Six Sticks of Butter.

That's a pound and a half, if my math is correct.

That's what I gave FIL for his birthday. In the form of my famous toffee and Oatmeal M&M cookies. I just thought you all would appreciate that.

Don't you just love a productive weekend??? I do!

I can't even believe how much I got done. I did a stinky sink full of dishes, did an insane amount of laundry, packed up the boys' winter clothes and the flannel sheets and blankets, and got Beebie to purge two garbage bags full of clothes that don't fit her anymore. I also got rid of EVERY single piece of candy in the house and as many little McDonald's toys as I could find. All of this, I did on Sunday.

Saturday I took Pie to the doctor because he woke up screaming and holding his ear. The doctor looked in Pie's ears, said they looked fine, and felt Pie's neck. He could apparently feel a tight muscle or something, because he said that Pie probably slept on it funny and he's just got a sore neck. Thank you very much, that'll be twenty bucks. And then he wouldn't take the Motrin I bought to help him feel better. Grrrrr.

That evening R and I took the kids out to the Sky-View Drive-In to see Underdog and Stardust. It was KMOX radio night, so the admission price (regularly $8.00 per adult, each adult can bring two kids for free) was $11.20. It was sold out! I was really happy to see the Drive-In so full. I LOVE that place. Best people-watching north of the Pevely Flea Market.

Of course I took my knitting. Had you all forgotten that I knit? I do. I just don't blog about it because it's not interesting. I mean, anyone who's into knitting enough to not think I'm a tool for blogging about knitting in the first place (BTW, remember when Ed couldn't believe people devoted entire blogs to knitting? Ed, you've come so far. And we love you for it.) would be completely unimpressed by anything I was capable of doing.



I haven't made anything interesting in a while. I've been on a dishcloth kick recently, but I've also discovered the joy of Feather and Fan! Once I figured out that you have to K2tog 3 times and then 3 more times, I was golden. And I found some Noro Kureyon in my stash (still haven't bought yarn since February - can ya believe?? I'm seriously aching for a Knitorious spree, and it about broke my heart to pass up the Kirkwood Knittery Cotton Sale last weekend, but I have to wait until after we close on the house) which is one of my favorite yarns to knit with because of the dramatic color changes. Observe. Even a non-knitter can appreciate Noro.




I'm still kinda wiped out by all the running around I have to do every day, but it's fine. It does cut into my internet access time, though, and I hate not being able to write in my blog or catch up on my blog reading. I took a Xanax on Saturday and was quite pleased with the effect. I didn't feel lethargic or loopy like I had feared. I actually felt calm and in control.

I think we're going to refer to them as my FIL PILLS, because I certainly plan to double up the dosage on Inlaw-visit days.

I Kicked the Bitch OUT!

Last night I packed up every single Barbie item I could find in my house.



I'm so sick of that little plastic bitch's ass.

When I first read the Wanted: Barbies post on Freecycle, I was hesitant to get rid of Beeb's Barbie stuff. I knew she hadn't played Barbies for years, and yet part of me wanted to hold onto it in case she changed her mind or something. Or in case someday I'd have a granddaughter and she came over she could have something to play with. Someday. Oh, by the way, I'm only 36. Yeah, it's right around the corner.

I'll be the first to admit that I'm a huge pack rat. I form sentimental attachments to objects. I'm sure there's some psychological implication there, but I've always been this way. I remember being in 1st grade and being in some Parents' Night event in which I, along with the other girls in my class, danced on the stage to "Sunny Side of the Street". We wore little bows in our hair, and our teacher mentioned that the bows would be a little keepsake from our show.

It was the first time I'd heard the word Keepsake. I asked her what it meant, and she said that it meant something that reminds you of something special. And after that, every little thing - every rock or feather I picked up on my walks with my dad, every note from my old boyfriend, everything that reminded me of something I wanted to remember, I saved. It drove my parents crazy. Pie does this now, and it drives ME crazy.

