Ten Years

Oscar and I have been together for ten years, as of today. Ten years ago, we shared our first kiss and ten years ago, I thought to myself that someday, I'd be married to this man. (I'm so psychic.) It hasn't always been easy. It never is, honestly. But it's been oh so worth it. So, I'm going to take the opportunity to say, in this public forum, that I love you, Oscar. And I'm looking forward to the next ten years. Just keep doing everything I say and this marriage will work out just fine.

McMama

I get a lot of comments whenever I mention McMama, or she happens to comment on one of my posts. "McMama sounds really cool!" or "Wow...do you really get along that well with your mother-in-law?" or "I thought about commenting on your post, but I wasn't sure I should say anything since I know McMama might read it." So I thought it was about time I cleared things up about McMama, before y'all start getting the wrong idea. In fact, McMama is actually even more awesome than I have let on, and as for our relationship....well, she's one of my best friends. And I don't just say that because she reads this blog every day. But she does. Hi, McMama!

Truth to be told, I was very nervous about meeting McMama for the first time. Oscar knew we'd get along great, but he doesn't quite understand the anxiety we girls experience when we have to meet the mothers of our future husbands. Everyone hears the stories about the wicked mother-in-law who makes the wife's life a living hell and nobody wants to be that wife. Well, Oscar's dad had kind of led me to believe that she was going to be one of THOSE mothers-in-law and whether I liked it or not, I was going to be one of those wives. I was not looking forward to it.

Luckily for me, McMama is a sassy, cha-cha kind of woman who easily looks 10 years younger than she actually is. She's smart, talented, and hilariously funny. She made me feel right at home from the first moment we met and things have only gotten better since. We talk at least twice a week and there is nothing I can't say to her, including, "Hey, McMama, you're kind of being a bitch. Do you think you could tone it down a bit?" Which I have done. And which she took admirably well, I must say. I needn't have worried.

Sadly, Oscar doesn't understand how good he has it. He seems to think it's a problem that McMama and I get along as well as we do. Of course, that could be due to the fact that I told him flat-out that if we were ever to divorce, I would sue for custody of his mom. He knows his mom wouldn't even let it get that far...she'd just come with me willingly. For some reason, this is an issue for him. I can't imagine why. Personally, if I were Oscar, I'd have more of an issue with the fact that personality-wise, his mom and I are essentially the same person. It's so very oedipal. And yet, not the primary reason Oscar's in therapy. Heh.

Anyway, I could go on forever about how cool McMama is, and it still wouldn't do her justice. She's just a damn groovy chick, and I consider myself pretty lucky to have her in my life. So, you know, if you've been worried about commenting because you weren't sure how McMama would react when she read what you had to say? Don't give it a second thought. She's our kind of people.

Tech Support

Me: Hi, um, my name is Cymber and I have a late-model 2003 Boy Toddler. I believe we registered for the extended warranty? Anyway, I think there's something wrong with our unit and I wondered if there was a possibility of getting a warranty replacement?
Tech Support: Cymber, what is the name of your unit?
Me: Um, it's Turtle.
Tech Support: Okay, Cymber, we have you on file, and yes, you did register for the extended warranty. Can I ask you what the problem is with your current model?
Me: Well, he's great 90% of the time, but the other 10%, he cries and throws tantrums, and plays with things I've told him not to play with, and is a general pain in the ass. Oh, and he hasn't been eating well, lately, either.
Tech Support: What do you mean he hasn't been eating well? He won't eat at all, or he'll only eat one thing?
Me: Well, it's a little bit of both. Sometimes he won't eat anything at all except for a bite here and there, and then he wakes up early because he's hungry because he hasn't eaten. Other times, he gets on a pancake kick and he won't eat anything but pancakes for, like, 5 days. That can't be good for him, right?
Tech Support: Well, ma'am, it won't kill him, if that's what you're asking. Have you tried rebooting?
Me: Yes, my husband tried rebooting and he tried a hard restart. He thinks it might be the MunchkinBoard. Maybe something got fried or something?
Tech Support: Well, that's possible. But let's eliminate some other possibilities first. How is his battery holding up?
Me: Oh, the battery's not a problem. He can run for hours, literally, without wearing out.
Tech Support: Okay. How is his output?
Me: His output is just fine. Stinky, but just fine. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Well, except for the time that I gave him some Grape Gatorade. That was some weird colored ---
Tech Support: Yes, ma'am, I understand. No need to explain. What about powering him down in the afternoon before a restart? Have you tried that?
Me: Yeah, I have, but a lot of times, it seems like there are still some processes running in the background or something, because I hear noises coming from his docking station. And he never seems like he powers down for long enough.
Tech Support: I see. Have you gotten any error messages from him?
Me: Well, that's another problem. I'm not sure, because whatever program he's running appears to be in Korean. I can't find the command to translate back to English.
Tech Support: Has this always been a problem?
Me: Kind of, yeah.
Tech Support: I see. Ma'am, can I put you on hold a moment so I can talk this over with my supervisor?
Me: Sure...no problem.

*humming along to the hold music*

Tech Support: Ma'am?
Me: Yes, I'm still here.
Tech Support: Ma'am, I've discussed the situation with my supervisor and he says that the problem you're describing is common to all late-model 2003 Boy Toddlers. I'm afraid we can't authorize a warranty replacement because any model we send you is going to have the same issues you're having currently.
Me: Are you KIDDING me?
Tech Support: No, ma'am. I'm afraid not.
Me: Okay, then, how could you knowingly offer me this unit, and convince me to purchase the extended warranty, when you were aware, the WHOLE TIME, that I was going to end up having this problem?
Tech Support: I'm sorry, ma'am. I wish I could help you.
Me: Can you at least tell me how to fix his speech program so I can understand what he's saying?
Tech Support: Well, ma'am, I can offer you a phonics program that for $29.99 a month will -
Me: $29.99 a MONTH? To translate my Toddler's basic commands, which should already be in ENGLISH to start with?????
Tech Support: Yes, ma'am. I understand your frustration ---
Me: Oh, BITE ME!

*click of phone being disconnected*

In Which We Dissect The Fug...

For today's installment, I must first refer you to the following image. Go ahead...take a look. I'll wait.

So, yeah, it's a late night, and I don't really have the brain power to come up with new and interesting material, so instead, I'm just going to share a conversation I had with Snark's Mistress over IM in which we dissect previously mentioned image of one of our favorite actors, Viggo Mortenson, henceforth known as Boleraragorn. Don't feel neglected. I'll be back to being witty and clever in an original way tomorrow. Also? Love you, Viggo, but great holy hell, that was a bad outfit. Also? We are weird:

Her: Speaking of Salma, I saw something I never thought I'd see.
Her: Her in a dress that was so unflattering it made her somewhat unattractive.
Her: It was devastating.
Her: Between that and Boleraragorn, I don't know if I'll ever recover.
Me: Was that the one with the red back?
Her: No, although that one was hideous as well. It was this one: Salma in a bad dress
Me: Brain Bleach!!!!
Her: Exactly!!! The dress actually manages to make her look dumpy!
Me: I wonder if she and her stylist are on the outs
Her: Could be.
Her: Also in that gallery of pics, there was one of Lindsay Lohan. That's just sad. She was so gorgeous before she lost all that weight.
Me: Yeah, she really had a great look
Her: Also, from the way her chest has deflated along with the rest of her - those boobs were definitely real.
Me: Yeah, no kidding. Not that it has stopped her critics from insinuating that she had her implants removed
Her: Oh for God's sakes!
Me: Yeah, tell me about it
Her: They really don't let these people win, do they? If they look like normal women, then they're fat with fake boobs, so they lose weight and then they're troubled anorexics who can't handle life and have to have their fake boobs taken out.
Her: Geez.
Me: Word.
Me: Remind me never to get famous
Her: MegaWord.
Her: You might become anorexic and have your fake boobs taken out and start wearing matador outfits.
Me: Bite your tongue. I wouldn't be caught dead in a matador outfit
Her: Not even if it came with a kicky cape?
Me: NO CAPES!
Her: Sorry, E.
Me: Actually, maybe that's what happened to Viggo...he had a whole outfit built around the cape, and it would have worked in an eccentric kind of way, because he's an eccentric kind of guy...but then he saw The Incredibles right before he left the house, and he's freaking out because NO CAPES, and that's why the outfit didn't work AT ALL, and he had that little lost look on his face at the same time.
Her: Dude, that is so what happened.
Her: And then he had the kicky matador hat that went with the whole thing, but it blew away, and he couldn't catch it in time, but he didn't have time to go get a new one, so he had to show up without it, and he didn't know what to do.
Me: So totally what happened
Her: Poor Viggo. You know he had a pet bull that he was going to bring, but when the bull saw that he didn't have the cape and hat, he laughed at him and ran away.
Me: No...the bull had a cape, and Viggo said no cape and the bull refused to be naked in public
Me: It's all Pixar's fault
Her: Right. And the hat didn't actually blow away, the bull snorted so loudly in disdain and defiance that it blew the hat off, and then the bull ate the hat out of spite.
Her: Totally Pixar's fault.
Me: Well, and then the bull got indigestion from eating the hat, and shoved Viggo out of the house without the trenchcoat he was going to wear to totally cover up the fact that he was in a crappy outfit that would have been fabulous, if not for the lack of cape.....and thus....he made the gofugyourself list of shame. DAMN YOU EDNA MODE!!!
Her:And you know what the worst thing is? When he got back from the event, after realizing how ridiculous he looked and being humiliated, he walked into the house and stepped into the mess the bull made when it yacked up the hat right in front of the door. And he had to clean it up, and THEN when he went up to just go to bed and forget the whole day, the bull was in his bed. And he was hogging all the covers!

