Insolent and Vexing.

Yeah, yeah, I'm gonna write about Christmas and my parents' visiting us and Tito's birthday and our wacky New Year's Eve plans and whatnot... eventually.

But I had to post a couple of other things first:

A) These pics, seen on www.passiveaggressivenotes.com , were sent to me by a loyal fan who knows how much I enjoy using my phone to take pictures of the signs prohibiting cell phone use in certain places.






Just don't use your Blackberry to look up the words on dictionary.com.


And B) A dog licked (my Crackberry buddy) Other Kevin's head.

My Collection of Crazy Christmas Music

I saw a couple of Christmas Music posts over on List O' The Day,

Look HERE and HERE.

List Of the Day makes me happy.
I have a totally impure crush on Cary.

Anyway, when I realized that I had a couple of the ones that you might not even believe were real, I felt obligated to share some of my eclectic collection with you.

I started collecting Christmas Music about 12 years ago when I worked in Downtown Clayton (St. Louisans know what that means) across from a really great now-defunct bookstore called Library Ltd. How could I POSSIBLY walk away from this?



At the time I couldn't afford it on what I was making, but I've never regretted buying it when I did because I've never seen it in a store again. And ever since then I try to add at least one to the collection every year. They're not all weird. I love the Charlie Brown Christmas one, for example.

I also have Twisted Sister's Twisted Christmas (new last year), Regis Philbin, Barenaked Ladies and Cyndi Lauper, to name a few. This year, in addition to Billy Idol, I got...



Yeah. And this one.



And this one.




I know. I'm a sick, sick person. Seriously.

And I also have vinyl.

Johnny Mathis' Christmas Album is a family tradition for me. I bought the Digitally Remastered CD for myself one year, and it's just not the same without the scratches and skips.



Here are some more of my favorite Christmas Records.

Happy Holidays from Barbra...


And the Severed Heads!


Doesn't this look like a Christmas Key Party gone horribly wrong?


And The Colonel looks alarmingly chipper Christmas Morning...


considering he was passed out in his rocker the night before.


There are many, many more, my lovelies, but it's Christmas Eve and I need to get the Apes to bed so I can be plenty rested for a full day with Inlaws.

Hope Santa brings me a fuckin flask.

Recent Mergers and Acquisitions

Lemme tell ya about what a great lil boyfriend my Beebie has.

There are a couple of twitterbitches in Beeb's class who just can't resist the urge to be assholes to her.

They're Susie Rottencrotch and Sally McSnotpants. Susie Rottencrotch is a total skank. Here's the backstory on her (I can't remember if I've told it before or not):

At the beginning of the school year, Susie had her eye on Princeton. And apparently something that Princeton said to her erroneously led her to believe that he was into her too. But he's not. Emphatically not. Why? Cuz she's a mean little bitch and she thinks she's hot shit. Plus she talks smack about my Beeb.

Annnnyway, so we know Susie's a little jealous. And a few days ago Beeb and Princeton were walking to class and Princeton was carrying a big box of something. Susie and Sally came up behind Beeb and Princeton in the hall and Sally said, all saccharine-like, Oooooh, you guys are SOOOO CUTE... and Princeton as Beebie ignored her.

Then Sally got all shitty.

Hey, Princeton, do you like the way Beebie looks in those stretch pants? Cuz I think they make her look WEIRD!!!

And Princeton, God love 'im, said...

Sally, you are soooooo lucky my hands are full, or I'd totally flip you off right now.

I told Buffy that her boy scored some major Cool Boyfriend points.

I'm getting along with Buffy a lot better recently. I took Beeb, Princeton, and Pie and Tito to see The Tale of Desperaux today. What a sweet movie! Beeb read the book but I didn't know anything about the story going into it, and I thought the message was wonderful and the animation was excellent. I highly, highly recommend it.

I took it upon myself to do a nice thing for Buffy and her family, given that they're going through a hard time and we certainly know what that's like. I'm into karma and paying it forward. Princeton's such a cool kid. Buffy said he knows they don't have money for gifts and he hasn't complained one bit. He's sold some of his video games and he's saving up his money to buy himself a Wii.

I asked Buffy if there was anything I could do for them for Christmas, and she asked for picture frames, a journal, toys for Perfect Baby, and just anything I thought Princeton would like. Cleaning the basement, I found an assload of frames, a really cute little baby hat that used to be Beebie's that I'd forgotten all about, and some puzzles and books.

I knit Princeton a lovely red Malabrigo hat/scarf combo and Buffy a scarf from crappy stash yarn (which I thought was absolutely hideous, I wish I'd taken a picture, but she LOVES it) and I got Princeton a sketchbook and Buffy a journal. I didn't have any ideas for Biff, and Buffy's not his biggest fan these days but you didn't hear that from me, and Santa doesn't discriminate, so I got him a gift card from Lowe's. And I wrapped them all up and left them on their porch. And I felt great about that.

So, as I mentioned, we're cleaning our basement. Why now, a year after we moved in? Because R found a 47" 1080p flat screen for $550. It was originally $1099, on clearance for $898, then we got 30% off because it was a display model, and an additional 10% off for charging it. We added the 3-year protection plan and it was still under $600. With the money we saved, we got a BlueRay player. It's fucking kickass. I love my husband.


Then we found someone giving away a ping pong table on Freecycle. We underestimated how big that fucker would be. Strapping it to the roof was a pain.


But we got Rip and Skater to help us get it into the basement, and the kids LOVE it. Plus, it keeps them out of my face while they're home for Winter Break.


Speaking of Rip, check out what he got us for Christmas. If you didn't know, I love skulls. And these are on my mantle, right behind the Christmas cards. If you look behind the skull on the left, there's the card from the Aldis with the Aldikids picture in it. Gih.


And look at this righteous apron KOFA got me! The delicious union of domesticity and the macabre. LOVE IT LOVE IT LOVE IT.






Awwww... he went to Etsy. Swoon away, girls.



Don't fuck with me, Martha Stewart. I'll kick yer ass.

Oh, and this little gem was in the box too. I put it on my refridgerator, right next to the PTO Events Calendar.



And kinda random, but have you seen this pic of our President-Elect?



I don't know about you, but I'm sure glad we're not looking at a pic of Senator McCain's Manboobs right now.

So Much For Goals.

I had one goal this year, people. ONE FUCKIN GOAL.


No, I'm not talking about soccer, you assholes - and I'm NOT a Soccer Mom, no matter what KOFA says! I'm talking about a knitting pattern.

I did so poorly meeting my 2007 goals last year (most of which I still didn't meet in 2008), that I only gave myself ONE goal for the entire year. Let me refresh your memory, from my January 4, 2008 post -

And as for my goals for 2008?

A) I will defeat the Ice Queen and document it for y'all's edification. If I'm up at 3am on December Thirtyfuckinfirst, I'll finish that bitch. I'll unload my Circular Needles of Terror and let her taste my wrath.

Beyond that, I don't know if I really want to set any other goals. My greatest achievements of the past year were the ones I didn't plan. So I think I'll sit back and see what learning experiences come my way if I open my mind to them.


So how am I doing on my one measly goal? I SUCK. I hadn't touched the bitch in months until I picked her up yesterday. I think I'm more than halfway done, but I don't remember what row I'm on and where to put the beads. I think I'm kinda going have to go for a stylishly haphazard sort of vibe. Stylishly haphazard sums my fashion sense up pretty well, I'd say.

And how about the learning experiences that came my way this year? Let's recap a few of my favorites. Click the links to refresh your memory, and if I've left your favorite out, please feel free to leave a comment and let me know what it was.


I had a birthday that didn't suck. (You still have 24 shopping days, by the way.)

I totally forgot about the Oscar Contest. Pam, Chris, Nell - send me your info again, please. I'm such an asshole, I'm ashamed of myself.

I went tits up at the Riverwalk, ate a deep-fried Twinkie, climbed Enchanted Rock, got totally wasted with my sister in Austin, and met an unforgettable man in Corpus who reminded me that Everybody's Carryin' Their Own Sacka Rocks.

I survived a Swamp Thing Home Invasion.

I had to call the Po-Po on a couple of 5th grade bitches.

I got out of Mother's Day at the Inlaws. Strep Throat is SO much more pleasant. By the way, I had Strep FOUR TIMES in 2008.

Helped out with Junior Achievement (Do I look like a muthahfuggin role model? To a kid lookin' up to me, life ain't nuttin but bitches and money).

Was seen in public with a dude in a skirt.

Went to Pride, and got the steal of a lifetime on Smitchwicks Ale at WalMart.

Watched in horror as my mother attempted to mount a hand dryer on the bathroom wall at Dairy Queen.

Sent my Beebie to Junior High.

Spent four hours and $400 at the dentist's office.