I've gotten better about it over the years. I've pared it down to just a few things that I refuse to part with. I don't even know why I keep these things, I just can't bring myself to throw them away. It's not like I even look at them every day, and I'll probably never look at them again, they're just there. My old diary, for example, I have no desire to read. I just think it would really depress me. Like how different my life is from the life I'd imagined for myself back then. Not that it's bad now, it's not, but how many of us are living the lives we dreamed of when we were little?

Having kids turned me into an even bigger pack rat because now I wasn't just saving my own stuff, I was saving the kids' stuff too. Oh, I remember how much Beebie used to love that little red stuffed dinosaur... stuff like that. I want to remember her toddling around lugging Diney by his neck. Or Pie's arsenal of binkies that we used to clip to his shirt, three at a time (for some reason, he always wanted to have three of them available). Or Tito's first drawing.

I know keeping their stuff won't keep them little. Kids get big. Here's the obligatory First Day of Kindergarten picture.




Yes, my Pie went to Kindergarten on Wednesday, and my Beeb went to 5th grade. Beeb has a man teacher, and I have to tell you, he's kinda HOT. I need to come up with a clever pseudonym for him. I pride myself on my pseudonyms. I keep hearing The Police's song... "Young teacher... the subject... of schoolgirl fantasy...". Maybe I'll call him Mr. Sumner.

Pie's teacher is Ms. Cheesy. She's totally Romperbomperstomperboo. "We are gonna have SOOOOOOOOO much fuuuuuuuun!!!!" I know kindergarten teacher are supposed to be kinda over-the-top enthusiastic, but girlfriend takes it to the H-N-L.

Hole Nuthah Level.

I also need to come up with a better name for Camille's mom. I called her Margie before because I think she's marginally OCD, but I've been thinking about it a lot and she's almost the embodiment of what I imagine Christopher Walken's voice would sound like if he was a woman. And I've caught myself, every time I mention her name, following it with "I love her to death, she's sweet as can be, she's just really INTENSE."

Let me give you an example.

Once I was over at her house and we were making lunch for the kids. In addition to Camille, she also has twin 3-year-old sons who both call me Pie. I was spreading peanut butter on bread for the sandwiches and she gasped all horrified and said, "What are you doing??"

Making sammiches. What?

You gotta spread the peanut butter all the way to the edge of the bread!

Um, okay. Sorry...

And I thought I was unpredicatably anal about stupid shit. That's what I'm dealing with. And again, love her to death, but man, she gives me a friggin headache.

So I forsee some potentially interesting drama this year. I seriously hope she doesn't become the person I can't stand the sight of at this new school.

And why didn't you guys try to stop me from organizing my day into completely impractical, unworkable little 3-hour segments? Drop off Beeb, hang out with the boys until it's time to take Pie to school, pick Beeb and Pie up at 4. Why didn't anyone try to talk some fuckin sense into me? Why did that seem like such a great idea when I thought of and committed to it? I am an IDIOT. Today, I'm so tired from all the running around I feel like crying.

Which brings me to my next announcement - I'm going to be adding another medication to my daily routine. Xanax, for my anxiety. Therapenny doesn't think I'm bipolar, she thinks I have issues with Anxiety. Hmmmm.... YA THINK???

I wanted to get on it as the house stresses are going to get worse before they get better. I knew it would be stressful, but MAN, what's wearing me out the most is rounding up all the stupid documents I have to fork over for the lender. It'll be worth it, I know, but I'm exhausted and we haven't even started the hard part. Packing our stuff up to move is going to be extremely difficult for me. I'm going to feel like I'm throwing away memories.

And yet, for some reason, getting rid of Barbie and her entourage's Pepto-pink shit was totally cathartic.

Perhaps there is hope for me after all.

Q & A III

My beloved Evil Baritone brushed up his Voulez-vous to inquire:

Madamoiselle,

Si vous avez été abandonné sur une île avec seulement un livre, quel livre voudriez-vous cet être et pourquoi ?

