Today's Tom Sawyer

My boy's got wheels!

The car: a 1987 Chevrolet Camaro (my first serious boyfriend had an earlier model so let's hope they fixed those easily-fogging windows). It has 86,000 miles, new tires, 6 cylinders and no air-conditioning, which is supposedly a plus because the car will ride lighter and faster. I imagine WE will be riding lighter, at the very least, since it's been in the high 90's all month.

The cost: $2,400. My son paid half from his hard-earned dish-washing stashed cash, his father paid the other. I'm actually prooud of the two for setting aside their pigheadedness long enough to agree on a car, and the police weren't called once the entire weekend.

Bonus Tom Sawyer moment: since we weren't able to pick up the car until 6 p.m., my ex- demonstrated proper waxing technique ON MY CAR.

Mediaplayer: Hey Pretty Drive-by 2001 by Poe

Is that a pea in your mattress?

Prelude to a rant, the warning: I adore my sister, Quincheck. Really. She has so many wonderful qualities, and I'm so fortunate that we have a great relationship, but alas, even Princesses have flaws (or two) and sometimes it takes all my willpower not to reach out, grab her neck, dig my thumbs into her jugular and choke some sense into her (or let her pass out, then steal all her clothes).

My sister’s mom* invited me over for her birthday dinner the other night, but Quincheck was too depressed to come out of her room. Apparently, this is the first time in years that she hasn’t been out partying ‘til the wee hours of the morning with her friends on her birthday. Wah-fucking-wah.

*the second of three of my dad's wives - another tall (5'9") long-legged blonde wife of German descent. Think he has a "type"?

My sister, as a fresh twenty-four year old without kids or a mortgage payment, is obviously under the impression that life is still a party. Why shouldn't it be? She doesn't work, her parents/student loans support her, and and her good looks and a great personality have gotten her pretty damn far in life.

We were watching Paris and Nicole on a commercial a couple of weeks ago. Quincheck loves "The Simple Life", while I find it an absolutely disgusting example of how baaaaaad television can be (and I watch "Date my Mom" on MTV, so I'm definitely no tv snob). Two wealthy, spoiled girls with nothing better to do than take a break from the party circuit to pretend to work for a month. Wow. I mentioned that it was a shame they had to rely on their parents for support, that it must suck to be nothing more than a celebrity party girl, and how could they ever have pride for their accomplisments when they've done nothing. As a parent, I'm appalled.
My sister, of course, completely disagreed, thinking nothing in the world would be better.

Maybe I'm "old school" in my views...perhaps it was weird that I joined the Army to pay for my education...that I don't believe anyone owes me anything I can't earn myself. I'm not trying to be judgemental (maybe I'm not trying hard enough), but I want to know WHEN she is going to get over this "I don't do manual labor" mentality, roll up her sleeves, and get to work. And then? I want her to make me some dinner and change the kitty litter!

Sans claws?

It's too difficult to fit all my cats in their little hand-held pet carrier, so I've been taking my six cats to the vet's office in groups of two. The males were fixed last month, and today I dropped off the two females to get spayed. The receptionist was kind enough to call and leave a message where I work after their surgeries:

“The surgeries went well, your cats are fine, and you can pick them up Friday afternoon because of the declawing.”

Huh? De-claw-ing? DECLAWING?! That's like going in for a hangnail and coming out with no legs! I went through three tiers of crazy and six shades of purple, took a labored breath, then called back. I was fully prepared to suggest crazy glue, Lee press-on nails and a lifetime of free pet healthcare for this very MAJOR faux pas.

The vet came on the line and apologized profusely for the misunderstanding - he'd performed several declawings, but NOT on my felines, who will still be able to climb the kitty condo and tear up my carpet. It would still be in his best interest to give them extra kitty drugs tonight, though.

Quincheck revisited

On my half-sister's fifth birthday, she walked into her mother's bedroom and asked if she knew what day it was. Her mother, no doubt recalling the birth of the ten-pound butterball, answered in the affirmative. My sister gleefully informed her, "it's the year of five!"

Today starts the year of twenty-four.
_________________________________________________________

July 22
Are you going to eat those tots? [Getting tatted]
My sister convinced me to play hooky from work on Wednesday so we could spend the day at Panama City Beach bonding - okay, so she didn't have to try that hard to convince me...er, it might have been my idea. With our fifteen year age difference, I told her we'd stay until someone asked if I was her mother.

We lugged our big ass cooler, towels, paraphenalia and music down to the beach as a few clouds starting rolling in. [Sidenote: she's afraid of shark attacks, so she really wanted to lay out at one of the pools belonging to a beach hotel...which makes going to the beach seem rather ridiculous, if you ask me. I did manage to get her in the water up to her waist, though...before I started throwing chopped up fish guts around her]. By the end of the first hour, the sky had turned black and we were not nearly drunk enough to head home. Given my track record for all things impulsive, it should come as no surprise that we decided to get matching tattoos.

Our last name starts with a Q... as much pride as we have in it and our heritage, you would think it's a powerful, mystical name, that simultaneously inspires awe and fear. All my aunts (5 of them) and many female cousins have changed their middle names to our family name once they get married, just because we love it so much. My sister and I decided to get matching tattoos using a logo my graphic artist aunt had designed years ago that looks something like this:

We are gonna be SUCH a hit at our next family reunion.


January 03
Ask not for whom the ball drops, it drops for thee
Since childhood, I've been responsible and mature for my age. Sometimes, however - particularly with a slightly crazy younger Gemini sister visiting - I throw caution to the wind...and the fog.

12/31/2005: My sister TQ somehow convinced me to wear a little black boob-ilicious dress for our adventure New Year's Eve because it coordinated well with her sleek, backless black pant suit (and then? told everyone I had a boob job and to feel how real they were! Uh...it's called ten pounds, not silicone). Apparently, jeans and t-shirts are the southern dress code for bringing in the New Year in Alabama since we were WAY overdressed the entire evening.

We drank our beer and champagne at her mother's house until around 10:00, then decided to head to a gay bar in town (we both love techno, I might adore gay men, and she prefers to kiss girls...although she seems to be in mutual crush mode with my very male co-worker Chad). We met a couple of friendly women in line for the restroom ("Only one person may enter at a time. Strictly enforced"), but everyone there was a couple, so my drag queen sister and I kissed each other on the cheek when the ball dropped. And the champagne tasted like warm cat piss. Moving on...