So. Are you still here? You are? Oh, good. Because I just wanted to let you know that Snark's Mistress and I realize that we are completely insane. But we embrace that. It's what gives us our charm. And really, even when we're being insane, you can at the very least rest assured that you would never find us roaming the streets, asking for spare change in our funky matador outfits, with or without capes. Or hats.

Well, That's One Way To Do It

Before I get into tonight's topic, I'd just like to send a shout-out to my sister-in-law, who is sick.....AGAIN. I'd also like to let McMama know that if she wants to keep showing up in these pages, she needs to return my calls. Unless of course, she never got the message, because my sick sister-in-law took it and promptly forgot about it because she blew the part of her brain responsible for taking messages out her nose as she was trying to clear enough snot to enable her to breathe. In which case, never mind. Call me, McMama!

Okay, so, our house sits on a fairly large piece of property, comparatively speaking. Meaning, we have more square feet of land than most people in the area. And it's a great property, but I've never been fond of the landscaping. (Did I mention that we live in the house in which I grew to quasi-adulthood? Yeah, we bought it from my parents. Which made having sex in the master bedroom for the first time a trifle uncomfortable, but we quickly got over it.) My parents worked long hours and didn't want to have to put much effort into keeping up the yard, so it's minimally landscaped, and what is there doesn't make me do cartwheels. Not only that, but Papa Jo wasn't completely clear, when transferring the property to us, which trees/bushes/plants/other foliage were served by automatic sprinkler and which needed individual attention. So I'm not proud of this, but Oscar and I let a lot of it go, and by last spring, most of it was dead or getting there quickly.

To expedite getting things cleaned up, we hired a local kid to come in and cut everything down. That helped quite a bit, but then we had the problem of getting all of the waste cut into more reasonably sized pieces and hauled away. We did fine for the first week or so, but summer came quickly and neither Oscar nor I was interested in going out to get the refuse into the bins so it could be picked up on trash day. So a year later, most of that yard waste is still sitting in our backyard. Yeah, we're not proud of that, either.

Well, the weather has been so nice lately, and I've been trying so hard to get Turtle outside more, that I've actually started cutting up the dead branches and putting them in the bins. I know! Go me! It actually doesn't take too long to fill the bins, but at the rate I'm going, and with as much crap as is in our yard, we're probably looking at another couple of months before the whole yard is cleared. (Look, I said I wasn't proud, okay? Don't judge me.)

But here's the thing....I'm married to a Boy Scout. This has come in handy on a number of occasions (like when we need a special knot in something....and don't get me started on how sexy Oscar is when he's tying knots, because it's such a stupid thing, and yet....ROWR!!!) but tonight, it was of particular use. Oscar decided, since it has been the perfect temperature in the evening, it might be a fine idea to put together a fire pit and burn off some of the dead branches. So on the way home from dinner, we picked up some marshmellows, and after we put Turtle to bed, Oscar set up a mighty fine fire. We toasted a few marshmellows and then Hotass came out to join us. She had the brilliant idea of bringing out some hot dogs, and even though Oscar and I had just eaten dinner, we couldn't resist the siren song of the hot dog cooked over an open fire. It was the most relaxing thing we have done as a group in quite some time.

It was so relaxing, we're thinking of doing it again. Tomorrow is TAR night, and Snark's Mistress will be coming over to watch with us. Hotass is thinking of bringing her boyfriend by after they have their Date Night. And I'm thinking another fire would be a nice way to cap off the evening. We might even be upgrading to s'mores, provided Hotass remembers to pick up graham crackers. So, we may have let things go, but I'm telling you....we'll get our backyard cleaned up yet.

*Blank*

There is no life behind my eyes tonight. I'm so tired. I've been trying to write a sentence for the last five minutes and I can't seem to




Yeah. I'm watching a rerun of Grey's Anatomy and they could just as well be speaking Greek. Hotass keeps talking to me and I'm not understanding every third word out of her mouth. I keep thinking that I should go to bed, but Oscar is out working in the garage, and to get up and walk into the garage to tell him that I'm going to bed would require actual energy.

It's not often that I get this tired, but when I do, it's a fascinating thing. I can feel my eyes drooping and the temptation to fall to the side, close my eyes and just fall asleep is overwhelming. And yet....I do not go to bed. I force myself to stay awake because.....? Because going to bed would be sign of weakness? There's too much going on that I find interesting and for which I want to stay awake? Because I'm an idiot? (More than likely, all of the above.)

Sometimes, when I get this tired, I get really funny. It's almost like I'm on drugs. Tonight? It's not happening. Especially since part of my brain is now cluing into Grey's Anatomy, and it's the train wreck, two-people-get-impaled-together episode and it's very depressing. So my jaw is hanging open and I can't seem to close it. I keep telling my fingers to give it up and put the computer down, but I don't. And yet, I still have the energy to want to smack Meredith across the face and tell her to shut the hell up. It's a fascinating thing.

Calvin? Really?

I have to be honest...I'm probably not going to post much today. We're having breakfast with Mama and Papa Jo and then heading out to the Renaissance Festival. Truly, you have never lived until you have experienced the Renaissance Festival in the desert. There's nothing like coming home from a long day hobnobbing with the king smelling like dirt and sweat. Then there's the fact that I never perceived Merry Ol' England as a place that's flat, dusty, hot, and lacking in foliage. But I haven't missed going to the Renaissance Festival once since it started coming to Phoenix. I actually worked there for several years. (I know....that really seems to negate all of the street cred I have built up here, but I'm okay with that.) I won't tell you what I did, but I will tell you that it involved wearing a tight bodice and making sure I was showing off my cleavage to its best effect.

Anyway, in absence of anything of substance to say, I offer you another quiz. Yes, I know you're all thrilled. But I couldn't resist this one, because it features Calvin and Hobbes, which is incontrovertibly the BEST. COMIC. EVER. (And if you don't agree, you can leave now, because you are dead to me.) I think the best ones were the strips with the snowmen. They were creative, imaginative and featured the kind of sick, twisted humor I appreciate most. Although, the reader who wrote his version of the finale in which Calvin starts taking his meds and Hobbes turns back into stuffed toy was brilliant in its own way. Sad, but brilliant.

I have to say that I'm a bit perplexed by these results. I would have thought I was more Hobbes than Calvin. But maybe, for the first time, one of these silly quizzes is offering me a little insight to my complex personality. If nothing else, I don't mind thinking that I have quite a bit of "mischievous little kid" buried inside me.

Mostly Calvin You are 70% Calvin and 30% Hobbes

Your inner Calvin often prevails, but, as in the image below, you have a significant Hobbesian component. I'm going to try to stretch the visual metaphor here: you have a good head on your shoulders, but when you don't use it, your crazy body gets you in trouble? Does that work? Odds are you're impulsive and imaginative, but it's possible you've collected just enough wisdom to hold your most anti-social urges in check. Most of the time. It's a precarious balance, like a boy on one foot with a tiger head.

My test tracked 2 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 87% on calvin You scored higher than 2% on hobbes

Link: The Calvin Or Hobbes Test written by gwendolynbooks on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

God, How Sad...

My geek loserdom is apparently remarkably self-evident. I took one of those online quizzes to pass the time while I waited for my butterscotch pudding to digest and my water heater to refill itself after Hotass took her shower. It was the "Which High School Clique Do You Belong To?" quiz. It nailed me. I feel so dirty.

You scored as Geek/Nerd. Haha! ok. go computer geeks! Geek/Nerd 60% Emo Kid 40% Loner 27% Punk 20% Prep 13% Goth 7% Hot 7% Jock 0% Stoner 0% "Ghetto" 0% What Highschool Clique Do You Belong To? created with QuizFarm.com

Seriously, You Can Stop Now

My horoscope is freaking me out. I've been trying to check it more regularly, and while it is generally entertaining, today's was a little too spot-on for my tastes.

"You may not have been taking very good care of yourself lately, Cymber. The planetary aspects are encouraging you today to be a little more disciplined in your life-style. Don't overwork yourself, don't drink too much coffee and try to eat light. Anything you do for yourself today could have very rapid, healthy effects on your organism. Think about this as you go for a run at lunchtime, or go to bed early tonight!"

I have not been to the gym since Monday. My eating habits have been lax all week. Yesterday, in particular, I was eating junk food instead of the healthy stuff I usually choose. I've been getting to bed way too late, and waking up way too early. So now I'm starting to wonder if my horoscope is following me or whether it just uses Nanny-Cams. I mean, I'm used to the vague "You will have an interesting day today, so be on the lookout for things to be different" crap that my horoscope usually has to say. This seemingly prescient version of my horoscope has me a little spooked. I feel like I'm being watched. And now I'm thinking about all the weird things I do in the shower because I'm alone and naked, and I'm feeling somewhat embarrassed. What things? Well, sometimes, I like to.....um....never mind. Just sense the chagrin. Anyway, I think I need to go back to the days when I didn't check my horoscope every day. Maybe that will help. Because right now? I'm just a little alarmed.