Proved to the world that I am a White Trash Mom, and damn proud of it.

Smoked Cubans with Rip.

And took him Pot Roast and Porn, just cuz I love the guy.

Accompanied Beebie on a date (along with Buffy and Princeton).

Blew my nose on my bedsheets. A PK Classic.

Got paid for watching a Presidential Debate, volunteered to work for the Dragon Lady (and promptly quit), and told the Church Nazi to SUCK IT.

Bought life-changing lingerie.

One word - LUBABA (Scroll down to G).

Placed at the Pevely Flea Market Halloween Costume Contest for the 3rd consecutive year.

In probably my favorite post of the year - Went to my very first Mammogram.

And took a date to my very second Mammogram.

Celebrated eleven years of wedded bliss with my best friend.

Got a DYSON!!

Continued to fight the Soccer Mom Stereotype.

AND... lost 26 pounds!!!

So, Ice Queen, sorry if I've neglected you.
I've been a little busy.

Submission For the Holidays

Here's an amusing holiday submission from Kevin for you all -

Beware Of Doghouse

Rip sent me THIS CLIP when I told him R got me a snazzy new Dyson bagless vacuum for Christmas.

Hey, Rip - I got yer Dual Bags right here...

TRUST ME.

It's every bit as weird as you could probably imagine.
But in a good way.


Don't ask me how I know.

What's Happening To Me???

Here's something you'll like - Tito's playing on his very first soccer team. It's indoor 3 on 3 for little kids who often forget that they're not supposed to touch the ball with their hands. It's hilarious.

Last night was Tito's first game. I was trying so hard not to look like a soccer mom. And before I continue, let me clarify that I've got nothing against soccer moms. I just don't think I am one, and I definitely don't think I blend well with the soccer moms.

Really quick, let me tell you about my favorite soccer mom of all time, Alice. She's the mom of one of my high school friends. Alice is a Texan with the stereotypical Texas twang. In addition to my friend, Alice also had a son in my younger sister's class named Russ. Russ was an incredible athlete who excelled at EVERYTHING, but was particularly awesome at soccer.

Whenever Russ would leave for a sporting event, instead of telling him to play hard, do your best, or kick the other guy in the nuts because the game doesn't start until you get a yellow card...no. Her pep talk?

BE SWEET!

Only with the twang, it sounded like BAY SWAY-T!

Good thing for Russ he was such a badass athlete who could school you in the sport of your choice any day of the week or he'd have been mocked relentlessly for that BAY SWAY-T shit.

Anywho, last night I wore this shirt,


and I brought my knitting so I'd appear preoccupied and not really interested in the action on the field of play. Who did I think I was kidding?

At one point Tito ran into some other kid, knocked him down and kept on running after the ball. I heard myself say, very quietly, "That's right, baby, no mercy. NO MERCY." R heard me too, and gave me a glare that said Can you hear yourself??

Later in the game, Tito tripped over some other kid's foot as they were both going for the ball. I yelled, "You're all right, baby... walk it off!!" and as soon as the word Off escaped my lips, I covered my mouth with both hands, to prevent any other soccer mom speak from slipping out. Y'know, since stuff so rarely slips out before I can stop it...

And then I started (very quietly) snarking with R on this little prissy pink bow-headed girl named Ava


who ran away from the ball every time it came near her. Shit, if she can't take the fuckin pressure, get her the fuck off the field before she breaks a fucking nail, for fuck's sake!!! R's jaw dropped.

Oh, my God. OH. MY. GOD.

Remember the Thriller video, when Michael Jackson starts turning into the werewolf and it shows his veins bulging and eyeballs turning yellow right before he starts howling at the moon? I swear, I could literally feel myself morphing into Soccer Mom. Instead of hair growing on the back of my hands like a werewolf, my hair pulled itself into a ponytail and through the back of a baseball cap, and my clothes turned into a matching Adidas workout suit. It was truly scary.

And you should have seen me when my baby scored a goal.
WOOOOOOO HOOOOOO!!!!

In yer FACE, Ava!!!!!

Aren't you bitches proud of me??

Your result for The Swear Word Usage Test...

Genius Fucker

You scored 21 relevance and 21 creativity!

You are a connoiseur of bad language. Congratulations, Fuckball! Not only do you swear when appropriate (and inappropriate), you are colorful with your cocksucking concoctions. Bravo! Now go out there and continue to make the world your bitch by peppering those stuckup motherfuckers with words and phrases that make the hair on their asses curl up. And if they don't like it...well, fuck'em.

Take The Swear Word Usage Test at HelloQuizzy

AMANDA knows I'm a bad muthahfuggah!!

Forgot to add this yesterday -

Monday night we watched Inside The Actor's Studio. I love that show. The guest was Daniel Radcliffe. He's so cute and funny and witty and humble. I'm happy to see that he's actually quite a talented actor and not just Harry Potter.

Daniel was talking about some of his recent non-HP projects. One was called My Son Jack, which was about Rudyard Kipling's relationship with his son. I saw that one on PBS a while ago. It was the first time he'd been anything but Harry. When watching the movie, you didn't see Harry Potter at all. I was extremely impressed. But the casting of Kim Catrall as Mrs. Kipling was odd, to me, because she'll always be Samantha.

Another was December Boys. James Lipton asked Daniel if he'd seen the Rolling Stone (I think) review of it, and Daniel said he doesn't read reviews. Lipton said that Rolling Stone called it Harry Potter Gets Laid. And I immediately added it to my Netflix queue.

They showed a clip of his appearance on Extras, too, and if you haven't seen that show, you truly owe it to yourself to check it out. It's one of the funniest shows I've ever seen. So is It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia, but that's a topic for another day.

Then he talked about Equus, in which he has a now-famous Nude Scene. He talked about how intimidating it is to be nekkid in front of an audience. According to Daniel, there's a shrinkage issue. A friend of Daniel's asked him if he was afraid he'd get an erection on the stage, and he said he'd actually be thrilled if he did so he didn't look so... erm... small. And I immediately removed December Boys from my Netflix queue.

And then, the inevitable question.

Beeb: What's An Erection?

Me: Ya wanna take that one, hon?

So R told her.

Beeb: It gets hard? Gross!! That's so weird!!!

Me: Yeah, I know. Weiners are seriously weird.

Yes, I Survived. Thanks For Asking.

But first, look what showed up in my Inbox this morning -

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Contact: Adam Bitely
Phone: (202) 689-9266
November 24th, 2008
Dear Fellow Blogger,

It is my distinct pleasure, as the president of Americans for Limited Government, to invite you today to become a key member of the exciting new conservative “bloggers central,” NetRightNation.com.

At ALG, we recognize the critical role you as a blogger play in gathering, assimilating, and disseminating news and commentary. And I, personally, am deeply grateful to you for taking the lead in fighting some of the most important battles our country has faced over the past decade, and more.

That's why I am so pleased to announce that NetRightNation.com is providing bloggers like you, the mainstream media, politicians, and other opinion leaders free, instant access to nearly 60,000 conservative blogs nationwide. And counting.

As a complete service bureau, NRN provides you a wide new array of blogger opportunities. As a featured blogger on NRN, you will be able to post your own blogs and interface with other like-minded bloggers nationwide. You will soon be able to “claim” your blog and customize your blog profile.

Information on NRN – blogs, as well as Twitter feeds -- will be divided by state, as well as by issue, to make it easy for you and others to access. NRN will also include a sophisticated search engine function and will soon have the capability for you to subscribe to customized email blog feeds on your topics of choice. Stay tuned, for these features will soon be online!

And all of that is just the beginning. In fact, I have asked ALG's Director of New Media, Adam Bitely, to follow up on this note with a letter of his own providing you the exciting details on how NRN can help you grow your own blog.

Above all, we want to make sure NRN is all that you, an important member of the conservative blogosphere, want it to be. So, as you visit NetRightNation.com, I urge you to please give us your input on how to make it the valuable asset we are committed to providing, at absolutely no charge.

Thank you for all that you are doing. I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

Bill Wilson
President, Americans for Limited Government


###

Americans for Limited Government is a non- partisan, nationwide network committed to advancing free market reforms, private property rights and core American liberties. For more information on ALG please call us at 703-383-0880 or visit our website at www.GetLiberty.org.


That's just hilarious. Should we tell FIL I'm an Important Member of the Conservative Blogosphere?

Sorry I've been so slow in updating. It's mainly because Thanksgiving was uneventful and I figured you'd all be disappointed. Shit, I was kinda disappointed myself. I was totally prepared to go to the mat and defend my right as an American to vote however I choose to. And an ignorant vote counts exactly the same as a well-researched vote, so I can be just as big an idiot as I want to be and base my whole opinion on the mere fact that it's the opposite of FIL's, if that's what I feel like doing.
And, fuck it all, that's what I feel like doing.

