I spoil my friends.

If I had any morals, this would probably qualify as a Moral Conflict.

Today is Speed Racer's birthday.

But that's not the moral conflict.

Last weekend I went to Speed's exclusive birthday party. You can spin it as Exclusive when there weren't many people there. It makes you sound cooler.

Anyhoo... part of the entertainment began when Mrs. Racer whipped out Trivial Pursuit.

Speed INSTANTLY started trash texting me from across the table, telling me I was, as they say, Going Down. That part of the evening came after everyone else went home, but I digress. Heh heh...

The teams were evenly matched - Speed, Jessica and Cara versus me, RevDev and Mrs. Racer. Mrs. Racer, a wee bit tipsy, excused herself shortly after the game began, leaving me and RevDev to fend for ourselves.

Long story short, RevDev and I still won. DECISIVELY. And Speed's still bitter, so he's calling for a rematch. Here's the conflict I'm dealing with -

The rematch is not just a Trivial Pursuit game rematch.
It's a STAR WARS TRIVIAL PURSUIT GAME rematch.

Well played, Racers. Well played.

So is my desire to keep my borderline geek status in the closet greater than my desire to rip my competitor's still-beating heart out with a rusty spoon (laughing maniacally) and show it to him before I tear it into tiny bits?

We'll find out Saturday. BRING IT ON.

WWPKD?

It's important to me that the people who read my blog feel that they know the true me. And for the most part, I'd say you do. I am candid. I am blunt. I am transparent. The person you know as PK is, for the most part, me.

But I'm also Sarah. Nonconfrontational Drama Queen (a contradiction in terms, perhaps) Sarah. Neurotic and frazzled, indecisive and spineless Sarah. And the Inner Circle knows that sometimes, PK is more who I wish I was than who I actually am.

The things I write about really do happen to me, and sometimes Bite your tongue and don't rock the boat Sarah reacts and sometimes Fuck to the yeah! Rock this bitch! PK reacts. Sometimes I will find myself in a situation and literally stop and ask myself, "What Would Penny Karma Do?"

So, just to highlight the difference between Penny and Sarah, I did the little experiment Yorkie recently featured in her Den Of Iniquity. You're supposed to go to Google Search, enter your first name followed by the word NEEDS, and blog the top ten results you get. Are Penny's needs different from Sarah's needs? Let's find out...

Sarah Needs:

1. A Cold Shower

2. Self-Esteem

3. More Love

4. Sponsors To Compete In Deaf Olympics

5. A Band

6. To Lean On Her Man

7. To Hand Him One Of Those Weapons That Went Off Without Warning

8. To Write Joe Jonas

9. To Read Mark Twain

And my personal favorite:

10. Mistress Sarah Needs Deprived, Weak Men.



Conversely, here's what Penny needs...

Penny needs to Switch Meds.

Penny needs A Bra.

Penny needs A Home.

Penny needs A Lovely Tattoo.

The DIS-Honorable Judge Penny needs to revisit the word of God.

Penny needs A Makeover.

Penny needs A Disappearing Act.

Penny needs to go away and suck on Salma Hayek's chichis, because that's what she really wants in life.

Penny needs to be an indoor only cat without any small children.

Penny needs a Valium.


I'm thinking I'd rather hang out with Penny than Sarah.
Your thoughts?

Email from my son.

My kids each have their own email addresses, and occasionally I send them little notes so I can watch their excitement when they see a (1) in their Inbox. Here's an exchange between me and Tito:


From: Mom
Subject: I Love You
To: Tito
Date: Saturday, February 21, 2009, 7:53 PM


I love you, my sweet boy!

Love, Mommy


From: Tito
Subject: Re: I Love You
To: Mom
Date: Saturday, February 21, 2009, 7:55 PM


mom you mak me unbrst



I asked Tito what Un-Burst meant, and he said,

"NO, Mom. You make me UNBARRASSED."


Get used to it, kid.



ETA: I'm saving this pic for your first date.

Why I love Rip.

Let it be known to the world that I absolutely adore Rip. In the short time I've known him, he has become one of the dearest friends I have. He'll tell me straight out when he thinks I'm being an asshole, he'll listen when I tell him straight out that he's being an asshole, and we both know that we mean Asshole as a term of endearment.

The following is but a brief sampling of why Rip rocks.


Rip gives me interesting stuff to do.

At 3:30 on a Tuesday afternoon, I was sitting on my bed watching Dr. Phil. Suddenly I heard Rosemary Clooney singing Come On A' My House, which meant that Rip was calling me from wherever he was, I couldn't remember.

Hey, baby! Where are you?

Hey, PK! I'm in Minnesota, and I'm about to get on the plane for Philadelphia. I have a huuuuuuge favor to ask of you. And if you can't do it, it's totally fine, but if you can it would really be helping me out.

Ok, sure, what do you need?

Skater has to pay this ticket today or there's going to be a warrant out on him. He might have already paid it, I don't know, but I doubt it. He's not answering his phone.

Well, how much is it?

It's $75ish, I think.

Dude, we don't get paid until Thursday. I don't think I have $75 in the bank right now.

We're the kind of friends that I can tell him I have no money.

Ok, how about this - use your key, go over to my house, get my checkbook and go over to the Dillydale Police Station and settle up. Thank you SO MUCH, you are the BEST.

I'm on it!

I got to feel like I was entrusted with a super secret mission that only a highly trained specialist can handle (or someone with a key to his house, at least), and thusly, an afternoon spend watching Dr. Phil's hillbilly colloquialisms masked as insightful psychological advice was averted.

Both Rip's secretary and the woman at the police station gave me major kudos for being a stellar friend and dropping everything to keep Rip's son out of jail. Meh, it's not like it was my money or anything. And I think I may even have spelled Rip's last name wrong when I signed the check.

Shit, the way I saw it, I was saving myself from having to bail Skater out of jail two days later, which I wouldn't have minded doing anyway, but that gorgeous boy would be somebody's Jenny after about thirty seconds.


Rip gives me plenty of opportunities to miss him.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, ergo, I've grown to be quite fond of Rip. The man travels more than anyone I know. I think that in the time that I've known him, he's spent more time away than at home. He also lets me feel useful when he calls and asks for a ride to the airport.