In other news, I realize I shouldn't care all that much, but The Doodlebops are back for a new season and I'm having some issues. First of all, if you don't know what The Doodlebops are, you have been missing out. The Doodlebops are both a kids' show on the Disney Channel and the main characters of said kids' show. I honestly think you have to be on an acid trip to fully appreciate the show, which is essentially a plot-less blend of primary colors, bad music, and weird costumes. But Turtle enjoys it, and I suffer through it, because I'll watch anything with music in it, even if it's bad music. My standards are low. Anyway, for the new season, they have changed Deedee's hair. In the first season, it was this pink, cotton candy-esque concoction, styled into a flip and pulled back with a headband. Odd, but if you could get past the color, not so bad. Now, though, they've taken that same style and....POOFED it more. It's got more volume or........... something. But regardless, it's scary now. I think she could hide things in that hair. In fact, I would not be at all surprised to learn that the woman who plays her stuffs her flask up there and her journal, in which she enumerates the reasons that she has taken this gig so that when she feels dirty and ashamed for selling out like this, she can refer to it and remember that she's not only paying the rent; she's supporting her cocaine habit.

Also disturbing me about this new season is that Maz, the scat singing manager of the Doodlebops, has been replaced by a new character, Jazzmine. I feel betrayed. I liked Maz. She was one of the few tolerable things about this show, and now she is gone. Does she not realize that I have no choice but to watch this show with my son every morning? Does she not understand that in leaving, I am now the one who must suffer? Why does she have to be so selfish? GAH! I hate people like that. It's like they're saying "Me, me, me...it's all about me!" Don't these people realize it's NOT all about them??? Don't they realize it's all about ME?!?!? GAH! Keep up, people!!! I don't want to have to tell you again!

And here is the part of the program in which I tie these two seemingly unrelated items together into a cohesive narrative thread: I'm getting the impression that the universe is conspiring to get me out of the house more. My horoscope tells me to stop being such a lazy-ass, and one of my son's morning shows has degenerated into a virtually unwatchable piece of dreck. I'm not necessarily a superstitious person, but all signs seem to be pointing to me needing to give the couch cushions a breather before they develop a permanent imprint of my ass. I was doing a good job of it earlier in the week, but I started getting lazier as the week progressed. I know this has been a common theme in this blog, but really, until you stay home with a two year old and deal with the tantrums and the runny noses and the drama that ensues when you neglect to make him the pancakes he so desperately wanted for breakfast and feel like your brain is deteriorating and realize that no matter how hard you try, you're never going to get the entire house clean at one time so why even bother, and have someone say, "mom mom mom mom mom mom mom mom mom mom mom mom mom mom" ad nauseum until you wonder why it was that you wanted kids in the first place and try to balance your budget which stubbornly refuses to balance and worry about whether your child is going to be a serial killer, given his fascination with turning every day items into go-gos, his oh-so-cute word for guns, and try to figure out what to fix for dinner so that you can have something ready when your husband, who has been working long hours and not getting nearly enough sleep, comes home and try to find something cute and funny to say every day so you don't disappoint McMama, who reads your blog every day, because she's cool like that, and yet, THE PRESSURE, you just won't understand that I'm LUCKY to have found enough energy to get out of bed, much less drag my ass off the couch. So, you know...don't judge me. I'm doing the best I can.

A Word About Hair 3

I'm sure you have all been waiting with bated breath to find out if Oscar would get his hair colored when next we visited our fabulously talented stylist. Well, I'll tell you, but first you have to sit through some of my fabulous kid stories. Why? Because this is my blog and I revel in the power! MWAHAHAHAHA!!!

So, my oldest nephew is five years old, and as I believe I mentioned, his baby brother was just born a few weeks ago. Mama and Papa Jo, being good grandparents and recognizing that since the siblings are currently sharing a room, Older Nephew was probably not getting much sleep, offered to let him spend some time over the weekend with them. On the way home from picking him up, Mama Jo got to hear all about Older Nephew's new "job." Apparently, my brother and sister-in-law tasked Older Nephew with being a good older brother, being gentle with the new baby, and helping his mommy take good care of the latest addition to their family. He was taking this responsibility very seriously. But Mama Jo looked back at Older Nephew and asked if he would like to do another job for her. She asked if he would be a good grandson, and come over to their house and have lots of fun playing with them and giving them lots of hugs and kisses. Older Nephew considered this for a moment and then very seriously looked at Mama Jo and said, "No. I already have enough to do with one job. I don't think I have time for another one."

I actually told our fabulously talented stylist this story, and after giggling over that with me, she told me a few of her own stories. She has a friend with two children, a girl and a boy, aged 6 and 7, respectively. And apparently, their favorite topics are their boyfriends and girlfriends. Every word out of their mouths is about how "she's my girlfriend" and "he's my boyfriend" and "Susie doesn't HAVE a boyfriend." Their mom finally got so sick of all of this boyfriend and girlfriend talk that she told both kids that she wasn't hearing any of it anymore and they didn't have boyfriends or girlfriends and nobody loved anybody the way Mommy loves Daddy. At which point the boy looks up at his mom and says, "Mommy, I am a MAN, and a man doesn't like to be ALONE!"

Then there's the girl....who is apparently very into fashion and clothes. She came out of her bedroom one morning and announced to her mom that the shirt she was wearing would look much better with white pants. Her mom, having dealt with her daughter enough and just wanting at this point to shut her up (as we parents sometimes do), told her that she didn't want to wear white pants because wearing white pants before Memorial Day simply wasn't done. This was enough to put her off until they were driving one day, and the little girl gasped so loudly that her mom was concerned that she was choking or that they were about to get into an accident. She looked back and asked what the problem was. The little girl said, with a voice full of horror, "Sally wore white pants today." This would have been bad enough, but Sally's mom is apparently a teacher at the girl's school, and the little girl's mom did not want to hear about this whole white pants saga getting back around to Sally or her mom. So she said as much to her daughter, who looked aghast and said, "But, Mommy, she doesn't KNOW!!!!!!"

I love kids. They're so refreshingly forthright.

So, having subjected to you the random stories of the precocious kids I either know or have heard tale about, I will now bore you with the scoop on Oscar's hair. First of all, our stylist started off our appointment gushing about how she had never read a blog before but she read mine. And she was going around telling everyone about how she's famous now. "Someone blogged about me!" She was practically giddy. It was quite adorable. I suppose if I had been in the right frame of mind, I would have told her to comp our haircuts this time around, since I'd given her free advertising. But I didn't think of it until now. (Don't you hate it when your brain is so far behind that you think of the perfect bon mot the NEXT DAY, instead of in the moment when you actually need it? The vagaries of fate....) In any event, she was telling me I should have put her real name in my blog, so she could get more business, but really I know she just wants me to put her name in there so something cool pops up when her name is Googled. So, if you're in the metropolitan Phoenix area and you need a kick-ass hair cut, please go to Moments Salon and ask for Andrea Ball. Tell her I sent you. (If you want to write really bad haikus about her and post them to the internet, just to make sure even more cool stuff pops up when she Googles herself next, that's fine too.)

Anyway, after we got the salutations and blog gushing out of the way, I pulled Andrea a little bit away and under my breath said, "I don't care what Oscar tells you, I don't care what he says, you need to color his hair today." Oh, yeah. That's right, people.....Oscar's albino hairs are no more. His hair is now a touch darker than his usual shade and the little albino hairs appear as slightly lighter colored highlights. But the gray...it is gone. And I have to say, as much as I was resistant to him coloring it, it is rather fetching. It's not a huge difference, but it's enough to make Oscar happy. And that's all that really matters to me....Oscar's happiness. Well, Oscar's happiness and making Turtle smile. Okay, maybe Oscar's happiness, making Turtle smile, and really good sushi. Oh, wait. Make that Oscar's happiness, making Turtle smile, really good sushi and Stargate SG-1. But that's all that really matters to me. Really.

Boyfriends

I have been of the firm opinion for quite some time that all married women need boyfriends. I had one for quite a while, when I was still working a regular 8-5 job. And as often as we used his name, Oscar and I called him my Office Boyfriend. It perplexed people who didn't know us very well, that my husband could so casually refer to my "boyfriend" in conversation. But Oscar understood the relationship, and was not at all threatened by it. We were simply very close friends who had just enough sexual tension between us to keep things interesting.

The trick to having a boyfriend when you are married is to channel all of the sexual tension that builds between you and your boyfriend back into your marriage. I am quite adept at this particular skill. I had to learn it early, because when you flirt as much as I do, you have to have somewhere to go with all of the hormones that start running around. This creates a win-win situation. Your boyfriend gets the same thing you get out of it: a boost to the ego that someone else finds him attractive. And your husband gets a wife who is invigorated by the extra attention she has been getting and is therefore more interested in him sexually. I don't think I've met a man yet who would be disappointed if he were to start getting sex more regularly from his spouse, no matter what the impetus. So you see what I am saying, right? Win-win.