I was so proud to be able to read that! I actually minored in French. And shortly thereafter, moved to San Antonio. Dumb luck, that.

Ok, so I'm pretty sure he's asking me what book would I want to have with me if I were stranded on an island. That's an easy one. HOW TO BUILD A BOAT. Next?


Sophanne asks:

What's the stupidest lie you ever told?

(mine was telling my mom that I had eaten "bad potato chips" after my first hangover)

Y'know, I really don't lie. Honestly. I try not to get into situations where I'm going to have to lie because I have no confidence whatsoever in my ability to deceive. And I guess that's really not a bad weakness to have.

But the stupidest lie I ever told? The only one I can think of really wasn't so much me coming up with the lie but more like going along with it. It was this one time when Beebie, um, walked in on us if ya know what I'm sayin' and I think ya do. She didn't walk in at the worst possible potentially scarring moment, thank God, we were just kinda getting into it. Oh, and we were both stark nekkid.

So real quick we pull the covers up and we say "Oh, hi Beeb!" and she kinda pauses and says, "What were you DOING??"

And because I suck at lying, my tactic was to just kinda mumble as little as possible, so I said something like, "Oh, nuthin... we were just bein' silly...", which may not even have been a lie, come to think of it, we were being kinda silly.

So she gets this big grin and says, "Is it NAYKIE NIGHT?"

And R and I both quickly said "Yes! That's it! It's Naykie Night!" And so from then on, that's what we've called it.

And yes, ED, I know all my stories have some sexual undertone to them.


Moving on, CPurl asked:

PK, What life experience has strengthened you the most?

Wow. That is a GREAT question. There are so many things - most of which I've written about or alluded to at one time or another on the blog - that collectively have made me into the PK you all know and, hopefully, love.

I'd have to say that it was the time many many years ago when I was still working full-time and Beebie was 2 or 3, and our marriage was really struggling (which I'm not going to go into). Within a 4-month span, R and I both lost our jobs when the dot.coms totally imploded. We suddenly had to spend 24/7 together and figure out how to get along. I usually don't talk about spirituality on here, but I absolutely believe that it was Divine Intervention that put us in that situation.

We had to pull together and rely on each other and both step up and work as a team. It was very much a sink-or-swim moment, without question. And we started encouraging each other before we went on interviews, complimenting each other and remembering what we liked about each other, so things started to get better. And what else is there to do for entertainment when you're poor (and married, of course - wouldn't want to encourage it otherwise) and you have no where to go?

I got pregnant. With Pie. And I've told you all about what an ordeal it was, but feel free to click the link to refresh your memory. I just re-read it and I think it's worth your time. Anyway, long story short, shared conflict brings people together and it really made me stronger as a person and definitely made R and me stronger as a couple.


And just yesterday another loyal reader asked:

How was your weekend?

Well, Saturday we went to Grant's Farm to get my free beer on, and I had 2 beers before 10am.



And outside of the Skyview Drive In, it's the best people-watching there is. Check out this family.



The shirt says "I got a new gun for my wife. Best trade I ever made." Clever.

First of all, y'all, no man of mine would EVAH wear a shirt proclaiming that he'd rather have a gun than have ME. But that's not the reason I have zero respect for this family.

See the kid in the stroller? He's like, six years old, I'd guess. I hate when people push big kids in strollers. Kids can WALK. And if you've got a lazy kid who clearly has the ability to walk but just doesn't want to, and who'll whine and beg you to carry him, then the problem isn't that your kid is whiney and lazy, it's that you've indulged him because you don't want to deal with it, and that's a parenting issue, to me.

And here's another aspect of the kid in the stroller - at Grant's Farm it costs like $5 to rent a stroller (!!!) and the distance that you have to walk is reeeeeeally not that far. It's not like Six Flags or anything. The animals are really pretty close together, and then the rest of the place is taken up by the tables in the Biergarten. So basically, if you've ever walked around a mall, you've walked the equivalent of the perimeter of Grant's Farm twice.