The hour-long ride out to Chez Inlaw gave me plenty of time to get myself good and fired up. R and I both agreed that it was extremely likely that either MIL or FIL (or both) would say something snarky to me about the outcome of the presidential election just to ruffle my feathers. I had R on board with the fact that if shit got ugly, I would leave and take the kids, and he could stay behind, get the obligatory earful from FIL about what a horrible wife I am and what a disgrace to the family it is that R married me, then ride home with the Aldis.

I even came up with a perfect burn - if MIL, as she usually does, asked each of us to share one thing that we're thankful for, I was going to say...

(... ready for this???)

CHANGE.

I was so ready to drop that turd right in the middle of the mashed potatoes. But I didn't get to use it. Nobody said a single word about my Disturbingly Fervent Support of The Alleged Anti-Christ, President-Elect Obama (which was actually neither Fervent nor what I'd call Support, but whatever).

At first I couldn't believe it, because FIL, historically, has taken advantage of every single opportunity to make me feel like an idiot. But the more I thought about it, it made sense. If he said something, then I'd know that he'd been asking R about me. Maybe he thinks R hasn't mentioned it to me. Maybe he thinks I'm a loose cannon and, unlike with his own children, he doesn't know how for sure how I'll respond. He's afraid it might get ugly. And he's right; it sure the fuck would.

So yeah, it took me a little while to unclench my fists, but once I did, the afternoon was actually quite enjoyable. My Chocolate Truffle Pie was magnificent and garnered rave reviews. Oh, and with all the Buffy drama, I forgot to tell you the story about that.

It would have been funnier had I told the story in the moment, but basically, I found the recipe in a magazine, tore it out and took it to the grocery store to buy the ingredients. At least, I thought I took it to the grocery store. Turned out I didn't, and I had to go back home and get it. Then I bought the stuff, got all the way home and realized I'd left the actual recipe IN THE CART at the store, so I went all the way back, and through some miracle, I found it, but fuckeleven, what an pain in the ass.

Anyway, I snuck a couple of pics of Aldigirl for your amusement. Note the bare midriff. Either it's on purpose and totally inappropriately skanky for a ten-year-old girl, or her clothes just don't fit her and it's sad.


Forgive the quality - I was trying to be surreptitious.


Cock your head slightly to the left and tell me this isn't a Tramp Stamp just waiting to happen.



I took this picture as we were all watching The Golden Compass. You may recall the Catholic church's very public boycott of this movie when it came out. (And guess who sent me an email about it?? They did. Then they BOUGHT the movie. On BlueRay, even.)
R called MIL out on it, much to my delight. Oh, and R very politely called everyone's attention to the fact that I'd lost 26 pounds since last year. Isn't he the best?

So that was my Thanksgiving. Black Friday morning, we went out to the All You Can Eat pancake breakfast at Rise and Dine, which was awesome. Then that afternoon I went and picked up Rocker Chick from KOFA and she got to hang with me and the Apes all day while KOFA took his older daughter to see Trans-Siberian Orchestra. I kinda don't get the appeal of TSO, personally, but the two of them had a great time, and my Apes love Rocker Chick.


Cutest damn thing you ever saw.

Then that night we went to Other Kevin's for adult beverages and merriment. The evening was more Kevintensive than the afternoon, as KOFA predicted, but I have no complaints. R and Other Kevin and I hung out in the kitchen drinking heavily and arranging Dirty Magnetic Poetry on the refridgerator. Good times.

The highlight of the weekend was organizing my knitting needles so I can bust a nut on some Christmas gifts. I thought I would have to buy needles, but I found the ones I needed and I don't have to spend anything on gifts because I'll use stash yarn. And I haven't forgotten the Ice Queen, but I think she's forgotten me. Probably a good thing. Maybe she'll stop being such a bitch now.

Stress Magnet.

Have I mentioned that I'm a little stressed???

I wish I knew how to repel stress. It seems that when I'm already stressed, I attract even more stress. I overreact, I freak out about stupid stuff, I get highly emotional - you've all witnessed this on my blog. It might be partially because when I'm stressed I can't sleep, then I try to take a Xannie and sleep it all off, and then I get groggy and forget to do things and get mad at myself. It's a vicious cycle.

The worst part is that I don't even necessarily limit myself to my own stress. I absorb other people's stress and react to it as if it were mine.

Buffy's been really stressed out recently. She calls me several mornings a week on her way to work to vent. Really, I don't mind because she talks so much and for so long that all I have to do is occasionally say "uh-huh". I don't have to actually think or process anything she says, which is great because she usually calls at the most stressful time of my morning; when I'm making lunches and getting the boys dressed and ready for school. I just have to listen. I can do that. The woman needs to vent. We all need that.

One day she called to say she was seriously considering leaving Biff, her husband of two years, the father of her 8-month old daughter Perfect Baby, and who has also legally adopted Princeton. She didn't get into specifically why, other than to say that he was stupid and insensitive and didn't support her.

She also mentioned that Biff was abused as a child and to this day Biff does not believe that what he endured (and again, I don't know exactly what it was, nor do I want to know) qualifies as abuse. How fucked up is that?

Another time she mentioned that she was spending about $1300 a month in child care (which is more than she makes at her part-time job), that they would be unable to pay their mortgage, and that she fears Princeton is resentful because he used to get an allowance and have more of the things he wanted back when they lived in Washington State and didn't have to worry about money.

And she fears that he would internalize the resentment rather than say anything, because the reason they moved across the country was for him to attend a particular school associated with their religion. It's true, knowing him, he's not the sort of kid to complain. I can see why she'd be concerned about that. But I should mention that she recently grounded him for leaving too many lights on in the house. I'd resent that shit too, personally, but you know me, I never judge.

BAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! God, I'm fuckin funny. Anyway...

It's hard to listen to, and not just because I can never get a fucking word in edgewise, but mostly because it makes me feel guilty for having such an awesome husband. I feel for her, truly. And the bonus? The feeling that my life sucks just a bit less than somebody else's. That's healthy, isn't it; appreciating how good you have it?

Last night, when I was in the midst of the mildly stressful process of making the desserts I was planning to take to the Thanksgiving Dinner at Chez Inlaw, my phone rang. It was Buffy. Hysterical. Not funny hysterical, scary crazy hysterical.

(sniff) Sarah???

Yeah...?

I have a huge, huge favor to ask of you. And if you can't do it, it's okay, but if you could...

Ok, what is it? What do you need? Please don't say money.

She tearfully told me about how a situation she had mentioned to me before on a few occasions had escalated to the point where she couldn't take it anymore. At the day care where she'd been taking her baby, there was a particular mother who just seemed to have it out for her. She would, literally every day, intentionally block the door to the classroom as Buffy was either entering or exiting.

Teachers had witnessed it, and had admitted to Buffy that they'd seen it too. She had tried to be polite to the woman and say, "Um, 'scuse me" only to have her pretend not to hear. Buffy, just like every other parent dropping their kid off at day care, had to get to work, and this woman standing in her way every single day was inconvenient, annoying, and just mean.

Buffy had never done anything to this woman and couldn't understand why she would be singled out and treated this way, every day, in front of teachers and other parents. She'd gone to the teachers hoping that someone would speak to the woman, and she was told to either just ignore it or try to minimize the contact she had with her. So Buffy went out of her way to go in a half-hour earlier than she normally did just to keep the peace. She shouldn't have had to do that, but she did, and she hoped that would be the end of it.

But it didn't stop. And when she went to the director, explaining that she had done everything she could do to stay out of the woman's way, even rearranging her entire family's schedule to accomodate her leaving the house a half-hour earlier, the teachers turned on her and said that they had only seen it happen once. Again, she was basically told that she was the one who was making all of this a problem.

So she went to the owner to tell her that today would be Perfect Baby's last day at this day care. And the owner told her that she had heard about how she leaves Perfect Baby home with Princeton (who is almost 12), and she was so appalled by her poor parenting skills she had an obligation to call CPS to report Child Endangerment and Neglect, and she emphasized that she should, but she wouldn't because she thought she'd cut Buffy a break. How considerate.

Buffy was so upset she could hardly speak:


Sarah, why is it that even if I'm perfectly justified in doing so, nobody wants me to cause a scene? I've done everything right, I don't know what I ever did to warrant the way this total stranger treats me, and I'm the bad person because I spoke up and SAID something. What, am I supposed to just keep my mouth shut and let someone treat me like crap just so everyone can get along?

Oh, Mother of CHRIST, how I relate to lowering one's standards of how one expects to be treated for the sake of maintaining peace between the parties involved. You don't even know how much of my life I spend biting my fucking tongue so as to not rock the proverbial boat. That's what my blog is for. And trust me, I actually bite my tongue occasionally on here too, believe it or not.