In any event, my Office Boyfriend fell off the face of the planet a couple of months ago. The phone calls and lunches had started dwindling even before that. He had a new real-life girlfriend and a job that was stressful and overwhelming, and after a while, he just stopped trying. I couldn't make the extra effort to keep things going, myself, because I was dealing with my own life issues. It was a bummer, because like I said, he was a very close friend in addition to being a "boyfriend." I still think about him quite a bit. But he's gone and I don't think he'll be back. That being the case, I think it's time I moved on.

I think it might be time to upgrade my Crush to Boyfriend status. We already talk all the time, to the point that our respective spouses don't even ask us anymore if we're talking to the other; they just assume that we are. He makes me feel good about myself, and again, there's just enough sexual tension to keep things interesting. Oscar is reaping the benefits of our relationship, so I don't think he is complaining. (Though I am sure he will weigh in on that later, once he's read this post.) The only thing that's holding me back is the fact that he lives across the country from me. I've never had a long-distance boyfriend before.

I'm not even sure how this works. It was easy with Office Boyfriend. We would talk all the time on the phone, and I would give him advice about his life. He would listen when I was having marital issues and give me the ever-important "man's perspective." We'd have lunch once a week, and talk and flirt, and it was great. I suppose, looking at it that way, I can still do all of these things with the new guy in my life, just without the lunches. And it's not like I'm planning on marrying him...I already have a husband and I don't need another one. So I guess the geography issue is not as big a problem as I thought it was. Maybe it IS time to upgrade.

Looks like I have a boyfriend again. I can't wait to tell Oscar...

S & BJ D

Yesterday was Steak and Blow Job Day, the male counterpart to Valentine's Day. Did everyone remember to celebrate?

Our day was poorly scheduled yesterday. I had a class to attend from 7:00-9:00 last night, so I did not have the time with Oscar that I would normally like. I couldn't expect to have dinner with him, and I was leaving him with the responsibility for Turtle. It was not the way I would generally choose to help him celebrate S&BJD. But he was home early yesterday from work, so under the auspices of taking Snark's Mistress to the bank, I was able to get out of the house and pick up a full slab of ribs and sides from Texas Roadhouse. They are Oscar's favorite, and when we first discussed S&BJD, he had decided that ribs would be much better than steak, in his opinion. I may not have been able to be there every step of the way to help make his day special, but the least I could do was provide him with an outstanding meal.

When I got home with the ribs and the Turtle, Oscar was taking a nap. Sadly, I didn't realize this at first, so all of the noise Turtle and I made on our way into the house woke him up. Oscar's special day was really not going as planned. He was a little fuzzy and didn't react much to my surprise dinner. As I had suspected, we weren't able to eat together before I left for class. But I told him to enjoy his meal and he could expect me to enthusiastically comply with the second part of his special day once I was home and had eaten, myself.

Well, by the time I got home from class, Oscar still hadn't eaten dinner. So, much to my surprise, we were able to enjoy our ribs together. We had some good conversations and were able to sit back and relax with each other, since Turtle was down to bed and Hotass was out and about. Of course, once we were done eating, we needed time to digest, because neither of us was too excited about going to bed on a full stomach. Oscar asked me if I would mind if he played a computer game for a while. As far as I was concerned, it was his day, so he could celebrate however he saw fit. And I promised him that as soon as we went to bed, he'd get his blow job.

Does anyone want to guess how this all turned out? Well, given that it was already late when I got home and we started eating, by the time we had eaten and digested, it was really, really late. Not to mention that Oscar got rather caught up playing his computer game. And Oscar has to get up really early in the morning to get to work on time. So when we climbed into bed, and I curled up next to Oscar, completely prepared to travel south and see what "popped up," he turned to me and told me not to worry about the blow job...he'd rather get some sleep. As an afterthought, he mentioned that I really shouldn't tell my Crush that he turned me down because he didn't want to hear about what an idiot he was today. So, I said I wouldn't tell my Crush, and I haven't. I told the whole internet instead.

Happy Steak and Blow Job Day, baby. You know I love you.

SCORE!

We have a name for Best Friend. I don't know if this will end up being her permanent name, because we are fickle souls and after trying it on for a while, one or both of us may decide that it's not right or it doesn't really fit or it isn't nearly as clever as we thought it was when we started using it. But she's tired of being nameless and my brain has been stretched to its limit trying to think of something to call her. In other words, we've had enough for now. So until further notice, we will be calling Best Friend......(drumroll please)..... Snark's Mistress. Thank you. Thank you very much. I do reserve the right to call her SM for short, or whenever I don't feel like typing out Snark's Mistress, but at least she is Best Friend no longer.

I bring this up not only because I wanted to keep you informed of the status of her name, but also because Snark's Mistress? Has finally started her blog. You can find it here. I hesitated in telling you about her blog, because I wasn't sure I wanted you to realize how brilliant she is and then jump ship and leave me over here with no audience. On the other hand, I let that cat out of the bag the first time I talked about her, so it shouldn't come as any big surprise to anyone who's been following me for a while. What may come as a surprise to you is that I'm not called Cymber over in her neck of the blogosphere. Over there, I'm known as Minnie. She'll explain why that is, without actually explaining why that is. She's funny like that.

I think I mentioned at some point that Oscar had wanted SM and I to start a blog together. He thought it might make things easier for both of us, as we were apprehensive about starting blogs and taking on the responsibility of thinking up new content on a regular basis. If we were both contributing to one blog, however, the work load would be halved. What Oscar failed to take into account is that if we were to do a blog together, nobody else would be able to understand it. SM and I have been friends for so long, we have a kind of shorthand communication style. Conversations between us will generally sound something like this:

Her: Do you remember the....?
Me: The one with the guy from....?
Her: No, the other one.
Me: Oh, with the....?
Her: Yeah!
Me: Uh-huh, what about it? Just that....?
Her: Yeah!
Me: I know. Totally.

It works for us, because we share a brain. WE know what we're talking about and WE find each other hilarious. I just doubt it would make very compelling reading for anyone else. Of course, that's not a problem now that we have separate blogs. Convenient how that works out, isn't it? So please do me a favor and check out SM's blog. I have a feeling that she thinks if she can write a couple of posts without anyone noticing, she can quietly pull down her blog and I won't say anything because she tried, right? At least she tried. But if a few of you head over there and actually start checking back in and e-mailing her with not-so-subtle hints about when she thinks she might post again? Well, then I win. And isn't that the most important thing?

Drunken Blogging

Wheeeeeeeee! Okay, so we're not as boring as I thought. Oscar and I decided that we'd head to a local bar that serves our cider on draught and get a little nibbly to eat, instead of sitting around at home, watching bad television. So, we order a pitcher and a pizza, and manage to devour both in pretty short order and Oscar asks me if I want to get a shot. I figure, "what the hell?" I can handle it. It's not like I had wine (On another post, I'll explain why wine and I are close personal friends and yet are not good partners if I'm expected to do anything but sleep shortly after consuming it.) So we order our Slippery Nipples (which are actually the same things as Cocksucking Cowboys, by the way) and while we're talking, Oscar asks me how drunk I am. By this point, I have had a drink and a half, and a slice and a half of pizza, but I am a lightweight, so this is a legitimate question.

My answer to Oscar went something like this:
Imagine that your brain is like a glass and your intellect is the water inside the glass. My glass is about 75% full, and I can feel the water sloshing around inside the glass, but I'm still smart.

Oh yeah, I'm not a happy drunk, a mean drunk or a depressive drunk. I'm worse. I'm a philosophizing drunk. Not only am I a philosophizing drunk, but my propensity towards snorting greatly increases in direct proportion to the amount of alcohol I consume. So I will wax philosophical, find one of my observations about life and the universe outrageously funny, and start snorting as I'm laughing at myself. And this, my friends, is why I don't drink very often.

A Thrill A Minute

It's almost 7:45pm on a Saturday night. The roommate, Hotass, is on a mini-vacation in Lake Havasu. Turtle is spending the night at Mama and Papa Jo's place. Oscar doesn't have anything pressing to do for his consulting company. So what are we doing with ourselves this evening? Well, I'm sitting on the couch with my computer on my lap and Oscar is sitting in the chair with his computer on his lap. The room is silent except for the sound of my fingers tapping the keys on my keyboard and the sound effects from the computer game Oscar is playing. Oh, yeah, baby....we are so exciting, you only WISH you could be like us!

I would question when it was in our lives that Oscar and I became such boring people, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't enjoy the answer. Quite honestly, I've always been a homebody type. I don't really enjoy bars and clubs. I can enjoy them in short bursts, but with nights off as few and far between as ours are, I would rather spend my time relaxing at home with Oscar, a good movie and a bottle of wine. Oscar is a little more interested in going out and doing things with his free time, but he's been so tired lately with all of the work he's been doing, a quiet evening at home holds much appeal for him right now, too. So unless he suggests hitting a strip club, or getting drunk on "Cocksucking Cowboys" at the local Irish pub (don't ask......), it looks like these two wild and crazy kids have an appointment with the DVD player and an early bedtime tonight.