R and I where whispering about this six-year-old in the stroller as we walked behind them. Now the story has to split in two so that you can see what happened just seconds after this pic was snapped from my both perspective and R's.

I was looking down and putting the camera back in my purse when R said "LOOK!" And when I looked up I saw the kid on the side of the fence that the animals were on. My initial reaction was that these people were even worse parents than originally thought. "What the hell kind of parents are these people, letting their kid hop the fence to pet the monkeys?!!?" I asked R.

R was giggling his freckled ass off.

What? I asked.

And R proceeded to explain that the in the few seconds that I wasn't looking, the parents had had their back to the kid in the stroller while they looked at the eagles (kid was turned around so he couldn't see what they were looking at - kinda weird, no?). And while their backs were turned, the stroller started rolling down the hill, hit the curb, the kid catapulted out of the stroller, cleared the fence, and landed flat on his face in the spot where he was when I looked up and saw him.

And here is what I imagine it looked like.




Other weekend events included showing my kids Monty Python and the Holy Grail (minus the Sir Gallahad scene, obviously). The kids said Ni to each other the rest of the night.


I'm off to watch the America's Got Talent Finale!!!

Q & A II

WOO HOO! Three more! Enjoy.


From Beverly:

Okay, here's a question... It's personal, so don't answer it if you don't want to. What exactly do you take the Welbutrin for? I mean, have you been diagnosed with anything specific? I ask because it sounds like maybe you take it for reasons similar to why I take anti-bitch pills--PMDD.


Is General Bitchery a diagnosis? Nah, I've been diagnosed with depression several years ago, but I think I'm actually bipolar. Seriously, when I read back over my blog, it's pretty clear to me. Wellbutrin kinda helps take out the peaks and valleys and keeps me feeling steady. When I haven't taken them for a while and then I start again, I can totaly feel the difference.

Beebie calls them my Happy Pills ever since she saw the episode of My Name Is Earl in which Joy goes on medication ("Snapitty snap snap snap!") and CrabMan misses the old Joy. Fine with me.

Interesting coincidence, I never needed meds until FIL entered my life. But I guess the argument could be made that that would have been roughly the same time that R entered my life. Next -


From Sophanne:

What is your favorite thing to say when cursing like a pirate and why?

I like to say, "Johnny, my love, why don't you put on your damn sexy eyeliner and your damn Jack Sparrow costume and fuck me like the fuckin dirty whore that I am!"

That was an easy one.


From Poops:

I've been trying to come up with a question that a) I want to know the answer too, b) that is blog-worthy, and c) that would be something interesting for the great PK to answer.

Oh! I got it! And turn-about is fair play!

Oh, Penny Karma, what was your most embarassing moment. Please, tell us all about it. Because I know that in order for it to embarrass you, it must be a doozy.

Thanks you so much.


Ah, I've been waiting for this one, especially from Poops, and I actually have one that I consider to be THE most embarrassing thing, and then there are a couple of sub-embarrassing moments that kinda help illustrate the enormity of the BIG one.

Let me start by saying that I am ALWAYS saying shit that just comes out wrong. I have no filter. I talk faster than I can think. This, I imagine, is why I prefer writing to talking. I can always go back and edit something I wrote, I can't un-say something I said. And there are many times when I wish I could.

One such time happened when I was in high school. I was assigned to do a group project with two of my best guy friends Bob and Scott.

Anyway, it was in 10th grade Western Civ class or some other class I had no interest in, and my friends probably knew I wasn't going to be much help (I was always a smart kid but I wasn't studious, big difference), so they basically told me flat out, don't worry about it, we got your back, we know what we're doing and you don't have to do anything and we're all going to get an A. Don't sweat it. And what am I going to say to that? Um... okay.

So it got to be the day of the presentation, and I literally had done NO work on this project, and I kinda felt a little bad about it. Mostly because I was afraid the teacher was going to ask me some random question just to see if I had any idea what the rest of the group was even talking about. I suddenly felt desperate to contribute.