I cherish the quality travel time spent with Rip in the Odyssexy, when he begs me to drive faster and pass the car in front of me and I reply by telling him to shut the fuck up or he's gonna find out if he can run faster than I can drive.


Rip takes me shopping... to buy gifts for other women.

Due to Rip's travel schedule and the demands placed upon him by his Harem of co-dependent women (I'm more of an honorary emeritus member of the harem, but that's really nobody's business), Rip and I don't actually go "Out" very often. We're usually either at his house or my house.

We're more Hang-Out than Go-Out friends, but occasionally we are seen in public together. Once we went to a hockey game when Buffy had tickets she couldn't use (which was an absolute BLAST), and last week he needed to go to the mall to buy a very specific Valentine's Day gift for one of his women.

An $18.50 box of eight Godiva truffles.

There was a bit of a line at Godiva, and when we got to the cashier, I saw a sign detailing Godiva's Return Policy. I thought it was kinda funny that Godiva even had a return policy. Who's gonna return chocolate? And you'd think that most people would have received it as a gift, so it's not like they'd have a receipt. Anyway, they'll give you different chocolate if you're not fully satisfied, or something.

The cashier was a kinda preppy Goth looking high school chick. I simply HAD to find out if they had issues with people returning chocolate.

So, what, can people return an entire box of candy with one bite taken out of each truffle and ask for a replacement?? Seriously? Where does it end?

Rip jokingly told the cashier that he can never take me anywhere. She laughed.

You can't take me anywhere? You NEVER take me anywhere! In fact, we're here right now shopping for another girl, thankyouverymuch!

The cashier looked at both of us like she was trying to figure out just exactly what Rip's and my relationship IS (heh, good luck). Then I told her that I really shouldn't be complaining since my husband was at home with my kids. And we all busted up laughing.


Rip always has beer.

And if he doesn't, he'll take me out in his Big Ass Truck to get beer. And he doesn't make me feel like an Alkie for drinking a beer before noon.


Rip doesn't take it easy on me when we play darts.

Even when he makes it interesting by spotting me several points, he'll still shut me down and remind me what a sucktastic dart player I am. But he lets me drink enough beer that I really don't even fuckin care.


Rip always expresses sweet, humble gratitude for the things I do for him.

Whether it's Pot Roast and Porn Delivery or picking up creamer at the grocery store, I never, ever feel unappreciated. Not for a single minute since I've known him. And I know he'd do anything for me, any hour of the day or night, as I would for him.


Rip has a unique gift for saying the most thoughtful, encouraging things at the perfect times.

I was telling him a story about a recent Facebook reunion that almost didn't happen because I was afraid this guy wasn't going to remember who I was, and Rip said,

"You thought he wouldn't remember you??? Sarah, you are the single most unforgettable person I've ever met."

Gotta say, I choked up a bit.


Rip lets me grope his son.

That's my reward for shuttling Skater around. Totally worth it.


Rip lets me give him shit on my blog.

Seriously, though - Rip is one of a very few people in my entire life (other than my husband) who has made me feel that I'm getting back from a relationship as much as I put in, and more. Rip is an absolute gem.

So glad I met ya, G9. :)

Today I kinda knew what I would be blogging about. But not really.

It's a bunch of randomness, kinda, but here ya go.

Yesterday I got my swag from the Peoples Front of Judea (aka The Ben Folds Fan Club). Check it out! I'm particularly amused by the Bitches Ain't Shit bumper sticker, but R won't let me put it on the Odyssexy.

It also came with an autographed copy of Stems and Seeds, which contains the fake versions of the songs they "accidentally" leaked when their latest CD came out. They played several of the fake songs at the concert and some of them were better than the songs they actually released on Way To Normal, so it was cool that they put them together on a CD. I LOVE it. Ben is a sexy man.



Moving on, yesterday I was cleaning the kitchen and I found Tito's pile of Valentines received from his classmates. This one was on the top of the pile.



Then I remembered there's a boy in his class named SEAN. If you look closely, you can tell that the X is really an A, tilted slightly to the right, and the N is hard to see over the red.



It's on my bulletin board right next to the Lubaba invitation. I save stuff. I form sentimental attachments to objects.
I'm sure there are psychological implications.


To continue, Speed Racer commented yesterday how much fun it is to hear the phone ring, answer (in his absolutely charming Kentucky accent), "Well, hello, beautiful..." and then hear an unfiltered rant about my Drama O' The Day. It's probably a good idea, when you see that PK is calling you, to answer, say a quick Hello and immediately pull the phone away from your face.

I think another fun thing about being in the PK Inner Posse is when I call you up and ask you an absolutely ridiculous question.

Here's what I imagine this actual conversation was like from Speed Racer's perspective:

(Insert my signature Lenny Kravitz - LADY ringtone)

Him: Well, hello, beautiful!

Me: Is my glass dildo at your house?

Him: Uh, no...

Me: Ya sure? Cuz I can't find it.

Him: Is it an emergency? What do you need it for?

Me: I want to club a baby seal to death with it. What the fuck do you think I need it for?

Him: Well, where was the last place you had it?

Me: At the 7-11 at Manchester and Ballas. In my COOTER, duh!

Him: Why would it be at my house??

Me: You said you wanted to get one for your wife, and I have one, so it occurred to me to lend it to you to see if she liked it, but I guess I thought better of it and kept that idea to myself.

Him: No, you mentioned that you had one, but you didn't say anything about letting us borrow it. And, as a side note... Ewwwwww!!

Me: Oh, come on, we're all friends here. And it's glass; you can wash it. And if you run it under warm water... dude...

Him: Well, in answer to your question, NO, it's not here.

Me: Shit. Then I don't know where it is.


(Update: I found it in the aptly named "Fun Drawer." I'll post a pic for you so you can get a sense of how easy it is for something to get lost in there.)


