money, or more brain cells.

So, anyway, in summation, there is no summation. There is nothing to be done for it, but to accept it, congratulate her, and keep on pluggin' away.

And maybe wallow. Just for a day or two.

a pinder a ponder...

WHY, do I have two cats? They needed to go to the vet this AM, to get get fixed. This requires mucho advance-o planning-o, as one of the cats, Lady Hotdog, loathes the cat carrier with the fire of a thousand suns. It terrifies the shit out of her. Sometimes, literally. So, last night, we locked them in the downstairs bathroom, since they're not allowed to eat or drink after midnight. This morning, Doug wakes up, and put them into the carrier. I then get up with virtually no sleep (that is a whole separate story),cranky, with just enough time to shower, drink enough coffee to be coherent, and get the cats to the vets on time. Everything is going swimmingly, until I attempt to PICK UP the carrier. Apparently, if you turn the little black knobs on the sides...the whole thing comes apart. Guess what Lucien did??

So, 10 minutes before we have to be there, I'm tracking down Hotdog. Ruby could have cared less, I just threw her lazy ass back into the bathroom. I finally corner Hotdog, she is clawing the shit out of me as soon as she sees the carrier, I get her in (no small feat), and scream at Caleb "SHUT THE DOOR! SHUT THE DOOR!", while the cat jumpsabout 4 feet in the air (I had the carrier on it's end, so the door was on the top), and takes OFF. Caleb then proceeds to watch the cat run away.

This time, she made it upstairs, where there is no abundance of places to hide.

Half an hour later, all the beds were flipped over, including my king size (working on pure fury at this point, LOL). Eventually, reason kicks in. I opened a can of wet food, and sat patiently.

Two minutes later, here comes Houdini cat, strolling up for breakfast.

We made it to the vets, only about an hour late.

So, feeling guilty, I took all the littles to get some munchkins, figuring a bucket-sized latte couldn't hurt the momma either. You should have seen the confusion on the woman's face when I ordered a "Ginourmous latte please"

"huh? What size"

"The biggest you've got. A bucket would be nice"

"Huh?"

"Large, please".

My humor is lost on some people.

Babies and batsignals...

..AH-HA! I have sucessfully taught the 'pews to refer to my sister-in-law's belly as the "Batcave"!

We've (by "we", I mean, Travis, Cameron and I), decided to name the babies Batman and Wonder Woman. Especially considering that Travis is convinced that he is getting a new brother, and Cameron is getting a sister. It's working out beautifully for everyone.

Did I mention that my SIL is not amused?

Excuse me while I....

..clear my fucking throat.
I've just spent the day with my fucked-up family.

To "celebrate" my grandmother's and mother's, birthday.

This means that in addition to the normal shit-fest that is a gathering with this group of people that I am, genetically speaking, related to, that there is an additional cat factor.

My brother was his normal charming self. His first remark, as he eavesdrops on a conversation between Doug and I, who were playfully fighting, and actually lip-locked for his "Yelling. That's what my sister does best".

Me: "Yes, Chris, because you know me oh, so very, very well. We're practically bosom buddies"

Him: "A leopard doesn't change his spots"

Me: Silence, while mentally screaming "The ONLY FUCKING CAT IN THIS ROOM IS THE FUCKING PUSSY THAT ROLLED THE FUCK OUTTA THERE WHEN I WAS 14, AND NEVER LOOKED THE FUCK BACK, SO STUFF IT UP YOUR FUCKING ASS".

Which, totally would have blown the whole "temper? What temper?" point, that I was trying to make.

My mother, in the role of loving peacemaker, looks at me, my pursed lips, and the pulsating vein in my forehead, and says "You can come up with a comeback for that!".

Why yes, yes I can.
Unfortunately, it involves bloodshed.
"It's my mother's birthday, I'm biting my tongue" was my response, forced out between clenched teeth.

This was only the first round, illegal before the sounding of the bell.

Aidan: "Mommy! Let me show you my new trick", proceeds to show me how he places the butter knife like so, and then taps it with the mallet, cracking cleanly through the crab claw.

