Yellowfishin'

Perty as a Pitcher

2006-09-14T23:14:00.000-04:00

Well, I couldn't be happier unless Mister finally won the Oklahoma lottery or it started raining pink and blue cotton candy. First of all: it is football season and my boy, Terrell Owens, is playing for the best football team of all time (whether they know it yet or not). That's right, the one, the only, the currently 0 and 1 (thanks a lot, Drew Bledsoe), America's Team: THE Dallas Cowboys. Yes, week one was ugly, but T.O. did great and I have high hopes. Also, I won the picks contest this week. I correctly picked 10 of week one's winning teams; Mister picked 6. Let me wipe away the tears of joy....

I was shocked to see it had been nine months since I last wrote on this blog. If I was fertile, I coulda had another young'n by now! Speaking of young'ns, Mister and I will be having a meeting with a prospective birthmom sometime this weekend. I'm pretty nervous about meeting her so I'm moving right along....

Finally, my biggest reason to be happy everyday all the time (aside from Jesus and Mister) the Bug is absolutely adorable and sweet. She is the cutest little girl on the planet Earth and I'm being totally impartial. Seriously. She's got these cute curls in her honey blond hair and big, white teeth just like her momma. They look like little Chicklets but in a good way; it suits her perfectly. She has giant greenish greyish blueish eyes like her daddy and his sense of humor, too. She is cute as a bug's ear, perty as a pitcher, sharp as a tack, smart as a whip, and any other Southern expressions y'all kin think up ta discribe summin real real perty 'n' smart. She can say, "Love you" and give Eskimo kisses and tell her daddy, "Bye, bye, Daddy." She's a genius, I tell you.

Well, this has been fun. I'll write more in about 9 months.

A:You Rub Two Sticks Together

2006-01-25T21:37:00.000-05:00

Can't talk. Just wanted to get the answer to the riddle out there for all of you Brokebacks at EDS. I'm baking a cake for the Bug so I gotta get back to being domestic.

Q: How do you start a fire without any matches?

2006-01-14T00:06:00.000-05:00

Why is "Brokeback Mountain" an "off-limits" movie for every guy I know? Can you say, "homophobic?" If this movie were about two hot, lesbian waitresses or strippers or nurses or whatever it would be, well, a porn movie. But it would also be on lots of guys "to see" lists.

Now, I am not a freak about romantic movies. I hated "The Notebook" and "Bridges Over Madison County." I'm more of an action/horror/suspense gal, myself. (BTW if you see a good horror movie, let me know. I have been sorely disappointed lately...) I also like stupid comedy like "Old School" or "Anchorman" type of stuff.

I do like "The Piano" and, laugh if you want to but, "Harold and Maude" and "Murphy's Romance." Pretty much any odd couple type of romantic movie and I'm in. Hence my desire to go see two extremely cute cowboys in tight blue jeans who happen to like snuggling up on the same side of the campfire when the dogeys retire.

If that is wrong, baby, I don't wanna be right.

Feliz Navidad

2005-12-23T11:52:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas Eve Eve, everybody! This is going to be the BEST Christmas ever, I am certain of it. Brightly wrapped presents are flooding out from under our sparklingly beautiful, albeit totally artificial, Christmas tree, Mister is home for days and days and, most importantly, we have the Bug this year. She is adorable! We got her a Santa outfit -- it's got white boots, a dress Mrs. Clause could've made herself (and would be proud to wear if it were like 35 sizes bigger) and, you know it, a Santa hat. (Yes, we're THOSE parents; shameless doters, show-offs even.) We actually had to make the Woodland Hills Mall trip even though I normally oppose that sort of thing due to traffic, commercialism, rude people, honkers, etc. While we were there I even let Mister talk me into getting the Bug's picture taken with the Big Guy himself and it is amazingly cute, of course. She was the center of attention everywhere we went and she Miss America parade-waved her way through all of the stores flashing that gummy grin at passers-by. She, by the way, is getting two new teeth (the little vampire one's on top) and is taking big old strides toward Mama every chance she gets. I predict full fledged walking by birthday numero uno next month.

One unfortunate stop we made was to a Mexican food restaurant that Mister and his collegues RAVE about; I now know that they are all certifiably insane. The name escapes me at the moment and I can hear Mister snoring in the living room in my pink recliner so he is of no help on the subject. I will find out and post it ASAP as to warn others. It was bad. Avoid going there at all costs. If the choice is to starve to death or eat at this authentic Mexican food restaurant, take your time deciding. To make things worse, Mister had just dissed me by saying I was picky and he didn't know if I'd like anything there. I am not sure why I found this insulting. I really am not all that picky, especially considering what I used to be like. When I met Mister, I would not even eat guacamole. He really opened up a new world of food to me but there are some things I won't try and he will try any food no matter how disgusting it is. He's eaten sea turtle, duck head and chicken feet for crying out loud! How can I and my weak tummy compete with that? We can't. Why try? Why waste valuable tummy space on yucky food?