You can also get in on the PK Picture Text "Inner Posse" (which isn't the punch line to "Where's PK's Glass Dildo", and I know you were thinkin' it). Gentle Evil Baritone, Trillian and KK (to name a few) trust me with their digits so they get funny pictures and strange questions from me every once in a while. I think yesterday's question was, "Do other people want to punch Vickie Howell in the face, or is it just me?"

For the Muggles, Vickie Howell is the host of Knitty Gritty, and she has her own line of yarn.



Which she uses to make HORRIBLE things.



I'm sure she's a nice person, but seriously... there's no excuse for Fun Fur Fringed Cuffs. How would you eat soup?


In slightly less disturbing news, after my Panic Attack, I've been thinking about switching my meds from Wellbutrin to something designed to treat Anxiety rather than Depression. I truly think my greater struggle is with Anxiety. I take the occasional Xanax, and I don't want to start taking them every day because I save them for the REALLY shitty days when I just want to go to sleep and have it be tomorrow.

So this morning I saw this story. CLICK HERE FOR VIDEO.

STAMFORD, Conn. (AP) — The frantic owner of a 200-pound chimpanzee that went berserk in Connecticut pleaded with police over the phone to help her stop the animal from mauling her friend, begging them to "Hurry, please! He ripped her face off."

Police in Stamford released 911 tapes of Sandra Herold's desperate call to police Monday as her 15-year-old chimp, Travis, was attacking 55-year-old Charla Nash.

The chimp can be heard grunting at times on the tape, as Herold cries, "He's killing my friend!"

The dispatcher says, "Who's killing your friend?"

Herold replies, "My chimpanzee! He ripped her apart! Shoot him, shoot him!"

After police arrive, one officer radios back: "There's a man down. He doesn't look good," he says, referring to the disfigured Nash. "We've got to get this guy out of here. He's got no face."

The chimp attacked Nash as Herold, 70, frantically stabbed her beloved pet with a butcher knife and pounded him with a shovel.

"He looked at me like, 'Mom, what did you do?'" Herold told NBC's "Today Show" in an interview aired Wednesday. "It was horrific what happened and I had to do what I had to do, but still, I'll miss him for the rest of my life."

Nash remained was in critical condition early Wednesday with major injuries to her face and hands.

Police said they are looking into the possibility of criminal charges. A pet owner can be held criminally responsible if he or she knew or should have known that an animal was a danger to others.


(NOTE FROM PK: Here's the freaky part.)


Police said that the chimp was agitated earlier Monday and that Herold had given him the anti-anxiety drug Xanax in some tea. Police said the drug had not been prescribed for the 14-year-old chimp.

Investigators said they were also told that Travis had Lyme disease, a tick-borne illness with flu-like symptoms that can lead to arthritis and meningitis in humans.

"Maybe from the medications he was out of sorts," Stamford police Capt. Richard Conklin said.

Nash had gone to Herold's home in Stamford on Monday to help her coax the chimp back into the house after he got out, police said. After the animal lunged at Nash when she got out of her car, Herold ran inside to call 911 and returned with a knife.

After the initial attack, Travis ran away and started roaming Herold's property until police arrived, setting up security so medics could reach the critically injured woman, Conklin said.

But the chimpanzee returned and went after several of the officers, who retreated into their cars, Conklin said. An officer shot Travis several times after the animal opened the door to his cruiser and started to get in.

The wounded chimpanzee fled into the house and retreated to his living quarters, where he died.

When he was younger, Travis starred in TV commercials for Old Navy and Coca-Cola, made an appearance on the "Maury Povich Show" and took part in a television pilot, according to a 2003 story in The Advocate newspaper of Stamford.

Did you catch that??

The monkey who was ripping a woman's face off had been given XANAX.

HOLY SHIT.

I think I'll try cutting back on caffeine instead.

Some days I wake up knowing exactly what I'm going to blog about.

And some days, I don't.

Today was a Don't day.

I may or may not have anything to actually do on a Don't day. Often I find myself with a heightened sense of awareness, making mental notes of everything that happens so that I can add an enormous amount of detail and make an otherwise completely lame experience into something interesting for you kids to read.

Today I had an appointment with my eye doctor. Let's back up a bit... A few weeks ago I went online to re-order my contacts. After placing my order (and throwing out my last pair of Acuvue Oasys - I might add), I got a voicemail from 1-800-Contacts saying that there was a problem with my order. Meh, I figured, probably just declined my credit card or something. I'll just try later.

Turned out my prescription was expired. Fuck. So I called to find out when I could get in to see the doctor. Eleven days. Fine. I'll have to wear my glasses until then, and I don't really like to wear them, but whatever.

Today was my appointment.

I got there a bit early and found a rock star parking spot. I got up to the office (which faintly reeks of that stale pee smell in nursing homes) and started filling out the paperwork, and the receptionist asked if all my insurance information was the same.

Um, yeah, I think so...

So a few minutes later the receptionist calls me over and says that she couldn't find me at the VisionPlanIThoughtIHad database. Huh... maybe it did change, let me call my Mom. Mom knows a bit about the benefits R gets through his job because, until recently, she was a Benefits Director for the whole stinkin Evil Empire where R works.

Woman knows her shit.

Anyway, I get Mom on the horn and find out that we actually have a new vision plan provider. Super, that solves that, right?

(Is this your first time reading this blog? Does my life EVER work out that easily? NO. And you bitches love it, and I love you for loving it.)

So the receptionist calls me over again and says that according to NewVisionPlanI'veNeverFuckingHeardOfUntilTwoSecondsAgo I'm not ELIGIBLE for an exam.

'Scuse me?

It says here that you're eligible for either contacts OR new glasses, but the exam isn't covered.

I can get contacts or glasses, both of which require an exam, but I can't get the exam? All right, lemme just ask you - does that make sense to YOU?

Well, my advice would be to call NewVisionPlanI'veNeverFuckingHeardOfUntilTwoSecondsAgo and find out what the deal is.

Ummm, ok. Guess I'll call back and reschedule, then. Thanks anyway...

So I went out to the parking lot and called from the Odyssexy.