Ok, so what do you need me to do?

Could you please, please, PLEASE go to the day care and pick up Perfect Baby's things?

Right, right now?

Before they close at 6.

Uuuhh... yeah, yeah, that's fine.

I just can't go back there...

Seriously, I totally understand. Do you want me to bring it over after?

Could you??

Sure, I'll bring it by, no problem.


So I went there, leaving my own 11 1/2 year old daughter in charge of her younger siblings, texted R to let him know I had to help Buffy out of a crisis and I didn't know when I'd be home (but that I'd make the cheesecake and pie when I got back), drove about a mile down the road to the day care, picked up a huge trash bag full of Perfect Baby's stuff, and took it over to Buffy's. And Buffy was an absolute wreck.

She was upset that they hadn't sent home Perfect Baby's artwork. I'd have been a little upset about that too.

She was extremely apologetic for her state and she said over and over again how much she appreciated that I'd do this for her. I told her I was honored by the fact that she knew she could call me in a situation like that and I would help. I sincerely meant that. And she hugged me and cried even harder.

She's pulling Perfect Baby out of this day care that they can't afford and putting her into a more expensive one. And I'm not going to Second-Hand Stress about that because somehow, when someone's making a conscious choice that seems completely stupid to me, they gotta live with that. I don't. When someone's a victim and shit's beyond their control, then you get my sympathy and I'll absorb your stress for you.

So I went home and told R the whole story while I made the pumpkin cheesecake and chocolate truffle pie, and the fact that I had been stressing about my impending showdown with FIL made me feel like a bit of an asshole. I only have to deal with FIL for a few hours. Buffy's shit is more of a lifestyle choice, and that's on her. It's sad.

The effect was that I actually stressed out about my own shit less. So maybe there is some sense in listening to other people's drama. That's probably why y'all read my profanity-laced tirades, isn't it? So your lives seem a little bit better?

Glad I could help. :)



Oh, hey - anybody local want to go see Jon Hamm on the big ass IMAX with me?

The C-Word, The H-Word, and stuff that Sucks.

Really, what I'm pissed about has nothing to do with my support of President Elect Obama at all. And I was never even what you'd even call a Supporter, for fuck's sake. It's not like I made phone calls or canvassed neighborhoods. I didn't even have a sticker on the van or a sign in the yard or anything.

It's the fact that this man asked someone OTHER THAN MYSELF something about me which I would have preferred to keep private, then he went and shared what he'd learned about me - characterizing it as Rather Disturbing information - with other family members in a manner that clearly portrayed me as a crazed infidel. How totally high school.

It wouldn't have mattered what the actual information he repeated was. I hate the idea that he was talking about me at all, let alone the fact that what he was saying was not exactly complimentary. I hate the thought of him even speaking my name. It's not like he ever asks ME anything about ME.

Aaaaaaanyway, good stuff happened over the weekend too, so here ya go:

Saturday morning we got up and returned to Swamp Thing's street to pick up the bags full of canned goods for the Scouting For Food project. I didn't run into Swamp Thing, thankfully, so I got to enjoy the positive spirit of the event. The St. Louis area Boy Scouts gathered 2.2 million cans of food which will be distributed to local food pantries. I think that's so cool, especially having been on the receiving end of the generousity of food pantries not so long ago.

Saturday evening all five of us were invited to go to Buffy and Princeton's for - get this - a party she was having for the group of Obama supporters she'd worked with on the campaign. I wasn't really in the mood to hang with Buffy. I like her and everything, truly, it's just, I don't know.

You know how with some people you have to drink just enough to make them tolerable and yet you don't want to drink so much that you go spilling information that you don't really mean to spill? I was kinda nervous about that. But it turned out okay - I told Beebie she could have a friend over to spend the night, which kinda gave us an out after a couple of hours.

We picked Beeb's friend Lola up and the two of them were chatting in the back of the van. Here's Lola:

"And ohmygosh Beebie, the other day [insert long convoluted story about the intricate relationships between about twelve different queen bees and wannabes and the boys that they have crushes on], and ohmygosh, I almost said... The C Word!!"

And I'm thinking, which one?

I kinda guessed, based on the fact that no part of her convoluted story referenced either male or female genitalia, that she probably meant Crap, which is the least offensive C-word in my extensive 4-letter word lexicon (with which you are all affectionately familiar, you cocksuckin cunts).

Still Lola:

"And yesterday in my Math class, the teacher actually said The H Word! And then a whole bunch of people started talking about The H Word and what it's like and stuff..."

H word? What H word? Head? Lola's mom has told me she's heard about oral sex parties going on with junior high students. I seriously hoped that was not what Lola was talking about. Because... just... ick.

"You know, the H word! The one Ron says in Harry Potter?"

Tito got it instantly. "You mean BLOODY HELL???!!"

I'm stunned that other parents let their kids hang out with mine. It's kind of amazing that my kids have any friends at all.

So Lola stayed over Saturday night and the Sunday Morning breakfast plan was to make cinnamon rolls from the Auntie Anne's kit we bought from the Boy Scout fundraiser. The whole process took over two hours, and when they were all done, I couldn't even eat three bites, they were so sickeningly sweet it was disgusting.

That afternoon R took me shopping for what is going to be my Christmas Present. Here's a hint - It sucks. It's the suckiest gift anyone's ever given me.

It's a DYSON DC14!!! R bought it for me with his commission money. I fucking LOVE it! I can't believe how much I enjoy vacuuming. And the best part is dumping out the gunk with a press of a button. It's just awesome. It's without question my favorite vacuum I've ever used.

For the knitters, it's kinda like when you've always used the crappy circs from Michael's and not even realized they were crappy - then you get a hold of the Addi Turbos and it's like the heavens open up and your life as a knitter changes forever.

I'm having a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that I now own a four hundred dollar vacuum. I really don't think of myself as that kind of person. But dude, I LOVE this thing. If the house caught fire, I'd run inside to save it. After the kids were out, of course.

It's not the one with the ball, but this one's more powerful. Better suckage, ya know. And it's all about the supreme suckage.

Speaking of Supreme Suckage, as you probably either remember or assumed, I have to go out to Chez Inlaw tomorrow. I have to tell you honestly, I'm dreading it more than I've ever dreaded going out there before. And regular blogreaders and FIL-followers know that's quite a significant thing for me to say.

I know he's going to say something shitty to me. I absolutely know it, and R agrees. I'm so unbelievably stressed out right now, a full 24 hours in advance, and it's only going to get worse until it's over. Stay tuned.

At least I can look forward to Friday - I get to play with KOFA's little girl in the afternoon, and then R and I are going to Other Kevin's for a soiree in the evening.

It'll be a Kev-intensive day. :)

OH. EM. EFF. GEE.

Fucking LIVID. LIVID BEYOND LIVID.

Plenty of good stuff happened this weekend, I assure you, and I'll tell you about the good stuff too, but before I do, I simply must vent a bit. Grab a hold of something, because if it's not bolted to the floor, it may just blow away under the force of my wrath.

Last night, R called his sister, Mrs. Lexus, to get some Christmas gift ideas for her two sons who have everything in the world - including their own Lexuses (Lexi?) sitting in their garage just waiting for them to turn sixteen. And at some point in R's conversation with her, Mrs. Lexus told R something that really, REALLY pissed me off.

Remember the time FIL asked R how I would be voting? I don't fault R, entirely, FIL's just not a person to whom you could say, "With all due respect, that's really none of your fucking business." R did what he had to do. He should have just said he didn't know, but he wasn't thinking. I forgive R. Really.

Well, apparently, after R called in for the Weekly check-in call to Chez Inlaw, Mrs. Lexus called in next. And here is the transcript as I imagine it to have happened:

(Ring Ring)

"Hello?"

"Hi, Dad!"

"Hello, Chris."

"How is everything?"

"Well, I have some... rather disturbing news."

"Oh my God, Dad, is everything okay?!!???"

"It seems that SARAH is... an OBAMA SUPPORTER."


So not only does the fucker extract information about me via his son, he then decides that it's perfectly all right for him to discuss it disparagingly with other family members without my knowledge or consent.

I have made the conscious choice to not discuss my political views with him or with anyone. I believe that I have the right to keep my opinions to myself if I want to (others may choose differently and that's fine), and that's how I would have wanted it, but NO, the fucking bastard has to not only know everything about everyone, but also has the duty to report my private opinions to whomever he wants to, pointing out that said private opinions are, of course, ignorant and wrong. And then, of course, as you may recall, came the incessant flood of Anti-Obama emails intended to bring me in to the Flock.