In light of all that, I find it somewhat comical that my brother is making a big deal out of the fact that I'm turning 30 this year. I mean, if I fit the stereotype of the person whose twenties were a blur of parties, experimentation, bad financial decisions and lots and lots of alcohol, I suppose finding myself on the threshold of my thirties would be a little daunting. It would probably be a wakeup call that I can't live that kind of life forever and it's time to start settling down and thinking about the future. But I turned 30 in my early twenties, so the fact that my driver's license is now going to confirm that I'm a grown-up with a family, a mortgage, and a car payment is no big deal.

Still, I don't want to be almost-30 and have my life be completely devoid of excitement. So I'm trying to find ways to shake things up a bit, including planning a trip to New York for Oscar's 30th birthday, which is also this year. Given what I've been learning about the cost of getting a hotel room in New York, I'm thinking I should have started planning for this trip in 2002, but we'll make it work. It won't solve the problem of being losers for whom the highlight of the week is watching Grey's Anatomy on Sunday and The Amazing Race on Tuesday, but we do what we can.

Well, It Was Bound To Happen

I knew I couldn't keep it up forever, but it was a nice dream. I had a rough day yesterday, which led into an even worse evening. By the time Oscar and I got home from Date Night, it was late and I was in no mood to post. Best Friend suggested that I double post today, to make up for it, because she knows how I am. She knows the guilt is going to start getting to me and I'll feel horrible for neglecting you, but that maybe if I double post, I will feel like I have made up for it, somehow. It's nice having someone who "gets" me as well as she does. I do have a couple of stories to tell, but I need to flesh them out a little more. So, I'll be back later with content that will hopefully actually qualify as "witty and clever." Thanks for sticking with me.

Withdrawal. Also? Panic.

Today, for the first time in a long time, I spent more time away from the computer than I spent shackled to it. I think in other parts of the country, this is known as "having a life," though I am somewhat unfamiliar with the phenomenon, myself. Best Friend came over in the early afternoon to watch Stargate SG-1 with me (yes, we are obsessed....don't judge us!), and as she was leaving, Mama Jo came over to pick up Turtle and me to go shopping. When we were done shopping, we went back to her place so Papa Jo could have a chance to see Turtle. And when Oscar came by to pick us up and take us home, I had just enough time to drop Turtle and him off at home before I was due over at Best Friend's house for our weekly "girl time." It was a busy day.

And I had a great time. I really did. I always enjoy spending time with Best Friend, and my shopping excursions with Mama Jo are a source of delight for both of us. But, see....I have a very close relationship with my computer, too. I missed it today, and I know it missed me too. The longest I'm usually away from it during the day is a few hours. Today, I think I put the computer down at close to 12:00 and didn't pick it back up again until 11:20pm. That's almost 12 hours, people! I was starting to get the shakes and feel a little nauseated. The withdrawal was killing me. I couldn't wait to get back online to start surfing and check up on all of the blogs on my reading list. So naturally, when I finally reconnected with my computer and my fingers started flying across the keys, almost every single one of the blogs was down due to Blogger maintenance. GAH!

Actually, though, this is not necessarily a bad thing. Because by the time I got home and got back on my computer, I realized I had exactly 40 minutes before midnight and if I planned to post something today, it had to happen immediately. So I read through what I could very quickly and then started typing, and as it stands, I am down to 7 minutes. The panic is building. My brain is screaming, "TYPE SOMETHING! ANYTHING!!!!!!!!!!!" Well, most of my brain is thinking that. The other parts of my brain that are not as obsessive-compulsive are screaming, "IT MUST BE WITTY AND CLEVER! WE DO HAVE STANDARDS, YOU KNOW!!!" Sadly, I don't think those parts are going to win though, because with 5 minutes left, the obsessive-compulsive parts are starting to hyperventilate, and when parts of my brain start hyperventilating, I know I'm in bad shape. So for all of you who come here to read my quirky, yet witty and clever, observations about life? I sincerely apologize for the appalling lack of standards I am exhibiting today, but after all....I only have 3 minutes left.

Ugh...Blech...Grrr... And Other Thoughts

In case you haven't checked my profile lately, I live in Arizona. I hate it here. No, scratch that. There are times when I hate it here. Those times generally fall between May and November and have something to do with the temperature. I feel like the summers here are causing my soul to die a slow and miserable death. So Oscar and I have some plans to move closer to his family in upstate New York, at some point in the future when we can fix up our house and he can find a job in a completely different state. In the meantime, we're dealing with the things we don't like. *AHEM*100+ degree weather*AHEM* There are times when it's easy. Now, for example, the weather is about as perfect as it gets. It's mid-70s during the day and clear skies as far as you can see. And this kind of weather generally lasts for a several months. Of course, the majority of those months are when most people in the country are shoveling their way out from under the snow.

It's a little weird reconciling the fact that a lot of the country is still dealing with colder weather when I walk through the local Target and am visually accosted by the display of bikinis right in the front of the store. I mean, technically, we're not quite ready for the bikinis here, yet, either. But we are closer than most. And I've lived here long enough to know that the change from "Wow, this weather is incredible. Now I remember why we still live here," to "God, I'm melting. Please, just shoot me. It will be faster and less painful," happens in an instant. I shouldn't be surprised. But I am. Every year bikini season sneaks up on me, planning its assault like an elite military squadron, and I am defenseless in the face of its superior force.

Walking through the store, my strategy is to simply refuse to see the cheerful bouquet of spandex and lycra. Or failing that, I will try to convince my mind that what I am really seeing is a large display of oddly shaped socks. Socks somehow seem less threatening. But ultimately, I know what that spandex and lycra bouquet means. I understand its significance. I won't be able to hide under a jacket or an oversized sweater anymore. Pretty soon, the sun will be beating down on me, and even if I were inclined to hide my body's flaws under a few extra layers of well-tailored clothes, it wouldn't be long before I started peeling the layers away. Soon, it will be so hot that my options for survival include becoming a hermit and spending the next 6-7 months indoors or braving the elements to walk the several steps it takes me to get to my backyard swimming pool. I honestly wouldn't even mind the latter option, if not for the aforementioned bikini issue.

Swimsuits are just so demoralizing. It's bad enough that you have to spend ungodly amounts of money on a piece of material that covers less than the jacket, on which you actually spent 25% less because you know where to find the good deals. No, you have to suffer through the indignity of actually trying that piece of material on before you plunk down your $50+. And I'm sorry, but when you've been hiding your light under the bushel of your oversized sweater for 2 months (which is about how long winter lasts here) it doesn't matter how good the lighting is or how flattering the mirrors are. You're going to look like a pale, pasty sausage in a shredded, too-small casing. And that's the best case scenario. The worst case is that you won't be able to find a single suit that recognizes that just because your hips are wide, it does not necessarily follow that your breasts could rival Pamela Anderson's. No, really....it's so completely obvious that men design women's bathing suits, because I haven't yet found one that takes into account the actual shape of a woman's body. Not Barbie's body. An actual, honest-to-goodness, breathing woman's body.

Not that I'm bitter or anything.

Okay, well, maybe I am, a little. It's just that bikini season is almost upon us again, and I'm just not ready for it. I've been going to the gym, and trying to eat better, but the fact of the matter is that I'm still heavier than I'd like to be. It sucks, but it is what it is, and I would be fine with it, if it wasn't for the fact that I need a new swimsuit this year. None of my old ones fit quite right (and to be honest, they never have) and I've put off shopping for a suit for far too long. I just haven't had a strong enough self-esteem to brave the dreaded fitting room. And, you know, now that I'm thinking about it, I still don't. I mean, being a hermit can't be THAT bad, right? Don't they deliver groceries to your door now? Hey, so long as I can get Ben and Jerry's delivered to me in the comfort of my air-conditioned home, I don't see what the problem is. I'm all set for summer. Bring it on.

Confession

I have a confession to make. I laugh at the most inappropriate things. I know I shouldn't, but I can't help myself. I blame it on my family. In our house, you learned that laughter can get you through all of the rough spots in life. Nothing is exempt. Lost a job? Someone died? Have a terminal illness? Going through a bankruptcy? Believe me, we will find the humor in it and point it out to you, ready or not.

So imagine how I felt when I saw this headline today. I know I shouldn't laugh. I know. I know. I KNOW. I mean, I'm a parent. I can't even begin to think what this girl's parents are going through. And what a violent way to go. It's horrible, truly, and I recognize that. But I just looked at that headline and a giggle started bubbling up from my belly, and before long, it was a chuckle and then I couldn't contain myself and I was full-on laughing, thinking of the irony. (I know. I suck.)

Worse than that, I have a friend whose husband was seriously wounded in Iraq. He lost two of his limbs, and his struggle, not only to survive, but to now learn to do things that the rest of us take for granted has been nothing short of inspirational. I deeply, deeply admire both of them for what they have and are continuing to overcome. But not even that could prevent me from laughing at an e-mail I received from one of their friends who is helping to organize a special fundraiser for this soldier and his wife. The theme of the fundraiser is "Serving Soldier X," and the e-mail made many references to this fundraiser with no problems whatsoever. Well, there were no problems until roughly the middle of the e-mail when the friend accidentally typed in "Severing Soldier X." I read that and I guffawed. Loudly. And I feel really badly about this, because I KNOW how much this couple is struggling right now and my heart aches for them, but "severing?" I take a little bit of comfort in knowing that the soldier would be laughing his ass off too, if he could see it. But his wife? Not so much. So yeah....I am an ass. I know.