We drove through thick fog to the strip club and met Chad in the parking lot. We stayed until last call, then headed to a "private" bar that stays open as long as anyone wants to drink (I'd never heard of this until I moved here, but apparently, as long as you are a "member" with a cheap cardboard name card, the party never ends. This has been my downfall many, many times).

More beer followed, then some guy that wanted my sister to pose with his band, bought us shots of Jagerbombs. I'd have to pinpoint this as the moment she checked out for the evening.

January 8
Sisters Q
I consider myself an only child, with a twenty-three year old sister (we have the same father) and a fourteen year old brother (same late blooming mother), because I was almost an adult when they came along. Instead of sharing a room, fighting over clothes, and learning social skills, I was lost in a book or setting up Monopoly tournaments for me, myself and I.

My sister left yesterday and I'm actually missing her as I find signs of her visit: her ring on my nightstand, Bud Light bottles in the bathroom, the gum stuck to my Cosmo, the black sweater with sparkles she let me borrow...(don't worry, I'm mailing you everything! Probably. Heh).

She's a true extrovert - the one in a room with the sparkly personality that people can't help but want to be near, while I've always been more introverted and reserved. I used to be envious of her ease with strangers and her comparatively easy childhood, but our struggles are simply different and I'm finally able to appreciate our similarities (like singing Van Morrison songs at the top of our lungs in the bar).

She's my anxiety-ridden, music-providing, beer-sharing, crazy-cat-lady-in-training sister and I feel a little less alone in the world with her in it.

You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
There must be an angel with a smile on her face,
When she thought up that I should be with you.
- James Blunt

Intoxicating

The light, the heat - I am complete.

Feliz Navidad, padre

[Reposted from last year 'cause I'm lazy like that]:

My father sends odd greeting cards...on the wrong days...with sentiments written in Spanish (which he doesn't speak).

Mainstream has never been my father's forte. He was the third child of twelve born to Irish descendants living on a small farm in Michigan - this is where I pull my right hand out and point to an area in the general vicinity of my thumb. Seven boys and five girls - they all have Irish names (Shannon, Erin, Sean, etc.) - except my dad, Tony. He was a tall, skinny kid who was usually squirrelled away in a corner, reading a library book, until his brothers found him to drag him back to reality by beating the crap out of him or throwing him off the roof. He always wanted to be a monk, surrounded by God, books, silence and maybe an alcoholic beverage or two. Unfortunately (or fortunately, I suppose, depending on how you view me), my mom never received the memo. Uncomfortable moment: doing jello shots with your mom as she tells you how insistent she was that they try (and practice) sex before getting married.

Facts and quirks:

• he wears a broken watch with no face from a motorcycle accident he was in 35 years ago
  
• he had a full scholarship to Michigan State, but left after one year to hitch hike to California
  
• an insomniac, he grocery shops between 3:00 and 5:00 a.m.
  
• he tries to keep telemarketers on the phone by talking to them as long as possible...his record is over an hour.
  
• he bought and fixed up 20 old Apple GS computers to make a computer lab in his classroom (he has a new amazing imac for himself)
  
• he's an audio/video equipment junkie - and still has Harold and Maude and The Vanishing Point on Beta tapes
  
• he loves music, from Hank Williams to Bob Dylan to Tori Amos
  
• if you touch him from behind, duck, because he will turn around swinging
  
• he turned 60 this year and has no grey hair (of course, he does have my son for the summer, so that's likely to change).

I believe one of the biggest factors in shaping my father's life was his severe stuttering (also for his dad and two brothers). As a child, I remember making phone calls for him - he would often not be able to verbalize the "hello, is..." before the person at the other end hung up. Sometimes, he'd call back several times, hoping to get the words out, until the other person would assume it was a prankster on the other end. He is one of the most intelligent people I know, but spent close to fifteen years working at General Motors because he was too afraid of failure and could only dream of becoming a teacher.

He went through Dale Carnegie three times, started the Adult Stutterers Council and tried feedback therapy to manage his stuttering. He still pauses before words when he's anxious or stressed, but he went back to college at 42 and finally has that dream job teaching 5th graders. Apparently a late bloomer, he also got remarried last fall to a woman that completes him. Intelligent, philosophical, generous, honest, compassionate, caring and funny...I hope to be more like this old soul when I grow up.

Construction time again

I put my heart, such as it is, into most endeavors. Frustration from MSN Spaces finally came to a head after I started hearing "I can't get your page to load" and "the comments lag - again". I simplified, stripped the tweaks and moved the whistles, but it continued to give me grief more often that not. And? I don't give a single, furry, white rat's ass about XBox.

The bad news about this particular move? I don't know html. Not a lick. I'm learning some basics, because I'm obsessive like that and need something to do instead of sleep, but let's just say this is a work in progress. Suggestions, opinions and smart ass comments are always welcomed.

Other defectors participating in the mass exodus:

"Fuck MSN... Fucking commercialized graduate of myspace." - Sarah

"...I'm not sure I'm over my relationship with Spaces, but it's a bizarre love triangle between Blogspot, myself and that old whore that can not work out." - Jock

"I think this place will keep your blogging curiosity going for a wee while longer. " - Monty

"...you should keep a little dog and pony show for your family. Let everyone else read all juicy shtuff. I think I'll keep my msn spaces just for said show." - Dwayne

"I think I can safely say that this might just be the answering voice to the petulant childs griping echoing off the canyon walls of what we, once lovingly and passionately, closely followed by frustration and boredom, called Spaces." - Melissa

"I may need to take a computer Class just to learn how to blog..." - Vital

"I'm so tired of Spaces and the rediculous quirks it has. Yay! I get a new room!" - Candy

"I started out here...ahhh memories...so I guess since Dwayne busted his ass making my page all nice and shit I'll come over too (I really am sick of the More Shit Nightly blog, too...)" - Brain Salad

"I admit it. I am running away from my past. Not my ENTIRE past...just the last 8 months of my blog." - Terri

"Welcome to Level 1 new player!" - Mayor of Simpleton

"I have a strong sense to keep it real while blogging. Because of peeking eyes I used to blog more sanitized and generic which is pretty boring." - Stephen

"I am just fed up with the poor quality of service, the total lack of control over content, the number of teeny boppers, and the fact that you have to sign in with a passport just to leave a comment." - Hopelessly Aporetic

"What a long, strange trip it's been!" - Red Kitten

"But, hey, you never know, I just might post something worth reading... or not." - Kittycatlane

I guess I'm not really hiding at all. I just wanted to start fresh in a place where I might feel free to write again. Plus MSN Spaces is blocked from my work now ..." - mad megan

Crazyish Cat Lady

SUMMER: Twelve years ago, we were living in Ft. Campbell, Kentucky when a woman pulling a red ryder wagon with 6 beautiful kittens in it walked through our yard. I had only ever had male cats, but my son, being two and a temper-tantrum thrower, convinced me to take this long haired calico. Another neighbor would call animal patrol every time Summer wandered in her yard...two "arrests" later, we started hooking her up to a long leash in the front yard, where she still managed to kill birds.