We went into this restaurant and I'm still stinging from the picky remark--I'm too sensitve. Nothing looked too great but I figured I'd be safe with dos tacos asada. I didn't even double check to be sure it was regular beef meat as opposed to some other beef part. I also got chips and salsa. Safe choices, right? Alas, no. The tortillas are homemade (sounds good but it's not) and so are the chips, the oily, soggy, tiny chips. I assume the salsa verde (the best part of my experience) is homemade as well. The tacos are soft tacos with very corsely chopped tough beef (at least it was not testicle or liver or something), onions and cilantro. No cheese, no tomatoes, no lettuce, no gracias. To add to my disgust, Mister was eating a taco de lengua like five inches from my plate. Blech. But, remember, I didn't want him to think I was picky. I was trying to keep a brave face all through the nasty chips and first taco (in my head I'm stubbornly thinking "Picky my ass; I'll show him. This tastes GOOD. Que rico! The more authentic the better, baby. Bring it!) but, looking at the second taco, I finally broke down. I mean, who am I kidding? He KNOWS me. I've been married to the man for 6 1/2 years! So I told him it was gross and I did hate it and he lovingly offered to buy me a new lunch somewhere else (no thanks) and force fed himself a fifth taco. The good news is after five of those babies, he's out of commission on authentic Mexican food for at least 2 weeks so I am off the hook through Christmas break. Que bueno! Feliz Navidad!

Grandpa Harold

2005-12-16T22:58:00.000-05:00

What a week! So many things happened this week it could have easily been 5 or 6 weeks all rolled up into one. The bug took three big steps toward Grandma (awesome); my parents' 11 year old Great Dane died (not good); my grandmother's boyfriend (also of the past 11 years or so) died (awful); Dallas whupped Kansas City (fantastic) and I graciously allowed Mister to get out of the bet we made even though I totally KNOW he would not have let me off that easily (I'm a saint, I know); the kids and I took gifts to the elderly at the Franciscan Villa Nursing Home (fun and tiring); I almost got into a wreck coming home from the post office (scary and it kind of pissed me off).

One thing I definitely learned this week is that your family is what you make of it for the most part. I mean, there are things you can't control like an alcoholic or depressed relative or having an assbro, like I do. But you get to pick the rest of the people you want to have in your "family." Harold was my nanny's boyfriend for over 1/3 of my life and I've known him for over 1/2 of my life. He has come to every birthday party, Christmas celebration, Thanksgiving dinner, wedding, anniversary shindig, the Bug's Baptism, adoption, etc. You name it and Harold was there; quiet, kind, helpful, joking, loving. He was great and I can hardly believe he actually died Monday. I'm shocked, I guess. Even looking in the casket I didn't get it. Seeing Nanny cry broke my heart but I couldn't grasp that he is gone.

It finally hit me pretty hard and right between the eyes at the graveside service. Geronimo Harold Gonzales is in that big, heavy, expensive box and he is going into the ground and he is not coming to Christmas or to the Bug's birthday next month because he is dead and that sucks.

It's hard to express to other people who he was to me. He was not a blood relative and we were not related by marriage. He was at one time Assbro's father-in-law but after he was widowed and Nan was widowed they began hanging out and having a blast together everyday.

The Bug was going to call him Grandpa Harold but she won't ever get to. Mister drew his name for the Christmas gift exchange and we were going to get him a restaurant gift card because he and Nan like to go out to eat a lot. They LIKED to go out to eat a lot. Instead we bought a floral spray for his funeral.

How can you express this to someone when they say, "Who's funeral did you go to?" A family friend. My grandmother's boyfriend. My neices' and nephew's grandfather. Assbro's former father-in-law. None of these lame ass titles cut it for me.

Ok. I'm about to cry because I'm a dork and it's just been a stressful week so let me tell you about the bet Mister practically BEGGED me to make with him. My team (the Dallas Cowboys - yea!) played the Kansas City Chiefs (boo) on Sunday and Mister has been bugging me all week asking, "What do you want to bet? What do you think we should bet on the big game?"