But it's not like my inappropriate laughter is reserved only for tragedies that befall other people. When my grandfather died, a man whom I adored, it was a huge blow, but don't think that we weren't laughing our asses off not too long afterward. If you can picture the scene, my grandmother, my mom, a couple aunts and I were all standing around my grandparents' kitchen once my grandfather's ashes had been retrieved. As his remains were to be interred in a couple different locations, we were trying to decide how best to divide up his ashes for transport. We started looking for containers. The smaller containers were quickly rejected. "Cool Whip?" someone suggested. "Pickles?" offered someone else. "Oh, no! I've got it!" I said, reaching for a container on a higher shelf. "I can't BELIEVE it's not Grandpa! Now with lower cholesterol!" Hysterics soon broke out. One of my aunts brought out a mint container. "At least he'll smell minty fresh on his way to the afterlife!" she said triumphantly. By this time, people were starting to worry about peeing their pants. It had been a tough day for all of us, but it would have been worse if we hadn't been able to come together and share a laugh at the end of it.

Still, sometimes I wish I didn't have to worry about this propensity of mine to laugh at wrong moment. I mean, I'm not always at home by myself when these fits of inappropriate laughter strike me. And while my friends and family understand this particular character flaw, I can't be assured that everyone else will. So, you know, if we ever end up at the same funeral together, and you see my body shake as I try to hold back the laughter, just do me a favor, would you? Form a human shield. No one else really needs to know what a horrible person I am. It can just be our little secret.

A Meme For You

Thanks again to Flip (who had a brilliant post today, by the way) for tagging me with this intriguing version of the meme. In this incarnation, I answer a question, then I use my creative genius to think of another question and the people I tag answer the question and then tag other people, asking them a question. (Are we all clear? Yes? Good.) The question can be anything. And it can cause a thread conversation. (Not that I know exactly what that is...I just stole this from Flip. See him for more details.) So, I was tagged with the following question:

What is the first thing you would do (besides review your choice of news outlets) if Fox News reported that earth was unquestionably going to be destroyed by a huge meteor at midnight (your) local time?

To answer this, first you have to understand that I do not watch the news. Ever. EVER, ever. It either depresses me or angers me beyond all reason, and I just don't have time for that kind of negativity. So I would be more likely to find out that the earth was going to be destroyed by a huge meteor from one of those emergency broadcast messages right in the middle of JoJo's Circus, when they start singing the "What did you learn" song, to which I would be bobbing my head along, because really, it's just that infectious. So the VERY first thing I would do would be to look around for the hidden camera, because I don't really think it's possible to get an emergency broadcast message in the middle of JoJo's Circus, informing you of a meteor that is going to destroy earth, and immediately take it seriously.

That said, I can't say for sure what my next move would be, but it would probably be either:

A) I would start a blog post, because I would suspect that the phone lines would be busy beyond all reason, and since I know McMama checks my blog, like, all the time, I would want to get in touch with her and let the family back east know that I love them and although our time together was too short, they touched me in ways they can't even begin to imagine. Also, I would want to call dibs on Patrick Dempsey and Phil Keoghan for once we got to whatever afterlife awaits us, because I am not getting McMama's sloppy seconds.

or

B) I would run out to the store and blow every dollar I could on lobster, crab legs, sushi, frozen custard, Mint Brussels, and lots and lots of liquor. Because if I'm being blown to bits by a stupid meteor, (please pardon the language) FUCK THE DIET! The meteor, I doubt, will care if I'm carrying a few extra pounds. As a matter of fact, the meteor, if it hits in the right place, might actually shave a few of those extra pounds off of me. So I'm enjoying a nice meal before I go, thank you very much.

Regardless, I think I would end the day having mind-blowing sex with my husband as many times as humanly possible. And when we'd exhausted each other and were ready to fall asleep, I'd sneak into Turtle's room, pick him up and carry him back to bed with me. Then, I'd snuggle in between Oscar and Turtle and smile, because I couldn't think of a better way to go.

So...now that I'm all weepy thinking of my son never being able to grow up and learn proper English, I will take this opportunity to tag:

bibydays
SWCTOAFN (Seriously, dude, just frickin' post already...it's not that hard...here, I'm even giving you a built-in topic.)
and my Crush

Here's the question: If you rubbed the magic lamp and the genie appeared, for what purpose would you be using your three wishes?

I hope you guys play along!

Okay, Now It's a Thing

Did I mention that I do not usually check my horoscope? I used to. I used to look it up every day, not because I believed in it, but because I thought it was interesting how some people put so much weight into their horoscopes. I tend to think they're pretty vague and generic, so you can fit yours to whatever circumstances shape your day. The fact that some people swear by them is endlessly fascinating to me. But before Crush and I had that conversation about his horoscope, which led to me looking mine up, it had probably been years since I had checked it. Now, however, it's a thing.

It almost broke me the other day. I can't let that happen again. And I can tell that my horoscope is a little worried about the fact that I'm keeping closer tabs on it now, because it had this to say to me today:

"Do you have a romantic evening planned for tonight? If so, dear Taurus, it is likely to turn out to be all you had hoped for. You'll be especially attractive, and your naturally warm and loving nature will be all too apparent. Even casual encounters with friends may bring about closer bonding, and new acquaintances are likely to become friends. Your communicative skills are very high at this time, and people of all kinds are likely to respond to you. Go for it!"

Can you BELIEVE that???? My horoscope is kissing my ass! "You'll be especially attractive" is its little way of saying, "Hey, sorry about that crap the other day. Please don't hurt me. I love you." I mean, it's totally true....I've got some serious hotness happening lately, so it's no wonder that my horoscope picked up on it. (*insert good-natured guffawing here*) But it's such an obvious attempt to get on my good side, it's almost pathetic. And that "Go for it!" at the end? Is totally my horoscope thinking, "If I tell you you're going to get some action tonight, will you be so busy that you'll forget to kick my ass for that not-so-helpful stuff the other day????" Like I ever forget to kick a deserving ass. Not for sex anyway. Maybe for a banana split..... mmmmmmmmmm.....

As a side note, the "casual encounters with friends may bring about a closer bonding" crap? Was totally referring to Flip, I'm sure, who tagged me today with a meme. I would have responded tonight, if it wasn't for the fact that I'm still contemplating my response. I went through a couple different ideas, such as calling over Best Friend and searching for the episode of Stargate SG-1 where our intrepid explorers save the world AGAIN from an asteroid headed straight for Earth. That way we could take notes and see if there was anything applicable in there that we could use on the meteor. But that is my inner geek answering and not the rest of me, so I'm still thinking about it. Same with part 2 of the meme, tagging someone else with a question. I have to give this one some thought. So thanks, Flip, for wanting to "bring about a closer bonding" or whatever. I'm totally blushing over the fact that you find me interesting enough to want to pick my brain in that way. When I have an answer for you that honors the interest you have taken in me and my little corner of the universe over here, I will post about it. Until then, it's late, and my horoscope says I need to go do incredibly naughty things to my husband now.

Karma Is Good

Every Friday, Oscar and I leave Turtle with a babysitter and go out on a date. It's our way of reconnecting after a long week, and an opportunity to eat in a restaurant without worrying about whether Turtle is eating the crayons or climbing over the banquette into the booth next to us. Normally, we would pick a nice, grown-up type restaurant and have a leisurely meal at a table with subdued lighting and attentive waiters. However, our budget is tight at the moment. So we traded in the subdued lighting and attentive waiters for a local burger joint that just opened up, which conveniently also serves frozen custard. The sacrifices we have to make.... Heh.

We had a nice time eating our burgers and onion rings (why blow a diet if you're only going to go half way?) and had some great conversations. We got caught up on everything, which is good, because it's been a while since we've had a chance to talk like that. Before we knew it, the burgers were gone, the onion rings were demolished and we were starting to contemplate dessert. Well....technically, Oscar was the only one contemplating dessert. I knew what I wanted. I wanted a banana split, no whipped cream, no nuts. I have been salivating over the idea of a banana split almost the entire week, and after the day I had yesterday, I figured I was due that banana split, without any of the usual accompanying guilt. Just me, the banana split, and a spoon. That's all I needed. I was ready.

So naturally, it wasn't that easy. We ordered, they gave us our little plastic number to put on our table and we waited. Before too long, Oscar's frozen confection arrived. I was assured mine would not be far behind. Oscar took a look at it, and then looked again. It was somewhat lacking in the crushed Heath bar he had requested. Actually, it was completely lacking in the crushed Heath bar he had requested. We had a brief discussion about whether or not he should make a stink about it before he decided that he really did need the topping to achieve sundae bliss. He walked up to the counter while I waited back at the table. I think he hit a rush because it probably took him close to five minutes to get them to crush some candy on his custard. When he came back, I was.....can you guess?....that's right....still waiting for my banana split. Oscar took a few bites of his pistachio nut frozen custard, and picked off a little piece of his waffle bowl. Then I think he started feeling guilty that he had his dessert but I was still waiting for mine. He put his spoon down. Still I waited. I passed the time watching Oscar's frozen custard melt in front of me. It was at this point that I started to wonder who, exactly, I had pissed off to make even the ordering of a frozen custard such a traumatic issue. But finally, FINALLY, a cute little blonde girl walked over and placed my dessert in front of me and I swear I heard a choir of angels sing. It had real hot fudge, and big, fat pieces of strawberry, and best of all, it looked like an entire colony of pineapple had conquered that middle scoop of custard. I really think if I had been at home, I might have orgasmed. Quite frankly, I probably would have done it in public, if I hadn't been so focused on picking up that spoon and taking my first taste of that oh-so-fattening piece of heaven in a bowl.