Summer has moved across country multiple times, even flown to Germany (all 14 lbs of her packed in a little cat carrier, poor thing). She comes running when you call (although I think she has some arthritis setting in from when my ex- ran her over) and "sits" for cat treats. She also single-handedly decimated the mole population in Northern Michigan.

---

October 6, 2005: There's an empty space on my pillow

I can't sleep. I keep imagining her cry or a scratch at the door. I walk around the neighborhood, looking for signs of struggle, hoping to get a glimpse of her fluffy, short-legged body. She's been gone since Monday, but I refuse to give up hope.

October 30, 2005: Look what the cat/surrogate mother dragged in...

Two weeks ago I talked to a woman who wanted to know if my cat Summer could have been pregnant. I told her no, that was quite impossible because she was 13 years old, spayed and too bitchy to ever have sex. End of story? Not quite.

The mother cat, aka not-Summer, abandoned her six kittens at the woman’s house so she (Kelly) had been bottle feeding them and called me again last week to see if I might like one. She was going out of town and hod no other option but to drop them off at the pound, and she worried they wouldn’t make it (they’re about three weeks old). So I stopped by her house on the way home from work.

I talked to Kelly – it turns out she had lived in MY house a few years ago (owner #2). What could I do – this was fate. So I took a kitten (or four) home.

My son's already named one - Crackhead. I haven't given up on Summer, but she is gonna be pissed if she comes home to see four bottle-drinking, mewing fur balls in her house. I have resigned myself to being that crazy cat lady on the corner.

November 15, 2005: Formation at 1300


My dog Skylar has taken over stepmother duties for my four new kittens. When she comes into the house, the first thing she does is count heads (preferably with tongue): okay, two kittens wrestling in the kitty litter, one hanging precariously on the curtains and one in the food bowl. Yep, all play toys present and accounted for.
When I took them all outside to enjoy the beautiful weather on Sunday, I know they wanted to run and frolic through the leaves. Nope. That overprotective stepmom wouldn't even let them wander.

Operation Integration

Years ago, while married, I would compulsively shop and hide evidence in my car; embezzle out of the checking account to pay for my gambling excursions; pig out on moon pies then pop laxatives like tic tacs; and wait anxiously for him to leave town so I could once again drink beer like a rock star. He asked me once why I had to be so secretive, why I felt I had to hide who I was. It seems like the more he tried to sneak into my email, listen the phone conversations, and keylog my computer, the more I felt the need to maintain some sense of privacy and control.

I suppose I've never felt 100% comfortable sharing all of myself at one time with anyone, which may be why I've started and deleted a total of five MSN Spaces (not simultaneously) and I'm ex-frigging-hausted. Who needs to keep all the factions of their personality so separate? Not I, said Sybil.

I am: wholesome Catholic girl, slutty alcoholic vixen, snotty bitch, caring compassionate naive woman and boring crazy cat lady. I trust that people who care will be able to integrate all the facets and still love me. I'm too proud of where I've been and who I am to be anything less.

Sometimes, you've just got to Say Anything.

I'm currently attempting to grow balls big enough to invite my family here and close all my MSN Spaces. Oy.

To wipe or not wipe - the battle du jour with a rebel yell

Sure, they lead you to believe the Civil War was caused by issues such as slavery, industrial vs. agrarian society, and State's rights. I beg to differ.

Last night, the following question was asked: after sex, who cleans the man up?

My friend/coworker J., southern belle extraordinaire: I ALWAYS bring him a washcloth and clean him up afterwards.
Me: Are you sleeping with men in wheelchairs? Why can't they jump in the shower or wipe their own stuff off?
J.: It's a sign of respect. They would do the same for me, so I like to take care of my man like that.
Me: Do you wipe his ass for him, too? And I personally think I'm self-sufficient enough to insert my own damn tampons, thankyouverymuch.
J.: that's the reason you'll never be married down here, with an attitude like that.
Me: Well, I don't want to be married if it means a man can't take care of his own hygiene.
J.:YANKEE!
Me: REDNECK!

(this continued for a heated 10 minutes, untill she asked me to leave, which I did with a huff, a "FINE!" and a squealing of tires).

Michigan to Alabama: the drugs don't work

Pre-trip meltdown

Sunday morning, 6:00 a.m. phone call from my sister: "I haven't slept in three days, but if I take a sleeping pill I'll be out for ten hours and I won't be able to fininsh packing...I've had the flu and have been throwing up...I can't get ahold of my friend with the pickup truck to help me move my entertainment center and I have to be out of here by tomorrow...but I haven't closed out my bank account yet. What am I supposed to do? Follow you? Our dad yelled at me...and everyone thinks I'm a flaaaaaaake."

Me, in my calmest, no-you're-not-a-crazy-lunatic voice: "Um...no one thinks you're a flake. Did you take one of your Xanax?" (my sister has a history of serious anxiety attacks - one that required a trip to the hospital in an ambulance, which was the main reason we were driving together as she moved her life south).

Tuesday morning, we met at a gas station in Lansing, Michigan located halfway between her college and my mother's house, where I was staying. She had given her cat a tranquilizer to calm her for the sixteen hour car ride, which seemed only to work as a bladder relaxer, as her carrier was soon flooded with cat urine. We decided the cat should ride with me, since I'm calmer (or as my friend said, "the lesser of two fruitcakes") and perhaps the MEOWING wouldn't be so incessant. This worked only in theory, since my ears were bleeding by the second hour.

Our trip was relatively uneventful as we arrived in Bowling Green, Kentucky to stop for the night.

Mistake #1: we stayed in a hotel with a bar.

Mistake #2: the bar closed before we could finish our last drinks so I suggested she shove them in her purse so we could take them to our room. I think I was being a smartass, since she had ruined two phones using this specific method of drink removal in the past, but she grabbed the drinks anyway and killed another innocent phone.

We got off to a late start Wednesday, but I wasn't too concerned since I didn't have to be home until the following morning by 7:00 (I had to take my son to school and go to work). We ate, hung out at rest stops, exchanged cds and puttered our way south.