Took me 10 minutes to talk to a person, but when I did, the dude was helpful and patient as I vented and tried not to curse (too much) as I explained that ALL I FUCKING WANTED WAS FOR MY DOCTOR TO SIGN OFF ON MY CURRENT PRESCRIPTION, FOR FUCK'S SAKE. I wasn't having any issues with my contacts, as far as I'm concerned just tell him to tell 1-800-Contacts we're cool, and I'll be on my merry fucking way.

Turns out, the doctor's office looked me up under the SECOND PAIR benefit, which assumes you've already HAD the exam. I'm eligible for the exam under the normal benefit section. Receptionist just clicked the wrong thing. Genius.

Well, that solves that, then, right?

Just whose blog do you think this IS?

So I call back - from the parking lot, mind you - to the doctor's office where I just was, where they hadn't even called me into a room yet, where I'd arrived early just to allow for bullshit like this - to make an appointment.

Can you come in on the 26th?

I was just there a second ago - I have to wait NINE DAYS to get back in?

Are you fucking kidding me?? I was literally JUST there in the waiting room, taking pictures of the No Cell Phones sign with my cell phone camera.



And they couldn't squeeze me back in. FOR MY OWN APPOINTMENT.

Ok, yeah, I accept the part where I should have done my own research and known what my benefits were, but meet me halfway, people!!

I should be happy that this doctor even takes NewVisionPlanI'veNeverFuckingHeardOfUntilTwoSecondsAgo. I suppose that would have fucked up my day even worse. I could have to find a new doctor whose receptionists could be equally if not more incompetent. It's a gamble I'm not in the mood to take.

And I woke up thinking I'd have nothing to report today.


And in an amusing follow-up -
My Valentine's Day throat culture came up positive for STREP.
AGAIN.

Pie's Party. . . and My Subsequent Panic Attack.

On February 10th, my son Ry the Pie turned 7. If you'd like (or if you never have, I'd encourage you to), please read The Story Of The Pie to familiarize yourself with just exactly what a miracle it is that he's with us.

Anyway, so to top last year's Gross-Out party theme, this year Pie's birthday theme was Knights. The invitation (which we hand-delivered to each guest's house) went something like this, in Vivaldi font on antique parchment paper, complete with the official family crest at the top:

By order of the Fellowship of the Dining Room Table
Your presence is requested
At the Feast of Celebration
In honor of the Natal Day of
Sir Pie Karma

Saturday, February 7th
in the year of our Lord, Two Thousand and Nine
at two o'clock in the afternoon
at the Karma Ancestral Estate

Please park trusty steeds outside the castle walls.
Dragons will be strictly forbidden.
Armour optional.

Respond to Lady Penny Karma

The guest list included Tito, Anti-Stella's boys, Pie's friend John, and a boy from Pie's class whom I'd never met before. We'll call that one Junior Douchebag. That little jerk won't be invited back.

R and I put so much time into planning this party. It was very much a collaborative effort, and we had a fantastic time coming up with creative ideas for the theme. Behold.

R built a castle facade out of MegaBlocks.

These are Excalibur Cupcakes. Really, they're the pumpkin muffins from the Hungry Girl cookbook (which I highly recommend). Somehow, my cupcakes don't suck. Just my cakes. Weird.

I was SO proud of this. I'm not an artist by any means, but I made this dragon for a variation of Pin the Tail on the Donkey that we called Dragonslayer. The swords were the equivalent of donkey tails, and Sir Cooper won the coveted title of Dragonslayer.

I also created a Quest for the guests. It was a treasure hunt with clever, rhyming clues which led them throughout the house and ultimately to a treasure chest full of plastic gold coins.

Oh, speaking of gold coins, R and I thought a great party favor would be those chocolate coins, so we went to Chocolate Chocolate Chocolate and found them available in packs of 8 for $2.95.

So I told them just exactly where they could kiss me.

Unphased and even more determined, I went to Hobby Lobby, got some of those chocolate things that you melt in the microwave and pour into various molds, yielding a chocolate version of the whatever you want. I found one that could pass for a coin, so R and I made our own gold coins for a fraction of what Chocolate x 3 would have cost us.

About halfway through, I realized I should just wrap the huge chocolate chip-looking things in the gold paper rather than melt them and pour the melted chocolate into a mold that basically looks the same as the chip did before we melted it, but whatever.



Before is on the left, After is on the right. I guess the melting process makes it shinier and eliminates the embarrassing nipple erection. Anyway, here's what we ended up with -



The party started out great. When each boy arrived, I directed them to the dining room table where I had crowns, glue sticks, and plastic jewels so they could decorate their own crowns. Clever, right? Until the jewels didn't stay on very well and some of the kids got a bit frustrated.



No problem, let's eat! We poured grape juice into fancy goblets, shouted HUZZAH, and served the Excalibur cupcakes.

Unfortunately, we were done with all of the cool games I'd planned and still had 40 minutes before parents came to get their kids. My backup plan, consistent with the theme, was to put on The Princess Bride for the kids. And I think if this one particular kid, Junior Douchebag, hadn't been there, it would have been good enough, but this kid got bored and was quite vocal about it.

Junior Douchebag began exploring my house. Including my bar globe. SO not cool.



Eventually he found the stash of foam swords we had set aside to give each guest as a lovely parting gift. And then all hell broke loose.

Before I knew it, all six boys were in my front yard beating each other (or, more accurately, Junior Douchebag was beating everyone else) with the foam swords I'd found at the Dollar Store. And we all know the quality of Dollar Store Anything...



So, long story short, the swords broke, rendering me completely out of ideas. And there was a kid sitting on my front porch crying when his dad came to pick him up. And I felt HORRIBLE. Pit-of-my-stomach sick, horrible.

I've waited this long to write about the party debacle because I'm still suffering from continued retro-stress. I've retro-stressed about this party so much it's even caused me to retro-stress about other stuff that's in the past that I can't do anything about. Get this - I woke up at 1:30 Saturday morning freaking out because I was afraid I had forgotten to make Tito's lunch for him to take to school the day before.

I still can't believe how much anxiety this caused me. I've been very diligently taking my meds. It's completely ridiculous. I'm embarrassed. It was over and there was absolutely no reason in the world for me to be worrying about it at that time, but there I was, in the middle of the night, heart pounding, thoughts racing, retro-stressing. It was so bad that I almost woke Tito up to ask him if I had remembered to give him his school lunch, but I couldn't get myself out of bed.