The story could have ended here, and I would have been blissfully happy and yesterday's psychotic episode would have been but a distant memory. But no. I think Karma was feeling particularly guilty about my crappy horoscope and crappier mood. Because Oscar and I were about 75% of the way through our desserts when another employee walked up with yet another dish of pistachio nut frozen custard and a banana split with no whipped cream, and no nuts. Somebody forgot to clear the board of our order, so they made it all over again. And they couldn't really do anything with it, so the cute little employee set the sundaes down in front of us and said "If anybody asks, I don't know anything." Now, honestly, there was no way I was going to be able to eat another banana split last night. But I was not above taking it home and sticking it in the freezer. And with that extra banana split, ready to back me up in case something else made my mood take a turn for the worst, balance was restored in my universe. See, it doesn't take a sandwich or a nice long walk. Life's problems are only ever really solved with banana splits. No whipped cream. No nuts.

A Whole Lot of Blah

I'm tapped out today. I've been feeling pretty emotionally drained overall, lately, and although I can pretty much pinpoint the reasons for it, that doesn't seem to be helping much in the "getting over it" part of the process. (No, I'm not going to share what they are.) (No, really, I'm not. Quit asking.) I was chatting with my Crush earlier, and not even feeling very participatory in that conversation, that's how tapped out I am (Sorry, man! You know I love you!), when I decided to check my horoscope. He'd shared his with me earlier and it was so upbeat and positive, I thought maybe mine would have even a hint of something in it that might help me get over my blaaaaaaaaaaah issues. Here is what it said:

This kind of strange day doesn't come around very often, dear Taurus. You no longer seem to know what you want. Do you want to work or take time off? Do you want to redecorate your house or live in a shack by the beach? It's hard to communicate with people, because you feel that trying to explain your point of view is pointless, especially when you don't know what it is yourself. The best thing to do may be to unplug yourself from your usual activities and go for a walk. This confusion shall pass, dear Taurus.

Wow. Thanks be to the planets that aligned themselves just so, in order for me to get that piece of crap horoscope. "This confusion shall pass." Gee. I'm overwhelmed. See, this is why I never check my horoscope to begin with. What a vague cop-out. If you're going to give me some sort of insider information about my life, could you at least make it specific and relevant? "This confusion will last you at least another few hours, but then you'll get a frozen custard and your outlook will greatly improve." THAT, I could live with. THAT would make sense to me. THAT will prevent me from feeling guilty about eating a frozen custard when I'm supposed to be on a diet, because Hey! I have to do it to improve my outlook!

But no. Instead, I get the "Hey, so sorry you're feeling shitty today. Go take a walk. You'll feel better eventually." It just reminds me of my Best Friend's therapist who once told her that if she was having trouble sleeping because of her depression, she should try eating a sandwich. A sandwich? Really? Who knew that life's problems could be solved with a little PBJ? Or was it pastrami on rye? Come to think of it, I wonder if her therapist is now off writing horoscopes....?

But back to that: "You no longer seem to know what you want?" That is so clearly inaccurate. What I WANT, stupid horoscope, is something more from you than vague platitudes when I'm having a bad day. What I WANT is for you to say something that will inspire me to feel like things are moving in the right direction. What I WANT is for you NOT to remind me that trying to explain my point of view is pointless, because it just pisses me off even MORE. What I WANT is for you to give me that "this too shall pass" bullshit to my face so I can have the satisfaction of glaring at you until you feel small and inadequate. Stupid anthropomorphized horoscope.

So, yeah, clearly, I'm off the deep end today. And that's fine. I have these days now and then. I'm sure tomorrow will be better, and I just need to ride the wave of my psychotic episode until it has run its course. And if not, well........I can always fix myself a sandwich.

Kids. What's Not to Love?

Oscar is not my biggest fan today. Last night, we were sitting on the couch together, taking a few minutes to relax after tough workouts at the gym, when Oscar all of a sudden gets this look on his face and says, "Jesus, Buddy, you STINK!" Turtle came running around the side of the couch and put his hand on my knee. Then he looked at me with these puppy dog eyes and said, "I ha' poo'." Now, my nose, being as stuffed as it was yesterday, was not helping me confirm this statement, and despite Oscar's outburst, I wanted to see if Turtle had anything to say on the matter. So I calmly looked back at him and said, "You have poop? You made poopies in your diaper?" Turtle looked back up and me with the same puppy dog eyes and said, "Yeah." It was at this point in our conversation that a seed of an idea started developing. And I realized quickly that it could very easily backfire on me, but I decided that it was worth the risk. I proceeded. I looked back at Turtle and said, "Do you need to have your diaper changed?" Turtle thought about it for a minute and then looked back at me and meekly said, "Yeah." And then came the moment of truth. I looked at Turtle and asked, "Would you like Mommy or Daddy to change your diaper, buddy? Mommy or Daddy?" And without missing a beat, my glorious child looked up at me and yelled "DAH-EE!!!" And victory was mine! So what did I do with this victory? I decided to gloat about it, of course. I praised Turtle up, down and backward and told him what a wonderful boy he was and then I said, "Give Mommy a high-five." As Turtle's hand slapped against mine, Oscar's head whipped around. His eyes burned holes into the side of my head and with clenched teeth, he growled, "Oh, that is not fair to give him a high-five and encourage that shit." But I didn't care, really, because I wasn't the one who was now obligated to go wipe Turtle's butt.

Besides, what Oscar fails to recognize is that these types of moments happen all the time when he's not home to witness them. Turtle inevitably finds some way to put Mommy in her place, at least once a day. Today was no exception. I had taken Turtle over to Best Friend's house after the gym and fixed him his lunch of macaroni and cheese. While he was eating, Best Friend, Best Friend's Sister and I got to talking and it was not long before I looked over and noticed that he was scooping his milk out of his cup with his spoon. I said, in my best Mommy-is-not-amused voice, "Turtle, that is not the way we drink our milk." And Turtle looked right back at me and, with every bit of attitude you can possibly contain in a 2-year-old body, said, "Yah, i' is!" The only things that could have made that moment more alarming for me would have been a hip cock and an eye roll. Add those two things, and I have a teenager trapped in a 2 year old body. I don't need that kind of pressure. It's bad enough that he's already smarter than I am.

Given all of this, it's a mystery to me that Oscar and I are even considering having another child. We outnumber Turtle right now and he still has the upper hand. If we give him a sibling, can you imagine the chaos that could ensue? GAH! I got a facial tic, just thinking about it. So Oscar's swim team is going to stay benched for a while. And maybe when Turtle is in school, and the newness of my baby nephew has worn off, and I have forgotten just what it's like to have a toddler running around, we'll consider putting the swim team back in play. But that's going to be a while.

A Little Housecleaning

First, a disclaimer: My nose is so clogged, I feel like I am carrying a brick around on my face. Not only that, but I did this new exercise yesterday to work my lower abs, AND it's that time of the month, so my entire pelvis is one big ball of HOLY CRAP, THAT HURTS! So for those of you expecting this entry to contain my usual level of wit and cleverness? You might as well pack it up and head home now.

And now is the point in the program when we tie up a few loose ends and answer a few questions you might be having about specific plot points in our narrative:

1) Who ARE these people?
Well, good question. I keep meaning to write up a "cast of characters" but I don't think I've introduced everyone yet and I don't want to get ahead of myself. Also? Best Friend still doesn't have a name. And until Best Friend has a name, I don't feel comfortable posting a "Who's Who" description. So, if you have any suggestions for Best Friend, let me know. Otherwise, I'll post it when I post it.

2) Weren't you going to get off your ass more during the day? How's that working out for you?
Okay, here's the thing....on my best days, I'm still never ready for Turtle to wake up when he does. So I always take the first few minutes of the day to get online, check my e-mail, and read all of the blogs on my reading list (which is extensive, by the way.) It gives me a chance to wake up a little bit more and prepare for the day. But then Oscar IM's me and we start chatting. Then I get an e-mail from a friend who's struggling with a big issue in her marriage, so I stop to craft the perfectly worded e-mail back to her. Then Turtle wants breakfast. By the time he's done, I have another e-mail from the one friend and a phone message from another friend who's facing a health crisis. So I e-mail the one, call the other, and then call my mother-in-law (who we'll call McMama from now on, to distinguish her from Mama Jo, who is my mother) to talk for a couple of hours about the state of the world, and how Phil popped his eyebrow so sexily last night on The Amazing Race, and how Project Runway is finishing up tonight and how we both feel the love for Tim Gunn. Then I have just enough time to get to the gym before the kids' care area closes for the afternoon and by the time we get home, it's lunch time. After lunch time, it's nap time. During nap time, I have just enough time to get a shower and hopefully craft a blog post before we start all over again. So the short answer is that it's actually not working out for me, but thanks for asking.