Bob began copying the written outline he was holding in his hand onto the board so the class could follow along. Our teacher had an annoying habit of writing really crooked and slopey on the board all the time, and we used to give him shit about it. So Bob says, "Look, Mr. Belding, it's really easy to write in a straight line!! See??"

Mr. Belding answers, "Well, Bob, wait till you get to about your waist level, then it's considerably more difficult."

And then I said, loud enough for the entire class to hear,

"Oh, don't worry, Bob, I'll take care of everything below your waist."

And I wanted to die.

Yeah, so that's one example. There's another one from senior year when I was in my French class. There was some guy who came in as a guest speaker a few times, I forget why he was supposed to be interesting, but it was meant to be an immersion experience, where the teacher speaks no English at all (our regular teacher spoke English to us when necessary).

So this guest lecturer dude was talking and I was picking up bits and pieces and trying to formulate what he was saying into something I could understand. I thought at one point I was pretty sure he was talking about his family, and he said a word I didn't recognize, Jumeaux, which I looked up and found that it means twins. Great, I thought, I kindof get it. Sweet.

And then the guy came back a few weeks later or something, and I decided I was going to show him and the teacher that I had been paying attention. I was going to blow their minds and whip out this great new vocab word I'd learned. I was psyched.

I waited patiently throughout the dude's lecture, kinda not even listening to what he was saying, because I was so fixated on making sure I remembered the word right and visualizing my teacher's face when the guest guy patted me on the head and commended her stellar teaching skills. Seriously, I was all worked up and waiting for the end so he could ask us all Aves-vous des questiones?

And then my moment came. He asked us if we had questions. And I sat up really straight in my desk and raised my hand like Arnold Horshack. You don't need to understand French to get this next scene:

Him: Mademoiselle?

ME: Merci, monsieur. Comment vont vos gentiaux?

He looked puzzled.

Him: Excusez?

Perhaps he hadn't heard me. Fuckin' French people.

ME: COMMENT VONT VOS GENITAUX?

I looked over at my teacher, who suddenly looked a lot paler and slack-jawed than she had in my imagination.

ME: Y'know... your twins? How are your twins?

And then I realized what I had said. It was the word that I had actually prayed I wouldn't accidentally say instead of the one I was supposed to say. Yes, I had asked the man how his genitals were. And I was absolutely fucking mortified.

But that's not the best one.

One summer when I came home from college I worked at a snack bar at the St. Louis Zoo. I was one of the few workers who was 21, so my manager, whose name was Dick Tuey (which I always thought was the sound a pube makes when you spit it out, but anyway), put me to work in the beer window.

And as a public service to all of you, I'll let you in on a little secret. The beer at the zoo has less alcohol in it than the beer you would buy in a store. That was the summer I learned about 3-2 beer.

As you can imagine, I loved working the beer window. The only thing was that I couldn't lift those kegs and change them out by myself. Still can't.

So one particularly hot day just as a Zoo Guest walked up to my window, about to order a cold frosty Budweiser Product (if you're from St. Louis, you can read that in a Mike Shannon voice, if you want), and right before he could order I remembered that the last beer I had poured had been the tell-tale end-of-the-keg foam.

Here's the scene. And it actually helps if you read my part out loud. You'll see why.

Zoo Guest: I'll have a -

ME: Just a second, sir, I have to go get Dick because my Busch is empty.



Dick, my boss. Busch, the beer.

True story, swear to God.

It's a much better story after many beers, but yes, folks, that is the absolute most embarrassed I have ever been.

So far.

Q & A

No, not T & A, you buncha perverts.

In my last post I mentioned that I would open myself up to answer your questions, inspired by An Evening with Kevin Smith. I've only gotten asked one question so far. I wouldn't be surprised if people didn't see where I wrote that part. The post was lackluster, and it was toward the end, probably long after a normal person would have clicked on NEXT BLOG.