Murphy's Law dictates that her anxiety attack should occur at the most inconvenient moment possible. Crossing the Alabama State border, still having seven hours of dark, construction-coned road ahead of us, was it. She eventually calmed down, but could no longer drive so we found a hotel room and picked up some food. I gave her my cell phone, took her cat, and resumed my drive home - pulling in the driveway at 4:00 a.m. I was just in time to round up all my cats that were sitting out in the driveway (my ex-husband had stayed here for a week and decided to make them all outdoor cats - GRRRRR!), sleep for an hour, take a shower, and get to work. I'm definitely going to need a few days off to recover from this vacation.

101 things you probably didn't need to know

1. I always wanted to be an archeologist (and still do)
2. I believe in reincarnation
3. Next life, I plan on being a slutty gay man
4. I can touch my nose with my tongue
5. I'm an insomniac
6. I don't always swallow
7. I once thought I was driving to Austria, but ended up in Switzerland
8. While drunk, I've lost 6 watches
9. ....and 3 pairs of earrings
10. I'm afraid of bridges
11. I've gotten 13 speeding tickets
12. I once took a Latin exam, and wrote all my answers in Spanish
13. I can write in cursive, backwards and upside down
14. I can drink diet pepsi and imagine it's bud light
15. I can drink an Atkins chocolate protein shake and imagine it's kalua & cream
16. I've moved 45 times
17. I eat crunchy peanut butter out of the jar
18. I'm a LEO
19. I wear a sweater if it's cooler than 75 degrees F.
20. A ouji board told me I'd die at 42 - and I believe it
21. I have whole cds I can't listen to because they make me cry
22. I can ask for a beer in 6 different languages
23. I was a bartender
24. My favorite shot is a lemon drop body shot
25. My screen name at the bowling alley is "Sexy Butch"
26. I love shoes
27. .....but have ugly feet
28. I always wanted to have a little girl
29. My eyes are hazel but bright green when I'm emotional
30. I have extremely cold-sensitive teeth - sometimes I have to drink beer with a straw
31. I've never been on a blind date
32. I sleep with a FLAT pillow
33. I've broken my nose twice
34. I've never been in a fist fight
35. I've weighed from 102 to 140 lbs during the past 10 years
36. I'm shy
37. I'm an only child
38. I accidentally forgot to file my state taxes
39. TWO YEARS IN A ROW!
40. I have 6 cats
41. .......and a dog
42. I climbed a pyramid in Chichen-Itza with a hangover (and the bus had to stop so I could get out and throw up)
43. I'm quite sure I was George Harrison's greatest fan
44. My cell phone plays Fur Elise
45. Volcanoes turn me on
46. ...so do Latisismus Dorsi
47. ...and Depeche Mode's Dave Gahan's voice.
48. I eat Whoppers malted milk balls until I'm sick
49. I was a medic in the Army
50. I feed 21 cats each day

***Here's the intermission...yawn, take a little break, scratch yourself and bring me a drink while you're up***

1. I love any and every combination of purple and green
2. I'm Irish, Hungarian, German and a tiny bit Polish - when people ask, I just say IRISH
3. I was Captain of my Varsity Lacrosse and Field Hockey teams
4. I only wear thong underwear
5. I melt butter and pour it over microwave buttered popcorn
6. I used to be 5'7"...now I'm only 5'5"
7. I've had sex in a canoe
8. I have a hard time saying "I love you"
9. My ring finger is a size 4-1/2 (uh, in case you want to pop the question).
10. I consider driving a 5 speed a good workout
11. I can't parallel park
12. INXS was the first concert I ever attended...
13. Natalie Merchant was the most recent
14. I can whistle, but not sing
15. Calla Lillies are my favorite flower
16. I don't like Lord of the Rings
17. I would kidnap Tom Brady of the NE Patriots if I thought I could get away with it
18. I learned how to drive when I was 12
19. ....so my dad could drink beer in the car
20. I love reality tv shows
21. ....but would hate to be on one
22. I know 4 different versions of solitaire
23. My 400+ cds are arranged alphabetically
24. My closet is arranged by color (ROYGBIV)
25. Each of my shoe boxes has a photo of the pair inside
26. I think Angelina Jolie is HOT
27. If I had been a boy, my name would be Shane
28. I got caught cheating in 6th grade and never did it again
29. I went to a Catholic elementary school
30. I have a BS in Biology/Chemistry
31. I don't use an alarm clock (I'm automatically up by 5:00)
32. When I'm drinking, my ears turn red
33. ....and I can't find enough laps to sit on
34. One of my biggest faults is insecurity
35. Another is impulsiveness
36. And I'm an amazing procrastinator
37. I want to live in Italy
38. ....and eat gelato EVERY DAY!
39. My favorite song is Peter Gabriel's In Your Eyes
40. I can't listen to it without crying
41. I don't always swallow
42. I can drive a forklift
43. I can also take out large chunks of walls with said forklift
44. I've driven 120 mph on the autobahn
45. I won $350 the first time I played Blackjack
46. I'm a virgin (just seeing if you're paying attention)
47. I can forge my ex-husband's signature
48. My first word was "existentialist" (so says my dad)
49. I chipped my bottom tooth while skinny dipping
50. Every week, I buy myself flowers and pretend someone loves me

Don't funk with the babysitter

My (much) younger half-sister with whom I share a Q tattoo, is spending her college Christmas break in Alabama with her mother, who lives forty-five minutes away from me. I'll have partial custody so I'm sure we'll be spending puh-lenty of quality time getting drunk, shopping together, and making cds. She's cuter, younger, with a killer bod so I've taken the only logical step: I started the Atkins diet today so at least I'll be thinner. I expect the excruciating headache tomorrow, followed by extreme bitchiness by mid-week. I will be svelte.

And what the hell are pork rinds, anyway?

Virgin Turkey Chef

Confession: I'd never cooked a turkey before Thursday (or baked a ham or ever made a roast - basically I cook chicken or hamburger). During my marriage, my ex- cooked the "meat", while I made/burnt all the go-withs. Granted, it wasn't that difficult, but a round of applause here might be appropriate - I DID IT!

I prepped, cooked and baked all morning (the kittens like to wake up around 5 a.m. and there's no way to sleep through four sets of paws barrelling up and down the hallway), took a shower and put on clean pyjamas (why bother with buttons?). Then my son & I commenced feasting, washing it all down with a watermelon Bacardi Breezer in a fancy wine glass.

Today, I'm feeling kind of cocky - I may bake a ham.

I'm dreaming of a white Thanks-giv-ing...