3) What's up with Hotass and her boyfriend?
Hotass and her boyfriend are still together. They had a great time at Disneyland and things have been on an upswing. They are even contemplating moving in together, particularly now that said boyfriend is working on his Issues. The only other interesting thing I can report is that the boyfriend almost got an eyeful when Oscar forgot to close our bedroom door on a day when boyfriend was over, and I walked out of the bathroom buck naked. Needless to say, Oscar will not be doing that again.

4) How's the hair holding up?
The hair is fantastic. I had a couple days where I styled it funky, but that was my fault, not my stylist's or my hair's. I am still in love with it. But also? It is growing in a little, and yet, I have not seen a corresponding weight gain. I am baffled at how this is possible.

5) Has the crush worn off yet?
A little, but not really. Since I was waylaid by injury while Oscar was at his concert, my crush kept me company online. We had a very long, deep, meaningful conversation via IM. (For those of you concerned by the state of my marriage, I let Oscar read the transcript later.) I'm still pretty smitten. Of course, he's trying to get actual work done this week, so he's not going to be online much. This might be a problem. I don't like to be ignored, since the world so clearly revolves around me and my issues, so we'll see how much longer he lasts.

6) Did you buy the stuff from the Peru guy?
No. He actually came by at 5:30 instead of 8:30 in the evening. Oscar wasn't home yet, and I was so annoyed that I told him that we just didn't have it in our budget right now, but thank you. Then he asked to use our phone. I think I laughed. And then when I realized he was being serious, I didn't know what to do. So being a sucker, I let him use our phone. Hotass asked if I stayed to check and make sure he wasn't calling Peru. Ha Ha....Ha Ha.... Oh, wait. She had a point. I guess we'll find out when the bill comes.

7) Is Turtle sleeping better?
Yes. I think we managed to identify the cause of Turtle's early morning shenanigans. He was not eating as much during the day (not that we didn't feed him, so let's not get too hasty and start calling CPS, okay?) By the time morning rolled around, he was starving. I called Mama Jo for advice, and his eating habits have improved, as have his sleeping habits. This morning we had a 7:30 wakeup call. It's not 8:30, but it's not 6:30 either. Turtle's life has been spared once again.

I hope that answers any questions you might have about the randomness happening in my universe. If there's anything I'm missing, please leave me a comment or e-mail me. I'm all about you and your needs, except of course for all the times when I'm about me and my needs.

I Am So Lame, Part 2

I told you this would be a continuing series. There are so many subheadings for this topic, I'm not sure there's bandwidth enough in the world to cover them all. But this particular example of my lame-itude concerns blogging. Now, I don't know if blogging has any particular Fight Club-esque type rules to it (such as, The first rule of Blogging is there is no blogging about Blogging) but I think if we can all just agree upfront that this is really more about how my warped little brain works than it is about blogging in particular, we'll do just fine.

First of all, I was dragged kicking and screaming into this little blogging universe. Oscar sort of pushed me into it. He thinks my friends and I are hilarious and figured that our voices needed to be "out there" for the rest of the world. I don't know if he was looking for sympathy and understanding for what he goes through on a daily basis, or if he honestly thought we would entertain people, but regardless, he campaigned for a while to get at least one of us out there. I resisted mostly because I didn't think I had anything to say (stop laughing!) and I didn't know what in the world I would think to write about on a regular basis.

Which brings me to why I am lame, Exhibit A:
I feel like I have to post something every day, or I will be disappointing my loyal readers. I know...I know....my blog is about a month old? My loyal readers total about 5 or 6? But see, I love you guys, and I worry that if I don't post something on a daily basis, you will be upset, and I hate to upset you. You take the time to come over to my little corner of the Blogosphere and see what I've been up to and hopefully laugh at my attempts at humor. That means something to me. Even though I haven't even met half of you, I feel a loyalty and a duty to you. I feel the obligation. I set a precedent! I can't betray that! Yeah, I know. "Whatever, sweetheart, our lives won't be destroyed if you don't post every day." But this really isn't about how YOU feel. It's about how I feel you might feel and how that makes me feel. See? Lame.

Exhibit B:
I considered posting a picture of Turtle on the bike to go with the post about Oscar trying to put the seat together. You know what stopped me? I thought about how Angelina Jolie's kids are going to grow up with light bulbs flashing in their faces and their pictures posted all over the tabloids and how they never asked for that. Their lives are never going to be normal and they'll never know what it's like just to be a kid instead of Angelina Jolie's Kid, Instant Celebrity. And I thought, I can't do that to Turtle. I can't open him up to those kinds of prying eyes.
(I'll give you a second while that sinks in....




Ready? Okay....)
Yeah. I have a blog that 5 people, maybe 6, actually read on a regular basis and I'm actually related to half of them in some way. So while I COULD have been thinking, "Well, I really don't want to turn this into a Mommy-blog, not that I have anything against them, really, but I am an equal-opportunity riffer and don't want to get a reputation for posting a bunch of pictures of my kid when I'm the only one interested in them," what I was ACTUALLY worried about was that I would be exposing my kid to the kind of fame he's just not ready for yet. I swear to you, as I'm re-reading these words, I'm surprised that I am actually posting this so you can know how utterly ridiculous I am.

Exhibit C:
I proofread my posts at least twice before submitting them. Then I copy all of the content and paste it into Word, and run spell check to make sure everything is spelled correctly. Then I proofread it again, not to check for spelling or grammar errors, but to make sure it's still as funny as I thought it was the first time around. Then I submit it. And then........good lord, I can't believe I am confessing this.......don't judge me, okay?......I go back to my site three or four times during the rest of the day to read it again to see if it's holding up as "clever and witty" or if it's starting to feel more "stupid and inane." Yeah....I must visit my own site at least 5 times a day and I read the posts over and over again and I agonize over whether or not I am actually cute and funny or just think I'm cute and funny. God, I am such a loser.

Exhibit D:
Last one, I promise. For the longest time, I would not comment on anyone's blog. I read a lot of them....A LOT. But even now, I still rarely comment. I worry that I'm going to sound like an idiot, or the blogger won't want to hear from me, or whatever stupid excuse I'm using this week. Now that I have my own blog, though, I worry when people don't comment. I know you guys are out there. I see you running up my stat counter. But very few of you are saying hi. I understand you, because hey! I'm one of you. But I really wish you would stop by and say "hi" now and then. And not because I want to get to know you all intimately and be your best friend and go out for lattes. No...the real reason I want you to drop by and say "hi" is because I need the validation. I'm an attention whore, people. I need to know you're feeling the love. Well, and also because I don't have enough blogs to read, so if you have one, I will be able to add you to my reading list. But mostly because I'm an attention whore. So go forth and comment. I won't judge you, I promise. Besides, you can't possibly be more lame than I am. Heh.

Zzzzzzzzzzzz

Turtle has been waking up a little too early for the last several mornings. At first, I thought it was a phase. He goes through them sometimes. He'll be doing well on the routine we have set up and then all of a sudden, he'll have a couple mornings when he'll wake up an hour or two early. It's a situation that usually resolves itself fairly quickly, so I wasn't overly concerned when it started happening last week. But not only has the situation not resolved itself, it keeps getting worse. In the course of a few days, he's gone from an 8:30 wake-up call to a 6:20 wake-up call. And although I am generally a morning person, I've been staying up late with Oscar, so I'm suffering.

I talked to my mom about this problem yesterday. She found it incredibly entertaining. Of course, she finds anything having to do with her grandson incredibly entertaining. If I recall correctly, the conversation went something like this:

Her: You sound tired.
Me: I am tired. Turtle got me up at 6:30 again this morning. He's not sleeping late enough in the morning and he's not napping like he should. He's exhausted and cranky and a brat and I'm losing patience. This is not acceptable.
Her: *giggling* Ahhhh...he's interested in his world! He can't wait to wake up and see what wonderful things are going on in the day.
Me: Yeah, that's great. It's still not acceptable.
Her: Well, you have a little boy who has inherited all of your stubbornness and intractability. This should be an interesting battle of wills.
Me: No, it won't. I'm bigger than he is and this is not acceptable.
Her: *laughing hysterically*
Me: Oh, stop it. I know what it sounds like, but really, he's not winning this battle.
Her: *still giggling* Good luck with that.

Can you believe that? Where is the sympathy? I mean, I know that grandkids are the grandparents' revenge for all of the crap their kids pulled on them, but I was an angel. I was a sweet child and a people pleaser. All it took was my parents giving me the hairy eyeball for me to burst into tears and start apologizing for my transgressions. I never took drugs. I wasn't promiscuous. I didn't smoke. I was a member of S.A.D.D. and didn't start drinking alcohol until I was legal. I cleaned the house. I did my laundry. Maybe I didn't clean my room as often as I should have, but I don't think that was enough to earn Mr. Let's Wake Up When the Sun Does, Mommy, Because the Sun Is Awesome.

So now I have no choice. No more sitting on the couch, watching Mulan and Pete's Dragon. I'm trying to think of anything and everything I can do to wear his little tushie out during the day. We're going to the gym and the park and maybe the mall, and we're going to play and run around and chase each other and wear each other out. Yep. We're going to do all of those things. It's going to be a very busy day. Yep. Just as soon as I get a nap.