So, yeah, anyway - I want to see if I can be Kevin Smith, so ask me a question about myself and I'll answer it the best I can. Generally it's my policy to answer whatever questions you guys might have, especially if they're about me, so it's not like it's anything new, but there ya go. Ask away.


Question #1 comes from Jo:

Here's my question:

Are you this snarky (and I mean that in a good way) around your kids or do you tone it down for them?

I ask because I think we are a lot alike in humour and way too many times things fly out of my mouth in front of my 4 year old and later I end up trying to explain why Mommy says things like this...


Yes, I am pretty snarky around the kids. It's a little ashamed to admit it, but I'll even confess that I'm a bit potty-mouthed around them too. I do try to use my more colorful words sparingly, and I'm getting better, but as far as the snark, they see the same me that my friends do.

Like, if I thought the dude in the drive thru was a rude little fucker, and I had the kids in the car, I'd probably water it down to "Man, that guy was rude..." but of course I'd never just let it go without drawing their attention to it, like most grown-ups probably would. I point weird shit out to them all the time. But I'd never say something like "Oh my GAWD, kids, look at that lady's fat ass..." for several reasons.

Primarily, they may very well turn to me and say "But Mommy, your ass is WAY fatter, you just can't see your own ass! Trust us! It's true! Your ass is ENORMOUS, GARGANTUAN AND EPIC!" (I do try to expand their little vocabularies.) No, I try to be more subtle to make sure they're paying attention. Like I wouldn't say, "Look at that skanks's trashy outfit with the denim mini skirt and fishnet hose!", instead, I'd say "Gee, I wish that lady would quit borrowing my clothes..." See? The sentiment's still there, it just requires a little effort on their part to get the humor of it.

I try not to be too mean around them, because I want them to grow up to be nice people that other nice people want to hang around, I mean, I guess I want that. Still, my rebellious inner child knows that sometimes the maybe-not-as-nice people are the most fun to hang out with. I've always loved Miss Clairee's line in Steel Magnolias - "If you can't think of something nice to say about somebody, then come sit by me!" Maybe I'll get that tattooed around my ankle in some classy font.

It's not that I want my kids to hang around assholes, but I guess what I really dislike is insincerity in people. I mean, there are obviously people who are genuinely nice and it is their nature to be nice. And that's great, And I think that generally I'm a nice enough person - nice enough to be polite and snarky enough to be fun. Maybe I'll get that tattooed around the other ankle.

I guess I'd rather they just be genuine, and be able to spot other people who are also genuine. I'm always assuming people have ulterior motives, after that Evil Daisy Troop Puppet Regime Incident. I need to work on assuming the best about people instead.

I don't EVER talk about the people I don't like (especially the family members) in front of them. Cuz that shit would get fucked up in a hurry. I've often thought about what would be the worst that could happen, though - what? They'd avoid any and all contact with us?

Ouch.
No.
Please.

Honestly if I didn't feel a sense of responsibility to my blogreaders, and if I didn't get such a kick out of searching the English Language for words that can accurately convey what a bunch of fuckin' freaks I married into, I wouldn't be the least bit disappointed if they suddenly cut us off because of some shit I said.

Sometimes when we're out running around on our many adventures, the kids'll ask me "Are you gonna put this on your BLOG, Mom???"

And I say, "FUDGE YEAH!!"

Semi-Insanity Week

When you see that I haven't updated in a while, do you secretly get all tingly with anticipation knowing that a super-colossal uberinformative post almost assuredly is brewing in my imagination? Me too.

It's not as bad as the last Insanity Week, earlier in the summer, but this week has been pretty nutty too. Remember when I voluntarily drove 23 miles each way so Pie could go to this kickass camp? Well, because I'm either the greatest mom of all time or the biggest sucker on the planet, I set him up with the second session of the same camp, which this time is in a different part of the STL area. It's still about 20 miles from our house, just in a different direction.