Sometimes it's all too easy to bash the state of Alabama: rednecks, homophobes, possum, horrendous schools, no lotteries and not being able to buy alcohol on Sunday. BUT, one thing I have loved about this state since moving here three years ago is the scenic cotton fields blooming this time of year – it looks like miles and miles of snow when you squint just right. (No snow tires required).

About last night

I watched the American Music Awards last night while getting my neck licked by a sandpaper kitten tongue. Best moment: Cyndi Lauper and Sarah McLachlan performing Time after Time (in black and white). Flawless.

My son redeemed himself slightly: "Look at Lindsay Lohan - that's disgusting. Her arms are only this big...she has to wear a big dress to cover up how skinny she is. Why would she do that to herself - that's just gross."

Bless him.

Home boy don't roll like that...

My son was grounded this weekend. It started with his attitude as I walked through the door Friday after a long, alcohol-free week at work. "There's no food in the house and you're so mean and you're starving me..why won't you drive me across town to McDonald's?" (I gave him a 5.0 for technique, 4.5 for timing). Then he kicked the dog. Sure, he SAID he was playing, but that’s obviously unacceptable.

Imagine two entire days and three WHOLE nights spent with an angry fifteen year old boy - listening to loud rap, watching crap tv shows and nagging for him to pick up after himself.

Next time I ground him, I’m sending him to someone else’s house.

Take one placebo and call me in the morning

We have a family tradition: avoid health care, medical professionals and medication at all costs (except beer, of course, which falls under the category of holistic numbing). This aversion isn't rational, but I suppose it's considered a weakness if thy body cannot heal thyself. Like any other ridiculous trait, I've inherited it.

My son was four when we were living on Ft. Campbell base housing. The playground was behind our house so I'd fill his little canteen with water, give him some chewy fruit snacks and send him out for the afternoon so I could study/play Minesweeper on the computer. There were huge concrete pipes - probably leftover bunkers from WWII or something - and the kids played on them, hiding inside or trying to knock one another off. One evening he came running in the house screaming, tears running down his dirt-streaked face. He had fallen off the pipe and hurt his arm, so I made him dinner, gave him a bath, and tucked him into bed.

His dad came home later and checked on him as he was sleeping. He asked me why I didn't take him to the emergency room - his arm was still discolored - what kind of idiot was I? (how many different types are there, and is it possible to fall under multiple categories?). A few hours later, they returned from the hospital with my son's full arm cast. I DID feel horrible. And I had been a medic? Thank goodness I never saw combat: "Oh, that's just a sucking chest wound - get your ass back out there!"

Oddly, this "suck it up" mentality doesn't extend to my kittens. Crackhead's (whose real name is Kennedy) fur fell out this week, and the other three's whiskers broke. I researched it on the internet and came to the conclusion that they had a rare and contagious fungus from the Amazon. I bundled up the kittens in the cat carrier, and off to the vet we went.

He checked for fungus, parasites, leukemia, aids, etc. and gave them a clean bill of health. He said they were very healthy, well-socialized and the fur must have fallen out from the stress of being abandoned or switching to solid food, since he could find no other medical explanation. Apparently, white kittens with blue eyes are often deaf, so Darren's kitten may have to learn to read lips.

Combined total weight of my four kittens: 5 pounds.

Capital (One) Punishment - death by interest

I've always had a love-hate relationship with credit cards: I love the way they allow me to impulsively buy whatever my heart desires. I hate the way my heart desires forty pairs of shoes and the same shirt in five different colors!

My mother used to loan me her mastercard when I was sixteen years old since we had the same first intial and last name (I had to pay for it - she wasn't that generous). I was using it to charge a pair of jeans when the saleslady asked if I would like my own store credit card - with a driver's license and a master card, I'd have my own name stamped on a Hudson's card. The subsequent power trip was wonderful.

As a newlywed private in the Army four years later, my then husband told me that I'd have to cut ALL my credit cards...we would never get them paid off...then handed me scissors. Oh, sure, I fought and tried to cry my way out of it, as any decent drama queen will, but eventually they were cut and stuffed back in my wallet (you can still use the cards for phone orders with the account number - if you're a tad sneaky like that).

My credit has been fantastic for the past ten years or so, but moving three times this year meant sometimes there was a delay getting my mail and I made a few late payments (we're talking a DAY!). I bitched about the $35 fee each time, but paid it, thinking I had been duly punished. Au contraire. Capital One recently jacked up my interest rate to 27.9% .

I was livid...furious at this blatant robbery. I transferred the balance to a new credit card at 5.9% and feel like the best bargain shopper ever - I believe I will be buying myself a new digital camera - surprise! Credit card season is upon us - don't go to Capital One, even if they do have really great faux leather credit cards and their commercials are cute.

Formation at 1300

My dog Skylar has taken over stepmother duties for my four new kittens. When she comes into the house, the first thing she does is count heads (preferably with tongue): okay, two kittens wrestling in the kitty litter, one hanging precariously on the curtains and one in the food bowl. Yep, all play toys present and accounted for.

When I took them all outside to enjoy the beautiful weather on Sunday, I know they wanted to run and frolic through the leaves. Nope. That overprotective stepmom wouldn't even let them wander.

Office Space(d)

What should have been a three-day weekend filled with adventure, glamour and travel turned into a couple of days to catch up on work and clean up cat vomit instead. Yeah, I've got your champagne wishes.

I went into work Friday AND Saturday to get caught up and because we're having an office relocation project - moving around desks and personnel (you know, 'cause I don't move enough in my HOME LIFE). I took over the area of my coworker AmesJay's - sexual freak extraordinaire IT guy who likes to watch porn at work. Yes, I doused the area in Lysol and spermicide.

Apparently, there are other inappropriate things he enjoys at work. He had forgotten to remove his things from two drawers, so I was helpfully throwing all his crap in a box. Guess who had a ziploc baggy with marijuana in it? On a MILITARY INSTALLATION! Oy.

As an amusing sidenote, my mom gave me the "drug" talk with me when I was fifteen after she found catnip in my desk drawer.

Lesson: keep your hands in your own drawers.

Have you groped a veteran today?

From private high school to a geeky college, I was as wholesome as they come...didn't swear, hadn't tried drugs, didn't drink (much), and had only been with one guy. I was young, idealistic, and determined to put myself through college, one student loan at a time. Enter one Army recruiter who promised me the world. And I, young naive thing, believed him when he said I could choose where I'd like to be stationed. Lying bastard.