Apparently I have no right to think whatever the FUCK I want to think. And that means it's perfectly acceptable for him to make me out to other members of the family to be an uninformed, unintelligent, idiot jackass because I don't think the way he does. ALL of this smacktalk went on behind my back, without giving me an opportunity to defend myself, which I shouldn't even have to fucking DO at all - last I checked, this is AMERICA, for fuck's sake. Fuck ME.

When R told me the story of how Mrs. Lexus heard from FIL that my political leanings qualified as Rather Disturbing News, I swear I thought he was kidding. And as soon as I realized he wasn't, I was absolutely fucking ENRAGED. How dare FIL, first of all, ask my husband something about me that's not his fucking business in the fucking first place, THEN go and talk shit about me to his daughter and God knows who else? At least I can hope that the other family members can easily see what a total dick move that is for him to talk shit about me like that behind my back. Reeeeal fuckin mature.

It's not YOUR fuckin business, FIL, and it's not anybody else's fuckin business either, so for you to go bashing me and my brazen audacity for dissenting from the family's views is TOTAL FUCKING BULLSHIT and so fucking help me, if you say WORD FUCKING ONE to me about the way I voted or am planning to vote on anything, EVER, I will unleash the hellfire shitstorm that I up to now I have somehow, only through Divine Intervention, managed to hold back.

You will NOT treat me that disrespectfully ever, EVER, again. NEVER.

I got so fired up about this after R told me about it, I ranted out loud (as opposed to At Him) until after he'd fallen asleep. He told me I don't ever have to go out there again. What, I'm going to sit at home by myself on holidays? R said, "Well, you liked being home alone on Mother's Day..." Um, duh, I was SICK and I slept the whole time you were gone. Yeah, I liked it a whole lot, actually, until I found out that FIL didn't believe I was truly sick.

For me to refuse to go out there is like me saying "Ok, then, if you don't respect my views, then that's fine. I will just assume that I'm not welcome in your home, and I just won't attend any more family events." And that's not the message I want to send to him.

The message I intend to send to him is this.

Look, Assfuck, your son married me, so whether you like it or not (and trust me, I don't like it any more than you do), I am a part of your Family. And your views may differ from mine. And you don't have to respect my views if you don't want to, but you WILL respect ME, and my right to have whatever opinion I want to. Oh, and please respect my right to a little fucking PRIVACY, thankyouverymuch, pass the fucking asparagus.

A new, hopefully recurring, feature on Behold My Brilliance...

OVERHEARD AT WAL-MART.

I've decided to listen in on people's conversations at Wal-Mart. So be careful what you say out loud the next time you're there.


The scene:

I'm in the Boys clothing section, getting socks for Pie and Tito. And a man who looks like he could be Ron Jeremy's dad in a cowboy hat coughs loudly and says to the woman beside him,

HUSKEH? Damn, woman, yer boys ain't Huskeh. All four of 'em put together ain't one Huskeh. Ya got dem first two, Gage and Jesse, and they's real close together, too...

Shoot, y'all's satellite musta bin broke that year.

Laughs until he starts coughing again.


Curtain.

It's been a week? Sorry.

Here's how you know your life sucks.


Your life sucks when the best thing that's happened all week is that your prescription drug provider is now using a smaller generic version of your anti-depressant medication so you no longer have to choke down the giant yellow horse pills every day to keep yourself from killing people. I literally cheered Awesome!! out loud. And then I realized how completely pathetic it was that I was so excited about that.

You know the feeling that you've been busy as hell but you haven't really DONE anything? I spent most of Friday driving Rip's gorgeous son Skater to and from his class and to get his car fixed so he could pass safety inspection and he could stop getting ticketed for his expired plates. Let me clarify that I am SO not complaining about driving the boy around.

Rip's son Skater is beeeeeeeyootiful. He and his friends made a skateboarding video (which he's selling, ladies) in which he appears shirtless. His Abs are fuckin AMAZING, and he lets me touch them as payment for my shuttle services (I'm thinkin I totally get the better end of that deal). Seriously, if I wasn't both married to R and a good friend of Rip's, I'd be ALL OVER that boy. Hey, he's twenty! Roowwwwwwwlll..

The chronology of the day was that as soon as I got Pie on the bus in the morning, I went and got Skater and took him to his class, then I came back home, put Tito on his bus and went back and got Skater and brought him home to Rip's. I had one hour that I didn't have to spend in the car and was hoping to take a nap, but then I remembered that Pie needed to wear his Boy Scout uniform the next day, so I wound up spending that hour sewing patches on Pie's shirt.

Tito had a birthday party at 4 - which I thought was kinda crappy because, hello, not all kids get out of school at 3. Mine get out at 3:47 and the party was a good 20 minutes away. If I'd let them ride the bus home like usual, we wouldn't have left until 4:15, so I had this great plan to get in the Parent Pickup line so we could leave right away and be minimally late.

Pie forgot I was picking them up and got on the bus anyway. I should have thought about it more before I made this genius plan. Pie could have just gone home on the bus anyway because Beebie was home, but I thought keeping the boys together would make everything simpler. By the time they got Pie off the bus, it pretty much negated my whole attempt at maximum efficiency.

So I got there at about 4:45. It's not that I got lost, exactly, it's that I went to the wrong place. Plus I got lost on the way to the wrong place because I turned the map upside down, but that's beside the point. Anyway, the party was supposed to end at 6, and I needed to pick him up and get him home right at 6 so I could turn back around and head to KOFA's work party at the bowling alley (I almost typed blowing alley, which would have been a WAY different kind of party).

It didn't make sense for me to drive all the way home and back, so Pie and I got Chik Fil A and killed time until 6, and then I took the boys home and headed out to hang with KOFA. And I turned the wrong way going there too. The irony, of course, is that I had no problem whatsoever driving home after I'd been drinking for two solid hours.

Saturday morning all five Karmas went to the Boy Scout's Scouting for Food thing, where they put the bags on the doors one week and people fill the bags with non-perishables then the next week the Boy Scouts come back and pick them up and load them into a huge truck to be distributed to local food pantries. It's a really cool thing, so if you got a bag on your door last weekend, don't forget to fill it and put it outside early Saturday morning.

We got there and got our random assignment of what street to put the bags on. RANDOM, ok? Got that? RANDOM.

There are dozens of streets in the area our Pack was covering.
We got Swamp Thing's street. Unbelievable.

I stayed in the van with Beeb listening to Bon Jovi, and at one point a red minivan that looked like the Swampmobile came toward us.

I went into a quiet panic, whispering,

Oh SHIT, Beeb. Shit. Shit. Shit. Oh God, NO. Mutherfugginfuck...

Beeb was laughing her ass off, reminiscent of the Lubaba hysterics, as the van passed Swamp Thing's driveway and headed right for us. It was the dude who organized the pack asking how we were doing and if there was anything we needed.

Nope, nope, we're fine, thanks. Just a little tiny heart attack when I thought you were my archnemesis coming for my soul, but apart from that, perfect.

We were almost done, maybe two houses left, and as I bent over to my sunglasses out of the glovebox of the Odyssexy, I looked up and saw Swamp Thing's van - and I'm POSITIVE it was hers - which had somehow passed, miraculously when I wasn't looking.

I don't know how she didn't see me parked there. My van is easily identifiable by the Luckenbach, Texas sticker on the back window. And the boys were putting a bag on a house which was on top of a hill so she didn't see Pie either. Crazy.

Seriously, the planets aligned in my favor. I hope they align again when we go back to pick shit up this Saturday. Moving on -

MORE BOOB NEWS.

It's been a little while since my last boob update, so here's the latest Boob News. This morning I got a call from my OB's office, reviewing the results of my follow-up Mammogram last week.

Well, Dr. Walsh says it looks like it's probably benign...

Hang on, what?? PROBABLY? This Girl doesn't handle the word Probably very well. Probably's not the same as IS.

She says she wants you to be absolutely sure you go back in six months... (She's saying that because I went like two and a half years between annuals once.)

Great, I get to freak out until May.

And keep doing your self-exams...

Ok, look. I'm a Double D. I've got a lot of surface area goin' on, and my worst fear is that there'll be something horrible buried deep down and I won't be able to feel it.

If you'd like, we can give you the name of a Breast Specialist so you can get another opinion...

Specialist??? Do I NEED a Specialist? Am I okay or am I not okay??? Fuckin TELL ME!!

Um, way to fuck with my head! Why didn't they send me to the Breast Specialist for the follow up in the first place? They had actually told me that they were going to do a sonogram rather than the Boobsquisher 3000, and they said that the Boobsquisher results made it look like the sonogram wasn't necessary. They sent me home thinking I didn't have anything to worry about. Why didn't they do all they had to do to find out as much as possible the last time I was there with my boobs already whipped out?

I mean, it's not that I mind whipping them out, I'll whip 'em out anytime. I'm just saying, for the sake of my convenience, why didn't they go more indepth if the best they could tell me was Probably Benign? So yeah, that's how my day started out.