Me: "Aidan! That's great! The claws are my favorite part also!"

Grandmother to Aidan: "Don't go all the way through the crab leg Aidan, you're doing it wrong. Don't go all the way through, you'll waste that last morsel of meat that is clinging, stubbornly to the disgusting membrane with the crab leg. Don't you know that I paid good money for these crabs? You're doing it wrong. Don't go all the way through the crab leg...." ad nauseum.

Aidan to grandmother: I like to eat them this way. I get both ends out" with a "what the fuck is wrong with you?" bewildered look on his face.

Me: reaches for a drink.

Second bell rings. Aidan wins the first round.

My mother: This week is vacation bible school"

Me: "Aidan has tutoring at 10:30 on Monday and Wednesday."

Mother/martyr: "It's only one week Danielle"

Me: "I'm aware. However, Jen is having her gallbladder out this week, so I'll have Delaney and Emma for her while she recovers"

martyr: "Delaney can go with them"

Me: "Only if I strap 4 week old Emma to the luggage rack on the roof of the van"

martyr: "You asked me to sign them up for VBS, Danielle, so I did. I only did what you asked me to. It's all I can do"

Me: dumbfucked astounded by the fact that this conversation "Danielle, you need to sign them up for VBS this year.

Me: "noncommittal grunt" has been turned into a burning desire for them to go to a church I cannot stand, and learn about a god whom I do not believe in, and/or worship.

Third round

My father: "Dani!

"DANI"

"Yes Dad?"

"DANI!"

"What?

"DAAANNII!"

"WHAT!!!"

"Do you know where LUcien's bathing suit is?"

"no"

Me: "Lucien, did you leave it in the bathroom?"

Lucien: "I don't know"...skips off down the hallway to check.

Father walks halfway down said hallway and again yells "Dani! Do you know where Lucien's bathing suit is?"

"NO! I DON'T KNOW WHERE HIS DAMN SUIT IS! I HAVEN'T WORN IT TODAY!"

This is after repeated conversations such as "Dad, we're out of plates. Do you have anymore?"

him: "I don't know. Go look"

Me: "This isn't my party, though I can see how you might be confused, since I arranged all the food, made both birthday cakes, and the salad. I also, do not live here, have never lived here, and wouldn't have the slightest idea of where you would keep them"

Him: "grunt"

Knockout in the fourth round

Mom: "There is this distance between us, Dani. Are you mad at me?"

Me: "No.

Really"

Mom: "okay"

When, what I should have said was, "Yes, there is. There is distance between us. It's about the size, weight, and diameter of a bible".

I've got a wild hair...

...up my ass...or is that a "wild hare"?

In which case, this has gone up quite a few notches on the creep-o meter...

I've decided that, since I'm wild to get to the business of ripping down the crumbling plaster walls in my house, which, I recently noticed, have moved a few blocks down from "ghetto chic", to, in addition to straightening up the house, hitting the grocery store and dry cleaners (who, at this point, are probably legally entitled to keep my husband's shirts), I'm tearing down the chain link fence out in the front yard.

You see, one of the many joys of owning an older home, is the plethora of projects you get to chose from. We, however have a system. Projects rank in this order:

1-If this shit doesn't get fucking down in the next 2 days, we must immediately move the washing machine as well as the dryer to the front lawn, and the cars must have all tires removed, and be situated on cement blocks. No fancy-schmancy round things here, no sir-e-blob.

2-It can wait. Like, maybe a week. Then, if not finished, the washer and dryer must be relocated, but the wheels may stay attached to the evil-mobile that is my mini-van.

3-Whatever. White trash is back in vogue, no? It'll be alright to sit there for a month or so.

4-Fuck it. If you don't like it, don't fucking look at it.

The walls, are currently, at #1. Since I, while not being overly attached to the process of doing laundry, I do enjoy, no, appreciate being able to do it in my underwear. This, would be severely curtailed if the appliances were moved the front lawn.

My dear, dear, baby daddy, however, has a different list than I do.