My anxiety, upon reflection, had two root elements. I worried primarily about Tito panicking and not knowing what to do. I've told the kids not to charge food in the cafeteria without prior authorization because years ago, Beeb honestly believed that all the food was free... until we got the bill... and I was really upset. I was afraid he would think I'd be angry if he charged his lunch and would choose to go hungry. I wouldn't be mad at him, of course, I'd be mad at myself for flaking out and not packing a lunch for him.

And of course there's the other part of me that worries about what the teacher must think of me. Tito's already told her that I drink and drive almost every day. I was afraid he would tearfully tell the teacher that Mommy would be SO MAD if he charged a lunch. I hated the thought of the teacher trying to comfort my hysterical little boy by telling him that sometimes mommies make mistakes.

Oh, my children are well aware that mommies make mistakes. One morning when I was making Pie's lunch, I opened his lunchbox and found two slices of bread apparently left from yesterday's lunch, immaculate except for a single bite mark in each slice. I asked why he only ate the turkey part, and he said,

"You didn't PUT any turkey in it. You gave me A BREAD SANDWICH."

I'm pretty sure I'll never live that one down. The kids still give me shit about it.

Anyway, Saturday morning when Tito came into our bedroom, I asked him if I remembered to send his lunch on Friday. I was so relieved when he said, Yes, you did remember. But I couldn't remember myself actually in the process of making it.

You know how when you do the same thing every day you don't really remember any day as being any different from any other? That must be what happened to me. I couldn't remember, and, for my own peace of mind, I desperately needed to, but I just couldn't recreate the event in my mind. And I had a total, full-on, middle-of-the-night panic attack over it. And it was like being awake in a nightmare.

Hopefully I won't have anything to stress me out for a little bit. Our next major event is our Spring Break Road Trip to San Antonio, which means I don't have to spend Easter with the InLaws. Come to think of it, I'm pretty sure we're off the InLaw hook until Mother's Day. I missed it last year with Strep Throat, as you may recall.

Got my fingers crossed for a kidney infection.

I'm thinking this one's my favorite.

Ah, there is NOTHING like Nirvana when you need to burn some pent-up angst.

Sniff sniff...

What's that smell?

I can't tell if it's Teen Spirit... or the smell of charred dignity.

Oh, I got my huge slab o' meat. And then he took me to dinner.

After a leisurely Valentine's Day spent watching Mizzou cream the Cornhuskers, R took me to...



We kinda debated whether or not to even go out, since we were both feeling kinda icky from this stupid cold/flu-ey thing that's going around. R and I have both had it, off and on, in various incarnations for the last few weeks. But in the end we both decided we wanted to get out of the house and steep ourselves in the delicious aroma of the Kabob Palace.

The first thing they brought out was the bread and dip. I'm not a very adventurous eater, typically, but I tried it.

DILL. An assload of DILL.



I ordered the marinated beef tenderloin. IT WAS INCREDIBLE. So tender you didn't have to chew it.



Other than my minor disappointment in the fact that it didn't actually come with the skewer still in it so I couldn't take a completely tasteless picture of me deep throating a meat stick for your amusement, it was an absolutely stellar dinner.

And a lot of girls would be satisfied with just a stellar Valentine's Day dinner, right? But my man wasn't done with me yet. No, no.

I got jewelry. PERSONALIZED, even.



My man took me to Urgent Care for a throat culture.
I wish I had thought to snap a pic of me deep throating the swab.


You know it's a great date when you see one of these -



Dinner: $40
Co-Pay: $60
Prescriptions: $55

So R did drop close to two bills on me after all. Maybe he was a bit jealous that Rip got to take me to my mammogram (and got me drunk afterwards), and didn't want to be outdone.




PK Dating Tip: When a guy drops major coin on you, reward him by putting your very sexiest jammies on.




We watched Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist - which I was hoping would be funnier - on our Big Ass TV (and damn the Racers for giving me Big Ass TV Envy), and were in bed, with a box of Kleenex between us, at 10:30.

Life is sweet. :)

Yo, Fat Girl! C'mere, are ya ticklish?

Princeton, God love him, fucked up.

Buffy called me yesterday to ask if I'd heard what a jackass her son is. Of course I hadn't. I hear nothing but praises of the boy.
He's perfect.

Still, he's a GUY. And even with thirty years' experience, you guys don't understand us women. Complex creatures, we are. Princeton's still learning this. We forgive him.

Anyway, here's what went down, according to Buffy. Beeb's friend Prissy (who happens to be the one who originally asked Princeton if he liked Beeb, all the way back in September) asked Princeton why he and Beebie don't "act like boyfriend and girlfriend", meaning holding hands and arms around each other and whatever else. Beeb and Princeton don't even eat lunch together - they have 6 of 7 classes together, so they each eat with the friends they haven't seen all day.

Princeton, instead of telling Prissy it was none of her goddamn bidniss, said something like "well, I really think of Beebie as my best friend more than a girlfriend... and I don't think we're ready for the holding hands stuff..."

Sweet, right? And honest, obviously? He's a great kid.

So when Princeton told Buffy this story she flipped out on him a bit, by her own admission. To me, it's really not that big a deal, I wouldn't have gone off on him at all, but I understand why Buffy was upset with him. It didn't occur to the boy that GIRLS TALK, and in all likelihood that was going to get back to Beebie as "Princeton says you're not his girlfriend."

Girls are bitches. Princeton needs to learn this.

Buffy's aware of the Susie/Sally situation also, and her fear was that this information would get to Beebie through one of those little twats. So I arranged my lunch plans in order to be home when Beeb got there, just in case she'd had a bad day. Occasionally I get this Parenting shit right.

Beeb came home at the regular time, and seemed like she does every other day. I asked her how her day went, and she said Good. I asked how Princeton was. She said Good.