Later that afternoon, old boyfriend Rick called me for a Boob Update, and first, while I'm thinking about it, let me just say how much I love the fact that y'all are so tuned into my boobs. Really, it's sweet. Anyway, I told him about the phone call I'd gotten from the OB. And while I was still on the phone with him, I opened the mail. I had received the following letter from the Department of Radiology:

Dear Mammography Patient:

Evaluation of your mammogram reveals one or more findings, which we believe are probably benign (not cancer).

We recommend follow-up:

Left mammogram in six months . This exam does need to be scheduled. [Call us and make an appointment, blah blah blah]

Mammography does not detect all breast problems and does not replace a regular physical exam by your physician. Theses (sic) two methods together have been shown to be the most effective means for detection for early breast cancer.

Remember that you should not ignore a breast lump or possible change in your breasts, even if your mammogram is normal. If you feel an abnormality in your breast or a change in your breast examination, contact your physician.

We also encourage you to use regular breast self-examination. If you wish information on the technique, call [our office]. We look forward to serving you in the future.


Don't you love it when in trying to tell you not to worry they have to also add, in order to cover their own asses, that they might possibly be wrong? Great. So I got that goin' for me.

And you know what makes me feel better when I'm freaking out? Ridin Dirty.



I also spilled beer in my closet last night. Trust me, you don't want to know.

Suffice it to say, it's been a Fucked Up Week.

Keeping Y'all Abreast...

Two posts in one day??? Yup. Scroll down and read my earlier post if you haven't already.

Lymph nodes, they said. Lefty's gonna get another checkup in six months, but apart from that, we're good. They even showed me the x-ray film, and there, right in the middle, amidst the cloudy collection of veins and ducts and whatnot, there was my nipple ring - standing proud, defiant and beautiful.

Yes, yes, I know I was worried about nothing, but I would so much rather worry and find out it was nothing that to get horrible news that I'm not mentally prepared for.

Rip was such a trooper. I can't say enough good about the man. He didn't grumble at my conservative driving style, my complete ineptitude at navigating a parking garage, or my uncanny ability to pick the absolute farthest point from where we need to go when I choose where to park. Rip is a great guy.

He's witnessed me in purely social situations up to now (drinking beer and/or throwing darts, mainly), and I'm a fun drunk, but very few get to experience my Real Life Neurotic Self up close and personal, in real time, along for the ride, as it happens, watching the shit I'm gonna write about going down before their very eyes. It's like the Amusement Park Ride version of my blog.

And after accompanying me to my mammogram, Rip and I sat back with a beer. Now THAT is how you treat a lady, my friends.

Good times.

More Boob Talk.

Yes, today's my follow-up mammogram. Did you remember? I'd pretty much forgotten about it until yeseterday morning, and then I started worrying a little. And now, I'm worrying a lot. I'm carrying it in my neck and my shoulders and my jaw. I have the worst headache in recent memory. My hands are shaking.

In my brain I know there's probably nothing to be nervous about. They told me that they're really just "making sure it's nothing".

But let me remind you what happened the last time I went for what I thought was "nothing": A routine follow-up ultrasound (this mammo's actually a sonogram), that lasted four hours and culminated with the perinatalogist telling me I Didn't Have To Have This Baby Who Might Not Survive Anyway. It was by far the most surreal, almost out-of-body experience I've ever had, and it was the beginning of what became the most heart-wrenching six months of my life, to date.

The words Don't Worry do not work on This Girl. Because once you've gotten the shock of your life when you thought you were going in for Nothing, Nothing is ever Nothing ever again. I can't think of anything as Nothing. Tell me there's nothing to worry about? Fuck you, I'll think of Something to worry about. If there's even the slightest possibility that Nothing could be Something, and there always is, I'm going to focus and stew and allow myself to be consumed by my thoughts. I just don't want to be blindsided like I was that other time, because that really fuckin sucked.

To this day R wishes he had been there with me for that nightmare. I know he would have been if he could have - and he got there as soon as he could, in what I refer to as his Knight In Shining Armor moment - but I talked him out of it because I'd had a follow-up ultrasound before with Beebie and it turned out to actually be nothing. I went in thinking I'd be in and out in twenty minutes and they'd tell me everything was perfect. How could I have known anything was that wrong with Pie?

So I try to prepare myself mentally for Worst Case Scenarios until they get funny. Kinda like how I was pissed about the whole Lubaba thing and the more pissed off I got, the funnier the story got? Eventually my thoughts become so ridiculous they're laughable, and eventually I crack myself and R up with them. For example, what if there's a power outage while my boob's in the machine? I'll give you a minute to get that visual out of your head.

I combat everything dark with humor (read my entire blog if you don't believe me). Why does it surprise people to hear that so many comedians battle depression? I can kinda look danger in the eye, once I've made myself laugh about it first. Of course, it's not always appropriate, but when has that ever stopped me from anything?

For example, how hilarious would it be for me to need a mastectomy after I just dropped $200 on those kickass new bras I've been talking about for a month now? Funny, right? Rememember how comically ironic I thought it was when my parents' dog died in the car on the way home after dropping $60 at the groomer's? That's the kind of sick sense of humor I have. And you bitches love me, dontcha? Yeeeeeaah, ya do.

You'll be glad to know that I'm not going to this Mammogram thing alone. Rip has graciously offered to go with me so I'll have someone I can actually say the words "Dude, I'm so totally freaked out right know..." to out loud instead of just hearing it on a constant loop through my head. He's not going in the Nekkid Boobie Frankenstein Switch Room or anything, but he'll be there when I get done, and that's so cool. Thanks, man.

I'm wearing black eyeliner and non-waterproof mascara. If they give me something to cry about, I'm going Balls The Fuck OUT.

And P.S. - I'm packing a flask.

Anniversary Weekend.

Thank you all for your anniversary greetings! Our actual anniversary was Saturday, but R took Friday off so we could hang out for a couple of hours sans Apes. It's a bit of a Karma tradition to go to Hoods builders' surplus warehouse,


Fast Eddie's,


and Ted Drewes.


Later we went to Aldi to pick up a few staples and we saw this deliciously garish gold jaquard comforter set. We figured it would look sexy with the red satin sheets we got from Sportsman's Guide, so we picked it up - it included a king-size comforter, two shams, a gold dust ruffle and three accent pillows, all for $49.99. Awesome. We'll take it.

We took it home, stripped the bed and took out the new comforter set only to find that there was no dust ruffle. GAH! The gold dust ruffle was totally the best part! So we took it back, only to run into Reverend Aldi and The Aldis. At Aldi. Aldigirl was wearing a Bedazzled jean jacket. Double GAH!!!

By this time R and I didn't want to put the old sheets back on the bed, so we went to Garden Ridge and found a tastefully tacky set that we liked even better than the Aldi one - and it was ten dollars cheaper! We bought two additional king pillows to put in the shams, and now our bed looks all kickass pimped out.



And the funny part? As we were puting the new set on the bed, I looked on the floor and found... the dust ruffle from the Aldi set. So I had to schlep back there for the third time in twelve hours and explain that we'd bought the set and returned it because we thought there wasn't a dust ruffle, then we found said dust ruffle, so now you can put it in the bag with the comforter that we returned. No, no, we still don't want it, just thought we'd put the dust ruffle back. Sorry for the dust ruffle kerfuffle.

Saturday morning, our actual anniversary, before we took the dust ruffle back, R and I went to the least romantic place I can think of -


the DMV.

We had to renew our plates and R needed to renew his driver's license. Didn't take too long, for a Saturday. And I got to witness some interesting fashion choices.



That's a leopard poncho, turquoise stirrup pants, and argyle socks.

Later, Beeb and I went to yet another baby shower for yet another of R's cousins. I forgot to mention that I'd be going to yet another baby shower. Normally that's the kind of thing that I let you look forward to, but between Obama and Lubaba, I've had a lot of shit on my mind recently.

I like R's cousins and the rest of his family (minus FIL) just fine; it's just that they never have any fuckin liquor at these things and it pisses me off. There was some hope, however, that there might be liquor this time because last time the shower was at a non-family member's house. This time it was at Aunt Drama's. Jackpot.

Or at least, I thought it was at Aunt Drama's until I showed up right on time and didn't see any cars out front. Then I realized it was at Aunt Huggy's. There still might be liquor at Aunt Huggy's, since Aunt Drama's going to be there. And after driving twenty minutes out of my way due to my own stupidity, I could really use a fuckin Mimosa or something harder.

Got there, explained the honest reason for my tardiness ("Oh, Sarah, that's why we love you!" - oh good, at least I'm a loveable dumbass...), and tried to surreptitiously find out if there was a bar. I spotted a few open wine bottles and although I'm not a big wine drinker, if it was all there was (and it appeared to be all there was), I'd take it and everybody would soon see Why Sarah Should Not Have Wine.