WTF? At what point was there a time when TWO lists were allowed? Everyone knows that there is only ONE list of projects allowed at a time. Since I have tits, mine automatically trumps his.

He, however, is not persuaded by my logic, that two boobs, beat one penis, any day of the week.

So, in order for him to help me with the walls, I have to help him finish his list.

HIS list.

Like, totally, whatever.

He's insisting that he finish the deck for the pool we put in over the summer, as well as getting the fence down in the front lawn, and finishing the treehouse. Though, he graciously is making allowance for the last item slipping down a few notches on his list, making room for fixing, you know, holes in the walls in our foyer.

He's a grand fellow.

So, I spent today ripping up a fence. A nasty-ass, chainlink fence, completely rusted and nasty.

The lawn looks FAB. My evil-mobile, which I feel compelled to add, is only 2 months old, didn't survive quite so well, as I backed into HIS van with it.

I, who have never hit another car, (the incidence involving Melissa Russo's car in the school parking lot in the 10th grade does NOT count), managed to back the holy fucking shit out of the back side of Satan's carriage. I also, managed to bang up his (which, is a company car, BWAHAHAHA), to the point, that the passenger side door will not open.

I, am one clever hag.

With about to be new walls.

The storm of the eye...

Miss me?

Between the saga of the eye, and our trip to the beach, I've been horribly lax in updating my blog, for which, I sincerely apologize to my numerous fans. You're out there. I know you are.

Update on the eye...Only for the strong-stomached, LOL. I finally got a clean bill of health on Wednesday. After my initial posting, things went downhill, FAST. Apparently, my body walled off the infection to keep it from spreading (neat trick, now if only I could teach it to my dirty laundry pile), resulting in a huge, and extremely attractive, knot above my eye...So I, who loathes going to the doctors, sucked it up, and trekked back, for my third visit, in as many days. Once there, she informs me that it may be an infected cyst in there. Sounds fun, no? So, meanwhile, my head is throbbing like an elephant is pulling a Michael Flatley performance on it. She takes a big assed needle, and pokes me with it. Yup. So, since my baby daddy was sitting in the waiting room, I asked her to bring him in. Apparently, the needle trick didn't go as planned, so she numbed it (which is another word for poking and prodding, asking, "Can you feel this", to which the answer is "YES BITCH, I CAN!"), and then took a razor blade to my face. This just make me bleed like a stuck pig.

After fastening two beautiful butterfly bandages to it, she sets me up with an appointment with an eye doctor for the next morning, to have him cut it out. I'm freaking out, just a smidge, at the point. Not only is this my face, but I'm due to leave for vacation in 2 days! A girl has priorities!

The next morning, my father drives me there, where the doctor kindly allowed me to remove the bandages my self, since the doc from the day before, had stuck them in the MIDDLE OF MY EYEBROW. I looked funny enough, I had no desire to lose the middle of my eyebrow as well. He looks at it, and informs me that it is draining. Which, basically means, that was puss running down my face, not medicine. Hey, I warned you before this whole thing began. He can do nothing with it, without it hurting like hell, leaving me a "significant" scar, and probably not doing much good.

"Just keep the hot compresses on it, let it drain, and here, have ANOTHER antibiotic scrip".

This takes the antibiotic count up to FOUR. I could swim through raw sewage iffin I had the desire. Which I don't. Just to clarify.

So, finally, 5 days later, on Saturday, I was able to remove the bandaid I was using to cover it, and take off my "bandaid? What bandaid?" sunglasses. I still look a little funny. Well, funnier than usual, but I'll be fine.

So, rest easy, secure in the knowledge that I'll be around for awhile yet. I know you were sweating it.

Apparently...

everyone in my immediate circle is on a reproductive kick. Either that, or I need to stop drinking the water.

In addition to my friend Jen's, new baby, Emma, my cousin is pregnant, and I just found out that my sister-in-law is also knocked up.

I have to say, I think I could have done a headstand when Janell called with the news that she is pregnant again. Well, maybe not a headstand. I probably could have jumped off the floor higher than 3 inches though. I don't like to exercise. Even when excited.