So I told her that I had spoken to Buffy, and I spun the whole story in a way that made Beeb see that what Princeton did was answer a question honestly, and with the absolute best answer he could possibly have given. I explained how great it was to have a boyfriend who thinks of you as his best friend, and who isn't going to do something he doesn't feel right about just because everybody else in the whole 6th grade thinks it's what you're supposed to do with your girlfriend.

Not to mention what a relief that is for the Moms to hear.

But isn't he classy? And Buffy's totally got Beeb's back. Buffy adores Beeb. She tells me all the time how cute and smart and funny and sweet she is and how great it is that she and Princeton get along so well. She is NOT gonna let Princeton fuck it up.

I love that.

Throwin' Y'all A Bone.

I'm still compiling the post about Pie's birthday party last weekend, but I figured you might be hungry for a lil fresh Brilliance, so here ya go.

Pie likes to write stories. Here are a couple of my favorites:

The Bunny and The Duck

Once there was a bunny and a duck.

"Want to play?" said the duck.

"Ok!" said the bunny.

"Let's swim in the pond," said the duck.

"I can't," said the bunny.

"Yes, you can," said the duck, "Just try."

And then the bunny fell in the pond.

------- The End. -------


The Bird and The Ant

"I want to fly," said an ant.

"I will help you," said a bird.

"Ok!" said the ant.

So the bird ate the ant.

------- The End. -------


Classic, right? I fuckin died over that Ant one.


So I haven't been up to much, really. R was home most of last week and two days of this week. The kids have a half-day at school tomorrow so we're planning a family Valentine party for Friday night and getting the heart-shaped pizzas from Papa Murphy's.

I'm hoping that R's going to take me to Kabob Palace for Valentine's Day.

Don't give me flowers or candy, give me meat on a stick. I'm easy.

Still More Facebook Fun

R's on Facebook now too.

Interesting Facebook reunions include:

My sixth grade teacher, who posted some embarrassing pictures which I will NOT share here. The sorority one was funny and I figured I'd be tough to find behind all the Aqua Net. This one only has like ten kids in it. You'd know me. Forget it, bitches.

My roommate from freshman year at college, my roommate from sophomore year, two of my roommates from junior year and one from senior year.

A boy I had a crush on for years and always wondered about.

The guy with whom I kinda cheated on one of my old boyfriends.

Two of the few friends I had in San Antonio. One's now in Chicago and the other's in Australia. I had forgotten how much I missed them.

Beeb's Godmother, who knew me when I met R and was in my wedding. She was the first person I called when I found out I was having Beeb. I think I even told her before I told R.

My very first "real" boyfriend (whom I'll call Blaine), who not only broke my heart, but, more importantly, set a pathetically low standard for every relationship I've had since, besides R and a couple of rare exceptions. Blaine has since very humbly apologized to me, I've forgiven him and it's fine now, but seriously, that dude messed me up pretty bad, and seeing him on there kinda stirred some major shit up in my head.

Suffice it to say, my abandonment issues are rooted in Wichita with Blaine. People who say they love you could, at any moment, without warning, decide that (through no fault of your own) they just don't anymore, and suddenly treat you like they never loved you at all.

This is why I need so much reassurance in relationships, particularly if your actions (intentionally or not) might have spoken to me in a way that makes me wonder if you care. Or maybe you didn't even do anything. It doesn't really matter; sometimes I react to things that aren't really happening. I might need you to occasionally remind me that we're ok. Does that make me high-maintenance? It's not like I want you to buy me shit or anything. Just words, really. That's all I want.

You love me? Ya sure? Cuz I'm just gonna warn you, I do stupid shit all the time and I'm not always fun to be around and I've been known to freak out about nothing and sometimes I'm not very lovable. For example, would you still love me if I kicked you in the shins like this over and over?

You would? Really? Wow, dude. You're fuckin crazy. I don't know if I'm comfortable with that.

I shouldn't require such reassurance, and I certainly don't want to, but I just do. That's who This Girl is. Some people can deal with it and some people would prefer not to, but those who can are rewarded with the Very Best of Me. I like to believe it's worth the effort, but I can't personally guarantee that. It's not like I can give you your investment back or anything. Maybe I give you store credit, though. Or a lighter sentence considering time served.

Blaine is also why I feel like I'm constantly competing. There's always someone better than you out there, just waiting for your boyfriend to meet her. I was a virgin and wanted to remain one. Blaine dumped me for a girl who was a total slut. Guess how I competed with her.

What a bizarre segue into my next story... Free Grand Slam Day.

R and I took Tito to the Denny's in Fenton (stellar people-watching) after the other two kids left for school. We got there at about 9, waited about 40 minutes to be seated, and got a table right by the front door. The door opened every 30 seconds and it was 11 degrees outside, so we had to eat with our coats on. Tito was very happy with his pancakes, but his coat got a bit sticky.

It was so crowded, this woman in the grey coat sat on my head. Literally. It surprised me more than it hurt. She was very sorry. I thought it was hilarious.



But no big deal, I was just happy we didn't run into The World's Biggest Cheapasses - The Aldis - there. They probably camped out the night before.

Oh, get this - they're getting a puppy named...

Ready?






Chantal.




That's Shon-TALL.

I don't know whether to laugh or puke.

We figure they got a new puppy because they're going to have to put their older dog Maggie down and want to soften the blow. When they put their greyhound Bailey down, they told Aldigirl that Bailey went to live on a farm. I'm pretty sure Aldigirl still believes it. She's 11.

The stories I owe you.

In no particular order.

I still have several posts that are loosely constructed in my head, waiting to be polished up and submitted for your approval, and they're coming. Tomorrow is Pie's birthday party and I still haven't written about Tito's birthday party (which was on January 10th), and it's kinda appropriate for the setup of my topic for today.

Tito's birthday party, I'm happy to announce, was 100% Lubaba-free. It was held at this little place that's basically a bunch of wooden train tables and trains for kids to play with to their heart's content. Tito is a train freak.

The best part of the party was when an actual train went by, right outside the window. The kids went completely nuts.

Anyway, I bring up this train thing because, like Tito, my dad is a train fanatic. I remember being a little kid and accompanying him to trainyards for hours. As an adult, looking at some of the places we actually parked the metallic green Plymouth (sans air conditioning) and watched trains all day, I'm surprised we didn't get shot, or arrested for trespassing.