We all have defining moments in life, a specific incident or event that changes our perspectives forever. There I was, in Basic training, with my well-behaved self and stylish asymetrical haircut...completely out of my element. Reserved and quiet means I usually come across as arrogant, but a big female oaf from the Projects in Chicago was determined to put me in my place.

This particular day of training was spent with pugil sticks (from the latin meaning, "to fight, rock 'em, sock 'em, robot style, while bopping your opponent in the head"). I've seen a similar set up on Survivor: two opponents face each other on a beam, then try to pummel one other using a long pole, with two padded ends, until one falls off. This was also the day we learned how to gore a potential enemy with a bayonet attached to an M-16...bloodthirsty drill sargents, geez.

My opponent, Ms. Badass Chicago street fighter thought being street savvy meant she was going to wipe me all over Ft. Jackson, South Carolina and I'd run back to the barracks snivelling, begging her in the future to help polish her boots. She was a gangly 5'10", I was a slight 5'7", which I think actually helped me in the end (lower center of gravity). What she didn't know is that I had been captain of the lacrosse team - I was well-versed in the handling of sticks. So I played her like a weekend tournament, pushed her ass off the beam, and emerged victorious. HA! I learned that I'm not intimidated by anyone (with the possible exception of Colin Farrell, naked) and she learned not to judge OR trust the quiet ones in BDU's. Win-win.

My two years as a medic was child's play compared to the sacrifices soldiers and their families make daily for our freedom. Give thanks for them today and every day - I do.

Beware of Couch Potato

I accidentally locked myself out of the house, popped out the screen in the living room and crawled through the window - while my dog casually watched from the couch.

No, no, honey, don't get up...here, let me fetch some of your toys for you (my smart ass dog enjoys sarcasm).

Crazy napdog...

Audience of One

2:45

This is my new record for a monologue cleverly disguised as a phone conversation.

Bill & I have been friends for over twenty years. We don't see each other often because we both move regularly and frequently, but I'm starting to think our "friendship" should be redefined...he probably couldn't tell you what I do, where I live or if I'm single. Our phone calls, you see, consist entirely of BILL.

This summer, he:

• quit his job of seventeen years in order to enjoy life and travel
• took second in a Mr. Speedo contest (why would someone admit to owning a Speedo?).
• learned how to sail on Martha's Vineyard with James Taylor
• went to the Emmy Awards, where he sat behind and talked to the cast of Desperate Housewives
• talked to Donald Trump
• met and discarded 72 soulmates (fortunately, I had the sense to lie about picking up my son somewhere before he could carry on about his love life)
  
  Hmmmm. No wonder we never talk about me.

Stop the Cheesecake

Pet peeve for the day: Sarah Lee's slogan "Nobody doesn't like Sarah Lee".

Since when are double negatives catchy? HUH? Good grief. I will be boycotting her frozen cheesecake until something less grammatically awkward comes along.

Uh-oh...better get Geico

Ever been standing in your bathroom, freshly showered and wrapped in a towel, when you look up and notice a lizard curiously watching you? Okay, so maybe he wasn't curious - maybe he was just as FREAKED out as I was.

It's closing time, pal - I don't care where you go, but you can't stay here.

I grabbed last month’s Cosmo, put it near the lizard, and gingerly had him crawl onto…Scarlett Johansson. So far, so good. I started walking towards the door, when the lizard decided to take a FLYING leap for freedom…and havoc ensued.

I’m a cult leader of my house – a dog, two cats and four kittens are usually no further than 5 ft away from me at any given moment (under my feet is preferable). As the lizard dropped (semi-flew) and scrambled towards my closet, I screeched, the dog bolted, the cats pounced, and my sleeping son yelled ("MOM! I'm trying to sleep!"...concerned about me, per usual). My towel also fell off at some point during this chase, which somehow seems more appropriate: naked lizard hunting.

Sometimes I seriously believe my life is a series of Animal Kingdom episodes.

Embarrassing moment #1,037

Arriving at the McDonald's drive-thru pay window just as you remember your son taking your last bit of cash the night before.

Payback's a biatch, I hear.

[early training session for my son: yes, it's bread and water - you'll eat it and LIKE IT!]

Solitary confinement

I’m a bit of a loner, I suppose. Being an only child for fifteen years, never having to share a bathroom, and always winning my Monopoly tournaments (my banker persona always won – bitch!). I’m self sufficient. In fact, if I were to ever marry again, the perfect scenario would be a duplex, with a Holiday Inn-like adjoining door so we could just visit. And I would never have to watch Fox news. Or listen to AC/DC. EVAH!

Some days, though, when I'm hormonal and overly sensitive, what I really want, more than anything, is a nice strong pair of arms…to put my clothes in the dryer for me (and could you bring me a beer, while you’re up?)

Tuesday's Quirky Six-ish

Main Entry: id·i·o·syn·cra·sy

characteristic peculiarity (as of temperament);

broadly: ECCENTRICITY

Seems easy enough:

1. I love LISTS!

2. I only eat one thing on my plate at a time (this seems to drive people crazy).

3. I can bake, but not cook.

4. I wrap Christmas presents for my pets every year and put them under the tree.

5. Sleep: I need a FLAT pillow, complete darkness and no noise. Even then, it's not a given.

6. I keep all the money in my wallet facing the same way, with larger bills in the back, and silently curse cashiers who hand me change going every which way.

MSN Archives: June 2005

Dickless in Alabama
The more I try to understand people and their motives, the more I realize I just have no fucking clue. I should probably try to spend more time focusing on...shiny objects and comic books.

Donnie Darko....wow. Interesting movie with quite possibly the best soundtrack out there (Tears for Fears, Echo and the Bunnymen, etc.). Which brings me to my thought of the day:

"What is the point of living if you don't have a dick?"
- Donnie Darko

Outsourcing
The Plan: my dad and his new wife, both teachers with the Summer off, drove from Michigan to Alabama this weekend to take my 15 year old son back with them (yahooooooo!). My dad will have cheap labor for his canoe livery and my son will have money for more Insane Clown Posse cds. Win-win. It sure sounds a helluva lot more interesting than spending nights on AOL instant messenger and sleeping in 'til noon.


Revision: they think it will last for the summer - I'm hoping for two weeks (I'm a realist). Still, that's fourteen days without that drama queen AND I won't have to cook...I can have beer and popcorn for dinner EVERY night...walk around naked if I want and go gambling in Biloxi. Well, er, actually nothing much will change, but I'm still looking forward to the break.

I will now be under the constant and diligent care of my therapist, Bud Light.