My SIL, is married to my only sibling. He's an ass. She, however is a sweetheart. She also happens to be my Aidan's tutor (he is dyslexic). They have twin nephews, who turned 3 in May, whom I adore. I also spoil the living shit out of them. Janell's mother once said to me "You know, you can't BUY their affection".

To which I wanted to respond, "Really? How many toddlers have you known? The lady with the candy and toys is ALWAYS popular, bitch".

I've also taught them to call me "favorite aunt", which pisses off Janell's sister to no end. Which is another perk.

I informed Janell, when I dropped off a baby gift, about 2 hours after getting the news, that I was placing an order for twin girls this time. She was not thrilled, LOL....

As long as I don't have to raise them, I can dress them and send them right back to their mommas, little girls are fine with me. Just don't ask me to share a house with one when a pre-teen in the throes of puberty is PMS-ing.

Medical leave...

should be allowed to be taken just for life in general. I'll be the first to admit, I have my vanities. I'm a woman. I'm entitled.

I got bit by a bug. I knew I always hated those nasty fuckers. This particular bastard decided that my eyebrow looked yummy, and took a chunk out of it. Two days later, I woke up with my right eye swollen shut and a headache like a trucker had driven over my head.

A few hours of hemming and hawing, because, naturally, this couldn't occur on a weekDAY, I sucked it up, and went to an urgent care facility.

Now, I would imagine, in all those medical school courses that these people take, there has to be one, where it is mentioned, that walking into an exam room, taking a step BACK, and exclaiming "What the hell happened to your FACE??", is generally not considered a particularly wonderful bedside manner.

After informing me that I have "Orbital Cellulitis", which is not to be confused with cellulite, she repeated, 3-4 times, "This is very serious", completely freaking the shit out of me. I was told to go immediately to the ER if it got any worse, or I developed even a low grade fever, so they could ADMIT me, and administer IV antibiotics. This can apparently spread to your actual eye, or even the membranes of your brain.

Wonderful.

Luckily, the horse-sized antibiotics they have me on, improved it, rather quickly, and I'm told, it should continue to clear up.

However...

I look like a damn circus freak. I mean, really. I've been unable to wear make-up for 2 days. Big fucking whoop, I know, but I feel naked, LOL. I haven't NOT worn make-up outside of the house, for probably 15 years or more. I'm a huge fan of black eyeliner, which, incidentally, I now have to toss, and buy a new one. Of course the one I've been using is only 2 weeks old, which is always the case where you find yourself with a bizarre infection that is usually only seen in children under 5.

I feel like a booger-eater, LOL...


What really bothers me at this point, since apparently I'm out of the woods for yuckies eating my brain, is that I look weird. I mean, I always look a little strange, but COME ON...


We're supposed to be leaving for the beach in 3 days, and meet my in-laws there. The WHOLE damn family. Here's hoping that it's cleared up by then.

Cause I'm VAIN.

WOK friends...

I was on the phone last night with my best friend, Amy, and we were just chatting about life. She had called to check in on me, since she's the 'rita girl from the "accidental drunk" post, LOL. We got to talking about what our plans are for the rest of the week, and I told her that I, and my oldest son, Caleb are going to hang out tonight, since Aidan is going to a sleepover, and I don't have to arise at the buttcrack of dawn on Friday. She asked what we would be doing, I told her that Caleb loves to read almost as much as I do, my bedroom walls are lined with bookshelves, and every flat surface has a least one stack that just won't fit anywhere else, so we talk books, just hang.

Then I found myself confessing something to her, that I wouldn't confess to any of my friend's with kids. I enjoy my children more as they get older. Babies are cute, don't get me wrong, but they cry. Scream actually. They poop ALOT. Then they head into the whole toddler phase, which is reason #2, why I don't ever want another child (the pregnancy part being the first. I'm a roller bitch when I'm knocked up, and I feel like shit too). Toddlers, don't have alot going for them. It's all "don't touch that", "please don't wipe boogers on the walls, or on mommy's face", "Please don't crayon on the furniture", "GODDAMMIT, I SAID STOP", that type of thing. ALL day long. They have their cute moments, don't get me wrong, but they can't really hold a conversation, or debate who would win in a death match between Indiana Jones, and Obi Wan. Which, for the record, if Indiana Jones could divide himself up into village children, the way that Gary Oldman did in Bram Stoker's Dracula (but with bats), he's kick Obi Wan's ASS.