One time, in Middleofnowhere, Texas, I saw a sign behind a barbed wire fence that said, in green spray paint, TRANSPASSERS WILL BE SHOOT. I remember that every time I hear the word trespass. I giggle during the Our Father at church. Just wanted to throw that in there cuz I think it's funny.

But I Digress...

My dad has a good friend named Steve. I don't know if they know each other from seminary or not, but anyway, they're both Episcopalian ministers, retired now. Steve was moved around a lot to different churches, and it always seemed that he was at a church where we knew people. He was in Cape Girardeau, and the guy I dated for years was a member of Steve's church. At another point he was the minister at my grandmother's church in Ohio. And now, he lives about 2 minutes from my house.

I've known the guy my whole life, and he, like my dad and my son, is a train enthusiast. He and my dad once spent the entire day riding Metrolink from one end to the other. I know it's not a train, but it's cooler than a train, and taking the Amtrak into downtown takes forever and it's really not that exciting. A few years ago Steve worked at the Transportation Museum. Incidentally, my dad did part of the dedication ceremony when it opened, being both a minister and a big fan of steam engines and stuff. Steve was in Cape at that time, I think.

Anyway, sometime in September, Steve went in for a routine physical and found he had an elevated PSA.

They told him, "It's probably nothing."

They went in and found advanced cancer. Again, this was September. So when my dad called Steve a couple of weeks ago to tell him his own news, Steve's wife told my dad that they removed Steve's prostate, but it was too late. Steve's cancer had spread to the bone, and now, there's nothing more they can do. He is basically waiting to die.

Six months ago, it was nothing.

I don't ever, EVER, want to hear the words "It's probably nothing" again. This is exactly why no one can tell me not to worry. Shit like this happens. Nothing becomes SOMETHING.

I took the news about Steve really hard. I sobbed when my mom told me Steve wanted Tito to have all of his train collection. I'm sad for Steve, his wife, his son, my dad, and particularly my mom, the master under whose tutelage I perfected all of my Mad Worrying Skillz.

But the latest on my dad is encouraging. They don't think it's spread, and they're going to do the thing where they implant the radiation seeds (if you don't want the visual of my dad with his feet in the stirrups, you really don't want to know), which is done as outpatient surgery, on March 4th. My mom recently retired (can't remember if I mentioned that, but the timing of it is kinda miraculous) so she'll be able to take Dad to all of his appointments.

Still haven't told the kids, and I know many may disagree, but I think I handled it the right way.

Oh, shit, I forgot - a couple of days ago Pie came home from school and told me he'd watched a Charlie Brown movie at school. I asked him which one, thinking I'd seen them all, and he said it was called Why, Charlie Brown? Why??

It's about Linus befriending a little girl who has cancer.

I still owe you guys some stories...

like my Free Grand Slam experience, and some interesting Facebook reunions, me pulling a total PK at Pie's tennis class, Tito's recent killing spree, and an update on my dad. Don't worry, I'll get to all of that shit.

But first, I have to vent a bit about some ridiculous middle school bullshit in which my Beebie has found herself entwined.

Beebie has a new friend named Dana. Beeb spent the night at Dana's last weekend, and by all accounts, Dana is a nice girl from a nice family.

Beebie came home from school yesterday and casually mentioned that she and Dana had been to the counselor's office that day.

What for? I asked.

Susie and Sally.

What, did they do something recently?

No, not really.

Then what did you go there for?

Well, Dana and I decided that we should tell on them. Because what they're doing is HARASSMENT.

Did they threaten you or anything like that?

No. But Sally gives me these evil glares all the time, and that's NONVERBAL HARASSMENT.

Whaaaa?

And the counselor said if Susie and Sally didn't stop, they'd get IN SCHOOL SUSPENSION.


(Are you fucking kidding me??)


Apparently Dana and Beebie decided today was the day that they needed to tell the school counselor about the snotty remarks Susie Rottencrotch and Sally McSnotpants have made about Beebie practically every day since the beginning of the school year.

I thought it was interesting that Beebie didn't mention to ME that she was planning to go to the counselor with this crap, because she knows I'd have told her to suck it up and deal. Life doesn't get any easier.

I was HELLA pissed. So what did I do? I called the counselor to ask, politely, exactly what the FUCK is the definition of harassment that we're dealing with here, please.

Here's what I found out. At the beginning of the school year, the counselor led an assembly with the entire 6th grade and spelled out exactly what harassment is. It's pretty much anything that bothers another person. And she mentioned Nonverbal Harassment specifically, too. It's the eye rolls, the dirty looks, all that.

It's not exactly like the bitches who sent her the threatening text messages (and personally I'm shocked that those girls didn't get ISS, but whatever, this is a different school), but based on the definition the school uses, yes, Susie and Sally are guilty. They can't claim ignorance of the law. The rules were clearly spelled out to everyone, and they broke them.

All the kids were instructed to report harassment when they see it (even if it's not happening to them) and it's the counselor's job to intervene. I appreciate that she's doing her job, but I was just completely stunned by what a big deal this (what I consider) junior high pettiness has become.

I mean, come on, it would be one thing if those girls were threatening Beeb, but they're LOOKING AT HER. How would you even know someone was looking at you unless YOU'RE looking at THEM?!? Look the other way!! How hard is that?

Not to sound like I'm unsupportive or indifferent to my daughter's feelings, but what is wrong with the world? What a bunch of fuckin pussies we're raising! I'm pissed off because I consciously refuse to coddle my own kid and let her be a whiney ass victim or worse - a nark - but, how lovely, I can rest assured because the school's doing it FOR me.

I get that it's a liability thing, sure, but I am SO SICK of liability being the reason why nobody wants to tell anybody to fuckin man up and deal with this thing we call LIFE. Sometimes it sucks. Too fucking bad. Get used to it.

It's the whole "everybody gets a trophy" Pussifying of America that makes me want to fucking puke. We don't want anyone to get their feelings hurt. Self-esteem is fragile. We can't risk this kid's self-esteem being damaged or they're going to bring a gun to school and unleash hell on their tormentors.