Fuckin Sparkling Grape Juice. This family sucks.

I need a flask. With the word CLASSY engraved on it.

How totally White Trash is it to smuggle a flask into a baby shower? And how sad is it that I'm sooooo not above it?

I had both Vicodin and Xanax in my purse in the event of an emergency, but I really enjoy the process of getting drunk, you know? It's way more social than taking a pill and waiting for it to kick in. I don't like to drink alone (ok, I do have my own private happy hour when I'm making dinner, sometimes, but I prefer to drink with others who are also drinking), but pharmaceuticals are more appropriate when I just want to be left the fuck alone.

Anyway, I dragged Beebie with me so I would have someone I could talk to and I wouldn't be forced into awkward polite conversation with Mrs. Aldi. Plus, I figured that she brought Aldigirl last time, so she'd probably bring her again for the free food.



I was also kinda hoping Aldigirl would be there because Beebie looked SO beautiful and grown up and I wanted her to showcase her superior maturity, but alas, Aldigirl did not attend.

And neither did my favorite of R's cousins, Catty Nita. Nor did Carol The Boob Starer, which I must say was a major disappointment because I was looking forward to watching her face light up from the radiance of my Chitties. I even wore the perfect sweater for it. So it seemed that Beeb and I would have to endure the afternoon without any comic diversion.

And then it was time to open the gifts.

She reached for ours first. I'd lost the invitation (which is why I went to Drama's instead of Huggy's) and didn't know R's cousin's husband's name so I couldn't look up her registry, so I put together a cute pink and purple canvas bin full of the kinds of baby things you can never have too much of - diapers, wipes and the like.

Imagine you're a new mommy-to-be, at your baby shower, giddily anticipating all the wonderful, beautifully wrapped gifts that your friends and family members have thoughtfully chosen for you and the precious baby girl you're carrying, and the very first thing you unwrap is THIS:


Butt Paste.

If only I could have reached into my bra, whipped out my Classy flask, unscrewed the top and said, "That's right, bitches, I'm FAMILY!!" and taken a big sloppy swig of Wild Turkey as they all sat gobsmacked.

Just adding my own signature brand of tasteless style.

Mah-wahge. Mah-wahge is whah bwings us togethaaaah, toodaaaay.

“True Love”
Judith Viorst

It is true love because
I put on eyeliner and a concerto and make pungent observations about the great issues of the day
Even when there's no one here but him,
And because
I do not resent watching the Green Bay Packer
Even though I am philosophically opposed to football,
And because
When he is late for dinner and I know he must be either having an affair or lying dead in the middle of the street,
I always hope he's dead.

It's true love because
If he said quit drinking martinis but I kept drinking them and the next morning I couldn't get out of bed,
He wouldn't tell me he told me,
And because
He is willing to wear unironed undershorts
Out of respect for the fact that I am philosophically opposed to ironing,
And because
If his mother was drowning and I was drowning and he had to choose one of us to save,
He says he'd save me.

It's true love because
When he went to San Francisco on business while I had to stay home with the painters and the exterminator and the baby who was getting the chicken pox,
He understood why I hated him,
And because
When I said that playing the stock market was juvenile and irresponsible and then the stock I wouldn't let him buy went up twenty-six points,
I understood why he hated me,
And because
Despite cigarette cough, tooth decay, acid indigestion, dandruff, and other features of married life that tend to dampen the fires of passion,
We still feel something
We can call
True love.



Happy Anniversary to my wonderful husband who's seen me at my best and at my worst; who always encourages me to be who I am, neurotic quirks and all, and loves me anyway.

Who lobs pickles onto my plate, tricks me into revealing that I know more about Star Wars (and other geeky stuff) than I care to admit, and who knows what I mean when I say the grey paint is too Maroon-ey.

Ah Ya Yooooo.

Time to negate FIL's vote! Woo hoo!!!

R got up at 5:30 to go vote at 6. The wait was an hour long. I went at about 9:30, got right in and was done in about five minutes. Got my free Krispy Kreme afterwards, too.

So get this - I'm in the little booth filling in the bubbles with the black pen (is that the equivalent of a #3 pencil, I wonder?) and my cell phone rings. It's my gyno's office.

It seems they actually were passing my films around the lab. They want more pics of Lefty.

Should I be flattered?

I have to go back on the 13th. That's plenty of time for me to stew about it and ruminate on all the worst case scenarios and whatnot. Cuz that's what I do. Y'all know me.

I mean, what if that Frankenstein switch is reserved for the second visit? What the fuck is that thing about??

At least I know I don't have to take out my TittyBling.

Happy Almost Election Day!

I'm usually pretty good about getting pictures for you all to marvel at the crazy shit I see every day, right? This is one of those rare occasions where I DIDN'T manage to get a pic, and I'm totally pissed at myself because this pic would greatly enhance the story I'm gonna tell ya really quick:

Ok, I'm in the Odyssexy behind some car at a red light (I didn't catch the model of the car but it was sedan-sized) that had what looked like a page torn from a magazine with a picture of John McCain and Sarah Palin on it, taped to the inside of the back window. Not even neatly - jagged edge on one side, not centered well, and you can't see who the pic is of unless you're right up behind it like I was.

I can understand if you don't want to be permanently associated with a candidate just in case shit doesn't go well for him, or if you don't want to mess up your car by actually affixing a sticker to your bumper and just taping in the back window instead, but dude, a magazine picture?

That's just - I hate to use the word Ghetto, but I really think it applies in this situation.


And the reason why I wasn't able to get the pic? I was on hold with my Gyno's office waiting for my lab results. Isn't THAT the best feeling in the world - sweating it out for ten minutes? Anyway, I got a clean bill of health for the pap and the ultrasound. Still waiting on my mammogram results.

I kinda like imagining that the guys in the lab are still passing my boob x-rays around. Dude, check out the nipple rings on this pair! YOWZA!

My First Mammogram. (Long Post, But TOTALLY Worth It)

Aaahh, nothing like waking up on the morning of a day you know you'll never forget.

A sense of hyper-alertness comes over me. Like I want to pay extra close attention and remember every single detail so that I'll be able to write about it afterwards for y'all's edification. Because that's what I do.

Last night before I went to bed, I texted as many of my friends as I could imagine might possibly know another pierced woman who had a mammogram to ask if they knew the Official Pierced Nipple Policy for mammograms. I almost accidentally asked my mom if she knew the answer when I called her last night to wish her a Happy Birthday.

It's hilarious. I mean, I am absolutely certain that she knows about my piercings thanks to Cousin Keek, but Mom's never asked me about them directly and it's soooo totally entertaining to watch her sneak little peeks while trying to act like she doesn't know. She took me bra shopping, for cryin out loud. How covert.

Anyway, the overwhelming consensus among my texted friends (which most admitted was based more on logical assumptions than experience), is that I will have to take them out. I am FREAKING, people.

One of the reasons I love my curved barbells is because whenever I see them I remember that I (albeit temporarily) overcame my fear of pain and needles and did something nobody (including myself) ever thought I'd do. I love that they're under my clothes, making me feel secretly hardcore, perhaps even dangerous. In reality, as you know, I'm a total pussy - squeamish, and easily icked out. I'm not someone you'd expect to have pierced nipples. And yet, I do. Surprise!

I like to think they represent my Inner Badass. Whenever I think I can't handle something, I whip out my nips and remind myself of the time when R and I, over dinner at Sam's Steakhouse, were trying to think of something a bit outrageous to do after dinner. I can't remember which of us brought up getting my nipples pierced, but I'm pretty sure it was me. Up to the last possible second, he thought I'd chicken out. HA!! He didn't think I'd ever actually go to Goldenlands, place my breasts in the hands of another woman and allow her to stick me with a needle in a rather sensitive place - twice - BUT I DID.

(Ok, I don't literally whip out my nips whenever I face a challenge, but maybe I should - just to baffle my opponent! Take that!! And that!!! Feel my wrath!!!!)

Since I got them four years ago, I've never taken them out. Theoretically, they're removable; I could probably get them out. But I don't think I could put them back in. I just don't think I can do it. I get queasy when I snag one of them on a loofah in the shower. Not only can I not stand the sight of blood or even the thought of the possibility of the sight of blood, I hate the actual word Blood. The only word I hate more than Blood is Pus. Ugh.

Mucus is another word that's totally icky, but I love the word Phlegm. It's one of my favorite words in the whole English language, truly. Such an interesting combination of letters uniting to create the actual sound one makes when attempting to expel phlegm from one's throat. But I digress.