I like the fact that my kids are getting old enough to actually TALK to. We eat dinner together most nights, and we can have some really interesting conversations. They actually EAT their vegetables without being strapped down in a highchair and forced to, so you can leave that part out of the table talk. So, we talk politics (which usually ends in a food fight), or about art (Aidan wants to be an artist when he grows up. When pointed out that he already is an artist, since he makes art constantly, he informed me he is also going to be a dentist, to pay his bills, LOL), or religon.

Do you notice there is no mention of boogers or crayons?

I don't really LIKE kids. I love my own, and most days I really dig them, but I am not, by nature, a kid person. I don't walk into a person's house, and head straight for the charming child seated at the table, and try to hold a conversation. She is obviously busy, shoving playdough up Mr.Potato Head's nose.

No, I walk into someone's house, and head straight for the hooch, followed by a cigarette on the back deck.

'Cause I got my OWN kids. And I have to like them. I don't, however, have to talk to other people's children, or even like them. Cause, frankly? Some of the kids I know are little SHITS. Some days, those children are my own.

Why is it, that it seems so...disloyal to say that? Why is it such a big deal to admit, that even though you are a momma, you just aren't that into kids that don't belong to you, and sometimes, it takes effort to be into your own? I'm a person OTHER than a mommy. Really. This doesn't mean I don't love my kids (even now, I'm qualifying what I mean, geesh), it just means I don't want to be the momma all day, everyday. I enjoy just being able to be Danielle with them sometimes.

Just let me introduce myself...

My name is Humpty, pronounced with an 'humpty...

LMAO....

This was originally supposed to be a post introducing the newest kidlet in my world, but got distracted "and my sounds laid down by the Underground"...but again, I digress.

Emma Josephine was born somewhere around 4:30 AM, weighing in at 6 lbs, 5 oz...while her older sister did headstands on my bed. Literally. AT 4:30. That's AM. As in, unless you are the one who just gave birth, or strung out on coke, you're asleep for. Oh, and unless you're my in-laws, in which case you're probably still playing Texas Hold 'Em, and drinking Coors Light, if it's a weekend.

Wow. That's a whole 'nother post.

I haven't posted for a few days. I know, I know, my masses of adoring fans were heartbroken. I got an accidental drunk on, Saturday, and then Sunday was spent recovering, since, at the ripe old age of 29, I've managed to learn how to get a hangover. Lordisa, hangovers SUCK. I used to be able to drink entire bottles of Jim Beam, and not get hungover...now, give me a pitcher or two of margaritas, and I'm no good for a day or two.

It really was an accidental drunk. You know how it goes. Out with friends, no kids tagging along, you're being a pissy bitch because your baby daddy was gone all day helping his brother tear down the stone facade of his house, you're on the rag....so your friend offers you a margarita. You accept one, and drink two. Then you leave, and the stupid bartender cannot comprehend NO SALT. As in, NONE. Not so much as a kernel (is it a salt kernel? or a piece of salt? a salt sprinkle, but that implies more than one, since when you sprinkle...you know what? Nevermind) . So, I managed to drink 1/2 of both anyway. Back to their joint, where you have one, maybe 2, or 3, then they give you a "traveler" (for the record, responsible momma was NOT driving. At that point, I wasn't even walking so well), and BAM. By the time you are 1/2 way home, you're singing along at the top of your lungs to the Harper valley PTA, that your so very mucho NOT drunk husband is insisting that you listen to, because he didn't get to have any fun tonight, so he'd like to torture you with country music on the ride home. I don't even remember going to bed.

The nice part about marriage, is knowing that even if the other person takes advantage of you, while incapacitated, you're not going to get an STD.

There are other perks, or course.

There are.

I'm sure there are.