Will the real Indigo...please sit down
Busted. I get sucked into drama rather easily, which causes me to stay awake all night overanalyzing EVERY little thing. True to form, for today anyway, lots of introspection (with the added bonus of headache and bloodshot eyes).

Only ONE person in my real life, a very dear friend, reads my blog. We talked about some things last time I saw him, how I have a hard time telling him about some of my less-than-stellar moments because I don't want to lose his respect. He made me realize it's an insult to our friendship if I feel he'll judge me for mistakes I've made. He's absolutely right, so sometimes maybe he won't want to hear about my vibrator or sex-capades, but it was the right decision, apparently, because he's still talking to me.

Am I real here?

I opened up about being a cheater in my marriage recently, and the events that led to its demise. Someone told me they didn't agree with my actions, but the fact that I opened myself up made them respect me and feel they knew me better. I don't always have earth-shattering confessions..it's entirely too draining but I open up a little at a time.

Flaws? You betcha.

Who the hell doesn't have them?? I'm insecure, always have been. I mentioned once a few months ago that I wish I could fix that and not be concerned with negative feedback. I posted my legs last weekend - a HUGE step for me.

I'm also petty, perhaps (okay, yes). My feelings were hurt when Pariah deleted mine and other's links yesterday - it seemed to me he wasn't being supportive of Lisa. I delete some here occasionally to clean house - people don't update often or I realize I'm not visiting their spaces. I didn't agree with his reasoning, but it's HIS decision. I probably didn't need to keep calling him a fucker.

Final observation:

I hate being ignored. Doesn't everyone? If I ask for an explanation...I want one, dammit (slightly off topic, but a pet peeve: people that leave comments saying "this is too long for me to read, but hello anyway"...uh...then why are you saying anything?)

In real life, you have the advantage of seeing facial expressions when you speak...here, you have to wait for some sort of acknowledgement. Have you ever seen Harley motorcycle drivers nod to one another on the highway? It's a simple gesture (I think it means "yo, our hogs are better and our dicks are bigger"). If only there was a way to share a space "nod" with someone. Or a checkbox in the comments section "Yes, I have read and understand what you're saying" for some sort of feedback.

Say something, say something, anything
I’ve shown you everything
Give me a sign
Say something, say something, anything
Your silence is deafening
Pay me in kind
- James

Employee Evaluations...who's next?
So my boss is on vacation this week and we, as the three managers under him, are rotating days of being in charge. Hump day had my name all over it.

Lunch included margaritas...and we're having some sort of rum coconut concoctions this afternoon. Days like these, I can't believe they actually PAY ME to work here.
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I wasn't going to write about this because I don't want my IT guy to read it (I think he found my blog site)...but yesterday at work after everyone else had left, he had locked the front door and was "working" at his desk. I received an email that I needed to reply to so I wasn't paying much attention - but then I could hear some rustling and out of the corner of my eye I could see his hand - he was WHACKING OFF at his desk.

What kind of freaking perverts (um, and lushes, crackheads and whores) do I work with??

This Moron's Mantra
After breaking up my ex- and his new girlfriend, I had a change of heart. To assuage my guilt, I kept trying to call her, explain things to her and apologize - something I seem to get an excessive amount of practice doing. I'm the tornado and the cleanup crew, rolled into one. My ex finally said, "please stop helping."

In the immortal words of Britney, "oops, I did it again." I offer my heartfelt apologies for my actions, which always seem to come together like a good sitcom in my mind, but fail miserably upon execution. I WILL NOT MEDDLE.

If the road to hell is paved with good intentions, I'm three-quarters of the way there.

On the 10th Day, He Strode Again
Great news: a phone call from my son last night. After a week and a half in Michigan at my dad's, he hasn't worn out his welcome yet, YES! Looks like plan "ship the kid out and find trouble" is moving along according to schedule! My father, obviously, is a saint.

"These boots are made for walking, and that's just what they'll do...one of these days these boots are gonna walk all over you."

Sitting Quietly
A lot running through my mind right now...mostly that no one deserves to have such a misguided force called Indigo in their lives. Heaven help them.

AP - 1 hour, 6 minutes ago

BAGHDAD, Iraq - A U.S. Apache attack helicopter crashed Monday north of Baghdad, killing both pilots, a day after a series of suicide attacks left nearly three dozen people dead in northern Iraq. The AH-64 crashed in Mishahda, 20 miles north of the capital, and was in flames on the ground, an Associated Press reporter at the scene said. The two pilots were killed in the crash, which is still under investigation, said Lt. Col. Clifford Kent, spokesman for the 3rd Infantry Division.

Beyond Surreal
Yes, my ex-husband/sperm donor is an Apache helicopter pilot assigned to the same company in Baghdad as the two pilots that died and yesterday was probably the single scariest day of my life. If you're going to rank life events and give them medals, I now have the coveted gold to share the award stand with childbirth and heart surgery. My thoughts are still swirling, a chaotic mess on any given day…yet for a few hours, I had amazing clarity (don't worry, it's gone now).

My Irish/ German heritage means I'm strong in public, rarely cry or get upset, but have major emotional turmoil just beneath the surface. My co-workers probably didn't even realize what a difficult day I had (of course, they're obtuse, so that could be part of it). Reading my blog comments, all the support, concern and hugs people took the time to leave...wow! Thank you from the bottom of my black and rusty heart.

I understand the difference between real life (RL) and space life (SL) and the dangers in living exlusively in a fantasy realm, BUT when strangers offered solace to Barb/Lavender Rain when her mom died, got psychiatric assistance for Hopeful Jo, and consistently offer shoulders to lean on...what a wonderful SL world it can be (if you think I'm being too mushy, shut the hell up or I'll kick your cyber ass).

When my son was little, he would say "double u" (W) instead of "I love you." To those of you who care and let me into your lives (including those who don't particularly want to but begrudgingly allow me to force myself): W.

Don't forget the lube, honey
HOLY SHIT!
I work on a military base with 9 other people. Earlier this morning, some undercover investigators from a nearby town came in to arrest one of my co-workers. Apparently, he owed money for crack to someone, who stole his car at gunpoint Saturday night and used it in a robbery.

Nobody knows all the details (I’ve been trying to eavesdrop from my desk all morning), but we know he admitted to smoking crack and the investigators are taking him and his car for a police lineup. It's not looking like clear blue skies.

Who said Mondays are boring?
**
Apparently, my good intentions of giving my co-worker a healthy addiction like the internet failed miserably since he sold the computer I gave him FOR DRUGS. I suppose it could be kind of funny if the key logger program is still on there and EX is reading. Heh.