I didn't watch when the girl pierced them. In order for me to get the rings out and put them back in would require me to actually look at the holes, and I just can't. And I'm not sure I could let someone else do it either. R'd be too afraid of hurting me. It's not even the pain, really, I'd sooner just get them pierced again, but it's the idea of it. I don't even know how to explain what I mean any better than that.

I asked R if I could get them redone if I couldn't get them back in, but then what? Get them redone every year, right after my annual mammogram? Yeah, that makes sense.

So right now it's 7:15 in the am, and I'm trying to decide if I want to just take them out at home and get it over with in a place where I can cry or throw up privately (if necessary), or chance it and leave them in, hoping they'll tell me they could work around them. Fuck.

I don't know what to do. What if I take them out and I get there and they tell me "Oh, you didn't have to do that, silly!!" I'd feel like such a jackass. Back later.


8:45 am Fashion Choices.

Should I go for the hippie bohemian crunchy granola Birkenstock chick with pierced nipples look -



Or the hardcore, Yeah, I got pierced nipples - you wanna fuckin MAKE me take 'em out, asshole?? look -


Such decisions. Guys don't have to think about what they wear to a prostate exam.

I'm supposed to be there, with a full bladder, in four and a half hours. I know you're all thinking I should just call and find out if I have to take them out or not, right? Now, come on...that's not very sporting and it wouldn't make for a very interesting blog entry, would it? Plus, I want you all to feel my angst.

Are ya feelin' it, bitches????

That's it, I'm going with the hard core shirt. Back later.

10:01 am

Still have the rings in. I think that's the route I'm going to go - cling to the hope that just maybe I won't have to take them out. Maybe I'll pull a Charlton Heston:

Sure, you can have my barbells... when you pry them from my cold, dead nipples!!

Nah, never mind. That's creepy.

Meanwhile, my Nipple Ring Anxiety is affecting my brain. I went to go change my contacts (y'know, in case I cry or something) and for some reason I couldn't get my left eye to see right. Shit. I just ordered new contacts in the old prescription. I need to go back and get them checked again. There go the days of buying one box of contacts for both eyes to share.

And then I realized I hadn't taken the old one out.

I'm losin' it, y'all. I seriously need to get out of the house.
Back later.


11:20 am

I just spent twenty bucks on Halloween candy. And I just realized I forgot to put deodorant on. I did manage to remember to put the trash out, though, so that's something. And I remembered everything I went to Target to get, I think. Yeah, I did.

Gotta get my mind focused on other things.

Here's a little pre-pubescent humor I meant to share with you. Say it out loud.



I believe the sequel is called "Diary of a Sperm", and it's about a whale.

Totally getting down to the wire, y'all. Fuck. FUCK.

Ok, I was gonna publish this as one big post when it was all over, but I think I'll post this now and let y'all read it and sit in suspense until I get back, and then I'll tell you whether they made me take out my nipple rings or not.

Believe me, I'll be thinking of you all, THE WHOLE TIME. Later.


************* PART TWO *******************

Ok, I forgot to tell you all the part about how I had to get an Ultrasound first. Nothing major, I just think I have a cyst or something, so I wanted to get it checked out and I figured I might as well do Cooter and Hooters at the same time just like yesterday.

I hate it when they tell you you have to come in with a full bladder. I have a belly pooch and I'm rather sensitive about it, and one time, more than 26 pounds ago, I had a tech lament out loud that she couldn't see anything because my bladder wasn't full enough and there was Too Much Tissue in the way. Yeah, you don't have to be a medical professional to know what that means. And I'd rather not hear that ever again, so when they say Full Bladder, I go Maximum Capacity. I push my limits.

And as you know, I was big time stressed about the whole day, what with the nipple rings and whatnot. So what sucks more than being stressed out and having to pee really bad? Trying to find a fucking parking space when you're stressed out and having to pee really bad.

And what sucks worse than that? Finally finding a parking place and going inside, only to find out that you're in the WRONG fucking building. FanTASTic.

So, running cross-legged, I got to where I needed to be, filled out my paperwork and waited. And waited. And tried to read. And thought I'd die. And waited.

And took a pic of the Turn Off Your Phone sign.



And my socks.



Thirty minutes I waited, in total agony. Ow. Then the tech called my name, and I said, out loud, I have to pee SO BAD. And she chuckled politely as she walked me to a room. And the second she put the thing on my belly she literally gasped and said,

HOLY COW!

God, don't you LOVE that? Cuz where does my mind instantly go? Right back to the time I went in for an ultrasound thinking I wasn't pregnant at all but rather suffering from some bizarre medical abnormality, and the tech told me I wasn't just pregnant, but FIVE MONTHS along.

Yeah, shit happens to This Girl, so please don't take one look at me and whisper words of horror. I'm way ahead of you, sister, freaking out before you even tell me there's a reason to.

Holy cow, what? What's wrong? It's a tumor, isn't it? I knew it.

You DO have a full bladder!!

Yeah, pretty sure I mentioned that...

So I unbuttoned and laid back, and I saw that they have these peaceful serene nature photos up on the ceiling, presumably so you have something to focus on and you can relax and zen out while they press on your uterus. And one of the pictures was a waterfall. SO not what I needed to see. I politely pointed out that they really shouldn't have a waterfall picture when patients are laying on the tables with full bladders.

They finished up and I finally got to go pee. And in the bathroom was this lovely picture.



It's fibroids, but doesn't it look like a Cooter with teeth?
This is my what my WHAT THE FUCK?? face looks like.



So to continue, I hate that they don't just tell you what's wrong with you right then and there. You know they know, and more that that, you know that They know that YOU DON'T know. They're sitting right looking at it, not saying a word. I hate that. Just tell me. Or, if you legally can't because you're the tech and not the Doctor, at least give me a fuckin clue.

Oh, and the worst part is when they ask you a bunch of follow-up questions. They've seen what's going on. They know what the answers to my questions should be, based on what they've seen. I always feel like they're trying to catch me in a lie or something.

So, are you on any birth control?
Um, no, my husband's had a vasectomy.

And the look on their faces just says
Hmmmmm.... innnnnnteresting...

So from there I went to:

THE MAMMOGRAM!!!



And I still hadn't asked anyone if I'd have to take my rings out. At that point, I figured I'd get into the room and if they said something I'd play dumb, like, "Oh yeah, I've had those things so long I forgot they were there! Tee hee!!" That was my entire plan. Cuz I'm a criminal mastermind, you know.

So they took my information (which would have been the PERFECT time to find out the Pierced Nipple Policy, so I could gracefully back out if I decided my nipple rings were more important to me than finding out if there's anything wrong with my boobs, but the chick was kind of abrasive and I had a feeling that she'd roll her eyes in disgusted disbelief that I'd even ask such a stupid question), handed me a robe and led me to a locker room, where I saw this sign in one of the stalls.



It says, Happiness is like a Potato Salad - when shared by others, it's a Picnic.

My reaction was twofold: First, what about getting your boobs squished resembles either Happiness or a Picnic? And Second, Funny, you could almost say the same thing about V.D. Almost.

But I put on my sexy blue gown (which I totally snagged, because I thought it brought out the color of my eyes - oh, and I also snagged a Probe Sheath from the ultrasound room because I thought they were funny)...


This is the face of a CRIMINAL MASTERMIND, bitches!

...went through this door...



and saw THIS. The BoobSquisher 3000.



MaryJo was going to be handling my boobs today. She was really nice. I was hoping for a nice person, because now was the moment of truth. She asked me if I had any questions. I said, very timidly,

"Um, yeah, I have, um, Nipple Piercings... AmIgonnahavetotakethemoutpleasepleasepleasesayno?"

I begged her, close to tears, explaining that despite the fact that I had pierced nipples, I was actually a total wimp and I'd never ever get them back in and I'd been stressing about it since yesterday.

She left the room to go check. And I was left in the room with a fucking Frankenstein switch on the wall, in case you missed it in the above pic.



Fuck. I'm gonna throw up.

She came back and gave me the verdict. Y'all ready??



I




did





NOT





have to take them out. They just bent them outward (or upward, I guess) so they really didn't interfere at all. AWESOME!

Thank GOD, because the only way to handle this whole boob-squishing drama is to relax, and fuck if I could have relaxed if I had to think about getting them back in.

MaryJo was an absolute sweetheart. She was patient and she didn't get mad when I giggled, and you know I get these giggle fits at the most inappropriate times. She asked when I got the piercings, and why (a question that does not offend me in the slightest), and I told the whole story about how R and I talked about it after dinner and just went and did it, totally spur of the moment.

And after she took a total of four pictures, she told me she'd see me next year.

So overall First Mammogram Experience, not bad at all!! And I got to leave with my TittyBling intact!

And P.S. - Renee, I'm really glad Kev asked you about the Nipple Ring question because you were the ONLY one who said I might not have to, and that was the hope I held onto the entire day. :)