I'm not trying to minimize or make light of the fact that yes, self-esteem is a big deal and yes, having it damaged is hurtful and the hurt stays with you for a long time (I can still remember how much 6th grade sucked, but I got over it, and just look at what a well-adjusted grown-up I am!), but I believe that we do our children a tremendous disservice when we take away opportunities for them to grow a spine and handle a little unpleasantness every once in a while.

Hamm Lovers PSA

Our boy's on 30 Rock tonight.

(humble thanks to KOFA for reminding me to remind all of you)


Oh, and P.S. - Jon Hamm confirmed me as a friend.
I fucking LOVE Facebook.

Four Years Running, Bitches!

Your result for The Personality Defect Test...

Class Clown

You are 29% Rational, 86% Extroverted, 57% Brutal, and 71% Arrogant.

You are the Class Clown. This means you wear grease paint and have a big, red nose...

I really need to stop thinking so literally...

Anyway, I MEANT to say that you are the Class Clown, and this means that you are extroverted, mean, and arrogant. You are not very rational, so you gravitate towards things that produce feelings or emotions over thoughts (like fart jokes or spitballs, for instance). You are also an extrovert and rather full of yourself, so of course you want constant attention for yourself and think you are somehow better than others. (Upon hearing the expression "you are full of yourself", you probably also slyly feel the need to ask women if they would like to be "full of yourself" too. I am assuming you have a penis. I often make that assumption, being fond of the penis.) You can also be a bit mean-spirited, and like a class clown you wouldn't hesitate to make a joke at someone else's expense, no matter how terrible it would make them feel. A lot of people probably find your antics annoying, sophomoric, and desperately histrionic. Like some sort of crack-taking hyperactive monkey, you'd do anything, mock anyone, just to get someone to pay attention to you for five seconds. So your personality defects are that you have to be the center of attention, that you don't care about others, and that you are rather irrational and motivated by intuitions. Now stop walking around with those books on your head and sit down this instant! Or else I'll be forced to stand here, hands on my hips, doing nothing once again!

To put it less negatively:

1. You are more INTUITIVE than rational.

2. You are more EXTROVERTED than introverted.

3. You are more BRUTAL than gentle.

4. You are more ARROGANT than humble.

Compatibility:

Your exact opposite is the Robot.

Other personalities you would probably get along with are the Schoolyard Bully, the Smartass, and the Brute.

*

*

If you scored near fifty percent for a certain trait (42%-58%), you could very well go either way. For example, someone with 42% Extroversion is slightly leaning towards being an introvert, but is close enough to being an extrovert to be classified that way as well. Below is a list of the other personality types so that you can determine which other possible categories you may fill if you scored near fifty percent for certain traits.

The other personality types:

The Emo Kid: Intuitive, Introverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Starving Artist: Intuitive, Introverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Bitch-Slap: Intuitive, Introverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Brute: Intuitive, Introverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

The Hippie: Intuitive, Extroverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Televangelist: Intuitive, Extroverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Schoolyard Bully: Intuitive, Extroverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Class Clown: Intuitive, Extroverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

The Robot: Rational, Introverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Haughty Intellectual: Rational, Introverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Spiteful Loner: Rational, Introverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Sociopath: Rational, Introverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

The Hand-Raiser: Rational, Extroverted, Gentle, Humble.

The Braggart: Rational, Extroverted, Gentle, Arrogant.

The Capitalist Pig: Rational, Extroverted, Brutal, Humble.

The Smartass: Rational, Extroverted, Brutal, Arrogant.

Be sure to take my Sublime Philosophical Crap Test if you are interested in taking a slightly more intellectual test that has just as many insane ramblings as this one does!

About Saint_Gasoline

I am a self-proclaimed pseudo-intellectual who loves dashes. I enjoy science, philosophy, and fart jokes and water balloons, not necessarily in that order. I spend 95% of my time online, and the other 5% of my time in the bathroom, longing to get back on the computer. If, God forbid, you somehow find me amusing instead of crass and annoying, be sure to check out my blog and my webcomic at SaintGasoline.com.

Take The Personality Defect Test at HelloQuizzy

More Facebook Fun

So remember my description of my high school, that I'm going to go ahead and call George Dubya High School (GWHS)? I got invited to join the newly-formed GWHS Pride group on Facebook. That's Pride, as in, y'know, PRIDE (two snaps up in a circle).

Those crazy hommasekshuls.

It did my heart good to see that such a group exists. It can't be easy to be out n' proud at any high school, let alone Dubya High, where we're all taught to fit the mold.

I will proudly support Pride!

Don't Say I Never Gave Ya Nuthin.

Facebook Update.

So I'm on there now, and one of my sorority sisters (and, shortly thereafter, a TON of my sorority sisters) have found me. Not sure how I feel about that.

They're kinda on the cusp between High School Me and the Me you know and love. The 3-year period of time when I was just figuring out how much fun it was to break the rules I'd lived by up to then. It was a pivotal point in my life.

So I'm a little concerned that one of the EK's will drop something like "Hey, Sarah, remember the time you did that pyramid of Jaeger shots and danced topless on the bar at Harpo's and you tried to kiss the bartender but you fell off and broke about fifty liqour bottles and you had to go to the ER with shards of glass in your boobs?? You showed EVERYBODY those scars! That was HILARIOUS! You're fuckin CRAZY, girrrrl!!!!"

I will neither confirm nor deny the veracity of the above story.

The obvious downside of Facebook is that everybody can see everything you do - every comment, whatever groups you join, all that shit. This is a double-edged sword. There's no privacy (my advice - don't join Facebook if privacy's important to you), but it could also be amusing. I'm kicking around the idea of joining the Pain Sluts group, just for fun. Shock value and whatnot.

So far the thing I like most about Facebook is seeing which of my high school tormentors are fatter than me.

ETA: And another thing I like is lingering pettiness. Get this - I actually had a friend request REJECTED. Only thing I can think of is she's still pissed I slept with her boyfriend seventeen years ago.

Geez, bitch, the way I see it, I did you a favor. He wasn't that good. You should be thanking me.