It was important to me to be supportive to the director's effort to expand the camp to this part of town. There are fewer kids than at the earlier camp, but that allows the kids and the volunteers to work pretty much one-on-one. He's gotten to swim and snorkel and learn some martial arts stuff, but due to the extreme heat they cancelled Archery Day, which was to have been held outdoors. Pie was really disappointed.

Anyway, Monday I took the kids to Anti-Stella's (and I lent her the movie Stella Dallas, so she is officially in the Inner Circle) and I went to the Stitch and Pitch Game with Shannon! It was a really good time, highlighted by the 10-run, record-tying, 5th inning!



The fact that no one is sitting in any of the seats near us is kinda funny. It's not like we were sloppy-ass, falling-down drunk and obnoxious and heckling the other team. Believe it or not, neither of us drank a single beer. Nine bucks, are you kidding me??? I'll go get a free one at Grant's Farm tomorrow, thankyaverymuch.

I heard there were something like 900 Stitch N' Pitchers there! It really was fun to see all the different projects people were working on. Me? I took my Sugar and Cream Dishcloth. And I screwed up the pattern when I was trying to look like a badass knitter among the other badass knitters. I should have knitted myself a gigantic letter L for my forehead. Perhaps in Noro.

Tuesday I drove Pie to camp again and then Tuesday evening we watched America's Got Talent. Did you all think I'd forgotten about my Hoffluvin'? Nah. It's our favorite show. And our favorite acts got through to the next level: Julienne Irwin, the Cincinnati Sewer Guy whose name eludes me, The Incredible Ventriloquist who can sing better with his mouth closed than Tony Bennett or Etta James or Kermit the Frog or any of the impressions he does (Dude, I would TOTALLY pay $100 to see him play a headline show in Vegas), my favorite from the beginning Cas Haley, and Butterscotch.

I was as happy to see them get through as I was to see the Creepy Duttons NOT get through. They lost me on La Bamba, and then they reeeeeeally lost me on The Devil Went Down To Georgia. I'm sure they're lovely people, they just, I dunno, weirded me out in a creepy inbred horror movie Grown-Up Children of the Corn cult or something kind of way.

And then on Tuesday nights I also watch Big Brother. Can I just say I would jump all over Evil Dick? I find him so deliciously bad, I can't get enough of him. I mean, I hope the shit works out between him Danielle and whatever, but I'd be Evil Dick's Evil Mignon in a freakin' heartbeat. Love the tatts, love the piercings, love his sexy voice, love the attitude, love his freewheelin' use of colorful expletives. FUCK YEAH!!!

I am a little bummed that he's gunnin' for Eric, though, because I find Eric quite entertaining too. He's funny, and he's got pierced nipples. I wonder if his and mine would get entangled, like kids with braces making out and getting their brackets locked? His look like hoops and mine are curved barbells. Hey, it could happen. One of the hidden dangers of pierced nipples that I hadn't thought about. Oh, and an extremely cold winter is another, if you're curious. But I digress.

So after Big Bro last night, R and I started to watch Another Evening with Kevin Smith, and just as I was about to say that I didn't think it was as funny as the first one, the power went out. POOF.

Every time the power goes out, I prepare myself mentally for the worst. Like the time our power was out for five days and that stupid bitchclown at Evilite tried to mess with me.....oooooh, do NOT get me started. On the 15th I'll mail my third-to-last payment to their evil empire.

I

CAN'T

WAIT.

Anyway, R got up and said he'd go to the basement to check the fuses, and I said Honey, just look outside and see if the streetlights are on first. Duh. They weren't. There was a time in the not-so-distant past where it could have indicated that we hadn't paid our electric bill. But this was not the case. It's all about Online BillPay. So R called Ameren and we got the recording that they were aware of the outage at (insert computerized voice stating our address) and that approximately 4000 other people were in the dark too and we should all have our shit back on by 3am.