Hang on, I'm working on it....

Well, let's just say there are, and leave it at that, k?

So, I'm strolling....

down cranky-bitch lane this evening, and I got an email from a friend, who lost her husband this past fall. In the middle of bitching to my baby daddy about the house, the insane amount of company we've had since getting this pool put in, and just being an ASS. Now, on top of being throughly ashamed of myself, I find myself counting my blessings.

1-An oldest son, who almost didn't even get to be born, who is adorable, helpful, and every bit as much of a wise-ass as his mother.

2-A middle son, who has big brown cow eyes, and asks questions such as "Do lightening bugs really have hospitals?", after becoming distraught over "breaking one of it's legs, on accident".

3-A four year old boy, who can give the sweetest, tightest little hugs, as he wraps his arms around my neck, while simultanteously wiping a booger on my shirt, and smearing peanut butter in my hair.

4-A husband, who, though did turn down a quickie earlier (which helped speed up the above stroll), loves me inspite of the fact that I'm smarter than he is, and that I clap for ALL the players who strike out, when he drags me to Orioles games.

5-A great house, with tons of character, as evidenced by the marginally racist wallpaper hanging in the foyer, and the crumbling plaster, only held up by the aforementioned wallpaper.

6-No longer owning one of our dogs. Yes. I'm one of those people. The kind that take their damn dog, that they rescued from being taken to the pound in the first place, to the SPCA, after he bulldozed yet another section of the fence (why go over it, when you can go through it?) and almost caused another car accident on our street.

7-My kitties. They kick litter all over my husbands side of the floor by our bed, everytime he irritates me. Us gals gotta stick togther.

8-My friends with children, who freely commiserate with me over children who mindlessly peel cracking leather off your favorite chair you found at the local thrift store.

9-My friends without children, who freely drive my ass to the bar, when I'm being a total HAG who needs to forget she's got children for an evening.

10-The man who married one of my best friends, bringing her back to me. I missed her.

11-My momma's group, who continually make me laugh hard enough to snarf coffee in the mornings, who never dissapoint in a contest to see who can come up with the most bizarre fetish to discuss.

I'm grateful for all of the above, and much more, but most of all, right now, to my cousin. Who left me 1/2 a bottle of strawberry twist vodka, which I've mixed with grape koolaid, for a slighly disgusting, yet satisfying drink, that y'all can thank for this particular post, when she housesat for us last weekend.

a really, really, REALLY icky post...

A friend brought to my attention today, that you can now buy Jesus-scented candles.

Yes. Really.

You can now buy, for the low, low price, of $18, a candle scented with myrrh, aloe, and cassia. Apparently, there is a psalm (No #45, kinda like Chanel #5, but older) that refers to Jesus's clothing smelling of the aboves smellys. The candles are called "His Essence", a line that is apparently, not just for porn movies now.

According to husband (it's a husband-wifey team), Bob Tosterud, "We see it as a ministry".

Now, far be it from me to mock religon (okay, maybe once or twice), but a MINISTRY? At 18 bucks a pop for a candle, buddy, that's a BUSINESS.

I'm an old-time religion girl myself, but even as someone who does not subscribe to the judeo-christian religion, this just SMACKS of crassness (is that even a word, LOL?)

I was going to ramble on about religion for awhile, but my head is THROBBING, so I'll leave that particular topic for another day.

Moving on...Evidently, when I wasn't looking, I have become a doormat.

I was shocked by this particular revelation this evening, as I was giving my niece a bath. At 9:00 PM. To explain, I watch her while her mom and dad work. They have a new business that Cheryl (da momma) runs, and Matt works for her father, in his heating/AC repair business. Sage is dropped off at 8 AM. I'll pause while you do the math. Cheryl got tickets for a dinner theatre, and was taking their older son, so Matt was to pick up Sage. By 7 PM. I'm not sure how they came up with this time, as the original game plan was 5-5:30, and now has stretched to, most days, 6-6:30. I'm a ballsy kinda gal, generally a take-no-shit, etc...I'm also, clueless, apparently. I'm WHINEY tonight, which is attractive to no one, so I'm gonna wrap this up, take 4 tylenol PM, and crash.