Dead Dog Walking
They say man is a dog's best friend...but my dog Skylar has been best friends with a massive Rottweiler for the past 5 years. I used to dogsit for him once in a while when we lived in Kentucky (you never met a more spoiled dog, with his designer travel bag, water bottle, etc...140 pound pussy!)

I was talking to Skylar (which mortifies my son to no end..."mom, people can see you!" although I'm thinking it's his age since EVERY friggin' thing I do seems to embarass him!) and decided to tell her Gunner had been put to sleep this weekend. I don't know HOW this is possible, but I think she understood. She's been moping around for five days now...and I feel SO BAD. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything...

Chains of Love and Big Fat Clocks
How can I explain, when there are few words I can choose
How can I explain, when words get broken

We used to talk about the weather, making plans together
Days would last forever

Remember back in March when my friend in Boston bought me a ticket to go see Erasure with him on June 3rd? Yeah, I forgot, too (SHIT!). The nice thing about Bill is he always calls me when he's drunk...or listens to 80's music...or decides he wants to have a kid. I returned home from vacation to 6 messages from him on my cell phone...holding it up to the stage so I could hear Erasure. Not quite as nice as memorex (or being there), but...

When I called him back, he told me he decided to quit his (really good) job after eighteen years, take the summer off (by training for a triathlon?) and enjoy life. I happen to know the truth: Bill has more sex than any person I've ever known. He's GOT to be exhausted trying to hold a job on top of it! Three different guys/day is probably average...I especially think he deserves a good bitch slap for bragging when I happen to be celibate, but...I wonder if he needs a playmate...?
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I've taken continuous slack for failing my sexual harassment test. I find inappropriate groping humorous, what can I say? When I arrived at work this morning, my co-workers called me in to watch a spoof of a training video on the internet.

My favorite scene:

Two men walk up to the water cooler and one says, "So, word around the office is you have a fat cock. So do I. I was thinking we should put a little oil on them and rub our fat cocks together." HAHAHAHA.

Maybe you had to see it...

To thine own whine be true
Note: DO NOT take a vacation on a romantic island getaway with your son. And dog. During pre-hurricane/rainy season. In a house with nothing but dial-up.
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I hate you and your soulmate cuddling together on the couch while you watch t.v. And you, calling your wife when you're out of town ("you hang up first" "No, you"). I detest the way you bring him a drink before he has to ask. I cannot stand the way you say "I love youuuuuu" and it drifts off and pierces my eardrums. And I especially hate the two of you, strolling down the beach, hand-in-hand, stopping occasionally to gaze into one another's eyes.

Mostly, I hate myself for wanting someone like you to share my life.

Homeward Bound

**Apparently, it's LEGS DAY on Spaces...at least mine are tan

Hair at Home:
1. one of 5 shampoos, depending on if I need clarifying, thickening, conditioning, highlighting or want to smell like coconut.
2. Aveda Brilliant foaming gel
3. Blowdry
4. John Frieda's Sheer Blonde spotlight in the area around my face
5. Sebastian Mess to separate and stick up the back
6. Sebastian Shaper Plus Hairspray

Hair at the beach:
1. Wash and air dry

Wisdom Teeth and the Trick to Ultimatums
Cruel joke: I designated a whole week for a high school dance, and mine lasted less than thirty minutes. Since it's rather anti-climatic, I'll be supplementing it with some pre- and post-event fluff...

At the end of my senior year, I started dating a junior named RK. He was a tall, smart, funny, and extremely romantic virgin, saving himself for that special girl (*gulp* - no pressure there). Since we had just missed going to prom together by a week, he took our separate cheesy prom photos and had a professional photographer edit them by cutting each of our insignificant others out, combining us, and taking a print from that negative. He presented it in a frame for our one-month anniversary. I remember hearing Wham's Everything She Wants when we started dating...and that pretty much summed it up.

That summer together was fantastic - trips to Toronto, Cedar Point, up north to go camping. This would be the first and last time I was ever treated like the budding princess I imagined myself to be. He gave me all the attention and affection he had...it wasn't until years later that I fully appreciated the quality of his...length...and girth, too.


When I went off to college that fall, we agreed we would overcome any obstacles - young love is so cute...and stupid. As a senior in HS, he made the commute from Birmingham to Ann Arbor (2 hours?) a few times a week just to spend time with me. What initially seemed romantic and wonderful, soon started making me claustrophobic. How the hell was I supposed to experience life, bars and and embrace my inner slut if he was always around?! and expecting letters? or calling?! I resented it, we bickered about it, but neither of us was apparently willing to let the relationship go.

Not having been born with a silver spoon, or even cheap imitation silver-plated one, I started looking into loans and other options to help supplement the cost of college. I talked to an Army recruiter about investing two years time in the Army to get the GI Bill.

FINALLY! After a whole year together, our real prom together was rolling around. I had two impacted wisdom teeth pulled a few days before.

7:30 Location: Prom, at some upscale country club
I told RK about my meeting with the recruiter about becoming a medic in the army. He told me I would have to chose the military or him - that it would be too diffult to have a long distance relationhip under those conditions. "Fine", I icily replied "I guess that means we're officially breaking up."

That shithead called my bluff and break up we did...I suppose I expected some pleading and tears, damn him.

8:00 He drove me home.

The last time I caught up with him...he went to law school (did he even thank me for all those arguments I let him practice on me with??), moved to California and started a company to make pages load faster on the internet (? or something) then sold it for $200 million. He's writing a book, volunteering legal services to people that can't afford it, and has three kids. I'm happy for him - he deserves it - but I am SO thankful I didn't end up with him! Imagine what a spoiled rotten bitch I would be!

Fort Savannah
Time for the requisite cat photo - it's been a while and the cats are grumbling.

Vanity vs. Sanity
I've broken my nose twice. I don't recall the first time, but for the second, I was backstroking my way across the pool during swim team warm-up. Daydreaming and admiring the way my boobs floated above the water (okay, confession, I still do this in the bathtub - surround them with bubbles and they look like islands in the clouds - fascinating). I hoped I would drown after a diver landed on my face. Score: 5.8

As I was adding up my lodging, gas and food receipts from my Florida trip the other week, it occurred to me that I spent more than if I had gotten a nose job, maybe something along the lines of Meg Ryan's cute little button of a nose...or Sharon Stone's. Looks like I'll be living with my twice-broken, slightly crooked, nosebleeding, deviated-septum monstrosity a little longer.

Sometimes being impulsive is not all it's cracked up to be.