Here's the thing - it's not about the fact that the air conditioner isn't on. I can sleep naked, I got no problem with it, and I'm pretty sure R isn't going to complain. But I can't sleep without some white noise. I keep a fan on in the bedroom even in the winter because I like the sound. And when the power goes out it goes to that horrible deafening silent stillness and I can't stand it because then I have to listen to the sounds in my head, which, the best I can describe it, sounds like a traffic jam with about 200 horns honking at different pitches and frequencies. That's cuz I hadn't taken my meds for a while.

And I hadn't mentioned it on here, I don't think, but I was waiting on a shipment of my meds last week so I'd gone off them again for a little bit because I wasn't paying attention to how many I had left. And my shipment came in the mail earlier that day, only instead of the regular brand name I had gotten in the past, I got the WAY less expensive generic version. Let me show you something, for the sake of comparison -




That's my last Wellbutrin on the left, and on the right, look at the SIZE of that thing! It's a horsepill! Look at what I have to choke down just to keep from killing people! So I took my first one this morning and it hurt going down, but I'm happy to report that I haven't killed anyone yet.

But when I start back on the meds, my sleep always suffers. Oh well. What's sleep, anyway? Sometimes I get really philosophical and feel like blogging when I can't sleep. I would have liked to have logged in and blogged a bit last night. I was feeling chatty, but obviously the power being out made that impossible. (Note to self: I need a laptop.)

It's the same kind of feeling I get after I watch Kathy Griffin - I just felt like talking. I even wanted to write the witty shit down so I could blog it later because I was totally in the zone, but couldn't find anything to write with in the dark. So I just started talking to R. R, who really wanted to go to sleep, but who after ten years has come to accept the fact that if I can't sleep, he's probably not going to get a whole lot of sleep either.

DAMMIT!!!

What?

I hate the quiet! Now I'm not gonna be able to sleep!

Mmmmmph...

Hey, do you think I could do like Kevin Smith, just stand up in front of a couple thousand people and answer questions and be funny?

Well, you talk a lot.

I know. And I'm funny, right? Ya know, sometimes when I watch, like, Last Comic Standing, I think I could totally do that, ya know? Funny shit happens to me, I could really just talk about my stupid life for a long time.

You tell funny stories, but you're not really a comic, Honey.

DAMMIT! I can't sleep! FECK!!!

Mmmmmmmph...

Omigod, did I show you that awesome Koigu I got from Turtlegirl? Did I? Well, obviously I can't now in the dark, but remind me tomorrow. It's fantastic.

(Side note: Peep this. Gorgeous, right?




Some people don't understand why knitters take and post pictures of yarn any more than they understand how some of us drool and touch the monitor when someone posts a good Yarn Pr0n money shot. I'm not good at posting the yarn pics, but this yarn's really really indescribably pretty.

Yes, thoughts of yarn occupy my mind in the middle of the night sometimes.)

And I know this post is rambling and senseless and completely devoid of any discernible seques between topics, but really, that's how my brain works. And come on, you love it. It's part of the charm of this blog. At least, I hope it is.

Bottom line, I'm going to open BMB up for some Q and A a la Kevin Smith. Have at it, bitches! I'll answer as many questions as I can between now and a week from now, when school starts.

Segueless transistion - I can't believe summer is almost over. My Pie's going to kindergarten. Let me give you a preview of a typical school day at Casa Karma, starting on the 15th.

8:50 Drop Beebie off at School A
9:00 Drop Tito off at School B
Noon Pick Tito up at School B
1:00 Drop Pie off at School A
4:00 Pick Beebie and Pie up at School A.

All summer I've looked forward to having time to knit when school starts and I don't have to take the Apes on Field Trips every single day. What was I thinking?

And back to previous topic, if you were planning to ask if I slept naked last night, the answer is...

YES. Even when the power came back on.

Rrrrrowwwllll.

My Foul-Mouthed Children

Yesterday Beebie and Pie were playing Pop-O-Matic Trouble. I was in another room, but apparently Pie landed on Beebie's piece and sent her back to the start. All I heard was,

"Pie!! YOU BASTARD!!!!!"


The irony - Beebie was actually the one born out of wedlock.