I hate these kind of posts. But, for shits and giggles, it's going up anyway. I have to have some sort of evidence I actually did something today.

Oh, besides my house, which is clean. For the moment. And only because I have company AGAIN tomorrow. For anyone debating on whether to get a pool, don't do it. Really. You'll be fending off every freaking kid that your kids know, your relatives, and random acquaintances.

Sweden. Where everything makes sense.

As a public service announcement, for those of you who live in Sweden, or plan on a vist, please be aware of the following: Apparently, it is legal to SELL sexual favors, but illegal to BUY them.

What's a gal to do?

Disaster on a stick....

Apparently, having nothing better to do with their time, as well as desperately needing to find a new PR firm, Snapple decided to errect the world's largest popsicle today in New York. In June. In 80-something degree heat. Then, they were apparently *shocked* when it melted, flooding Union Square. Firefighters spent hours hosing the remanents of the 25 foot tall, 17 1/2 ton 'sicle, off the damn sidewalk.

"“What was unsettling was that the fluid just kept coming,” Stuart Claxton of the Guinness Book of World Records told the Daily News. “It was quite a lot of fluid. On a hot day like this, you have to move fast.”"

So many raunchy comments. I cannot chose.


Competent Mommy moment of the day: While visiting a friend today, I realized, an hour into the visit, which, by the way, we had walked to, I put my 3 year old neice's sandals on the wrong feet. As well as my 4 year old sons.

Betty Crocker can kiss my ass....

Having grown up with a mother who was Betty Crocker on speed, one must wonder, HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO THIS? You know how, when your children are infants, you think " I can't wait until they talk/sleep through the night/walk/can pick their own nose/manage to vomit on something other than the $300 blanket you just bought from Crate and Barrel? Then, they can do all of those things (with the exception of the vomit-aiming, which, apparently, given my husband as an example, is not a skill that boys EVER learn), at which point, your thoughts start running along the lines of "WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING". How the hell am I supposed to help a 10 year old boy, in the throes of pre-adolescent angst, figure this shit out, and at the same time, still be able to find my living room floor on a regular basis? I mean, I was queen of angst, still am, on some days (I'm working on getting more and more tortured in my old age, which is surprisingly difficult these days, so I'm leaning more towards cranky), but I didn't understand boys then, let alone now. My husband (who, from now on, will be referred to, my baby daddy) is no help. I swear, he's the most normal person I've ever met, in my entire life. No angst. Nothing. Happy childhood, parents love each other, no skeletons in the closets, nothing. How the hell is that even possible, in this day and age? But I digress....which, you'll notice, happens alot. It's another skill you loose when you have multiple children. The ability to maintain a thought pattern for longer than 2 or 3 minutes. I spend most of my day saying "What the hell was I just doing? I know I came in here for a reason?".

My oldest son, will be 10 in a few months. If I allow him to live that long. He was always my example child, my "TV kid". Now he's angry, defensive, and apparently, has inherited his momma's dry wit. Lovely. It's just peachy to live with a hormonal, smaller version of yourself, but with a PENIS.

So, as I sit in my messy ass house, which, was spotless yesterday morning (seriously, I had company), I wonder, just what the hell are these people ON, anyway? And you know exactly who I mean by "these people". They're the ones that whenever you stop over, their house is clean, they've just finished baking bread, and are teaching their pre-schooler algebra. I actually got up early to make a lesson plan the other day for the boyos. I printed out age appropriate activities, planned this week and next, made a list of supplies that we would need. They woke up, I made breakfast, got everyone dressed, and then dragged FIVE children to the store (2 are spares. I'm fertile, but not insane). I even had time to brag on my mom's list about all the neat stuff we would spend the next few days doing.....

By the time I got back from the store, it was all I could do to slap PB&J sandwiches together, throw some strawberries on their plates, and lay their asses down for a nap.

I spent two hours planning, $60 at the damn store, and so far, everything is gathering dust on the top of my previously clean fridge.

Whatever.