At first he suggested that I'd have to wear his Dante Hall jersey on the next free dress day at work which is really no big deal because Hall is fast and cool; I like Dante alright. I don't have a jersey in Mister's size so I said he could take me to lunch, my choice. Then he upped the ante and said I'd have to wear this ass ugly jacket he has that, I'd like to add, his ex-fiance gave him. Yikes! I'm surprised he even still OWNS this thing much less asks me to wear it. It is bad. Take a swig of Pepto before you look at it as it incites nausea. It's rough. It's really big and has red and yellow, gosh I don't know, tiger stripes, I guess, on the sleeves. It's hard to explain but wearing this would be humilating. He also toyed with the idea of making my parent's and me wear KC face paint to breakfast at the Cracker Barrel or something. For those of you who thought Mister was a nice guy, this is who we're really dealing with. This is his TRUE nature.

Well, I finally wised up and realized that if I lose, I look like a complete idiot wearing his disgusting jacket to work and if I win he gets to eat at a nice restaurant. Fair? Not even. So I said if you get the chance to humiliate me, I get the chance to humiliate you. If the Dallas Cowboys win, I want you to wear blue and silver nail polish to work one night. Mister took his time deciding but finally agreed.

Let me tell you, I have never seen a longer face than Mister's when the KC kicker missed that field goal in the last few seconds of that game. My word, you'd have thought I shot his puppy or something. He was S-A-D. And I am a C-H-U-M-P because I fell for it and said, "You don't have to wear nail polish and I love you and don't worry about the bet." He was quick to take me up on that but I want you to know that I am 100% certain that if the tables were turned I'd be swiggin' Pepto walking around in a red and yellow gortex nightmare scaring little children and doing the tommahawk chop.

overwhelmed

2005-11-18T02:29:00.000-05:00

I am so overwhelmed right now with everything I need to do that I am no longer in freak out panic on the brink of tears mode. I am in insomniac zombie mode, I guess. I need to go to sleep because I need to get up early because I need to go get doughnuts because I am in charge of the adoption mass because I am a sucker and when the lady who should be in charge asked me on the last day of school last year if I would do it I replied with a giddy "yes!" because I was a new adoptive mom and it is a good cause and it was the last day of school for cryin' out loud.

When little Zoe got up to read her part during practice today she just stares at the pews which, today held 16 adoptees and their siblings but tomorrow will hold hundreds of people, and she shrugs. We've practiced and she's read it with her mom and I showed her what to do but she just shrugs.

After a minute of this I call out from my mid-church pew, "Zoe, just read the card in front of you! Read it, Sweetie." She has this scary stiff smile on her face and she's just standing there in her little uniform on this big altar of a Catholic church, and she's almost swallowed up by this gigantic marble podeum, and she finally says through clinched teeth, "I'm nurfous. I'm scart." I smile really nicely and patiently because that is like half of my job on earth it seems and I say, "It's ok, Zoe, you are gonna do GREAT! *thumbs up* Go ahead and read the card, ok?" Finally, after about ten big breaths she begins reading and it takes her like 4 1/2 seconds to read her part and she's done and she bounces to the back of the line and the next little soldier for Christ reads her part and we go on.

Is that everybody's part? Are we all worried and nervous and consumed with writing math quizzes and planning masses and parties and doing laundry and progress reports and changing diapers and feeding dogs and all of the other things that may make us "nurfous" or crazy in our lives and then in like 3 or 4 God-seconds it's all over with and God's going to say, "See, that wasn't so bad. Let's go have doughnuts."? That would be sweet.

Lesbians and T.O.: How Could I Have Been So Wrong?

2005-11-11T01:20:00.000-05:00

Well, I was recently wrong about two things and, even though I LOATHE being wrong, I will now share these truths with you.

First: Life is not necessarily easier for lesbians.

Somehow Mister and I end up talking about lesbians a lot more than you would think. (Our biggest fight when we were dating was about lesbos and winos and we are neither. Sometimes we are such idiots about stuff like that.) Now, I am not talking about "lipstick lesbians" so you guys can zip your pants. I am talking about one of my best friends from high school and college who ended up being gay. Mister says she has a "pork and bean body" and I have always thought of her as kind of asexual. Still, it was a shocker in some ways and a "well, no duh" moment in others.

Mister has told me that he thinks being gay is a cop out because you can so easily talk to your partner and get along because you know so much about the other person's feelings, inner workings, etc. The people who are gay just don't feel comfortable around the opposite sex so they seek out a relationship with someone to whom they can relate. I actually started to buy into this in the last few years (it's much easier to nod and say "uh huh" than argue with Mister and some of the thoughts eventually seep in. It's scary but I'll be ok.)

Anyway, I found out my friend is seeing a couselor and has practically had a nervous breakdown. She hates her job, she doesn't want to live in the state she lives in anymore, she doesn't know what is going on in her life but she knows she's not happy. This made me feel so great! Not in a sadistic sort of way but just in an, "Oh my gosh we're all more alike than I thought" sort of way. Now Mister is going to get wind of this and he is going to try and convince me that she's just sad because she's made a mess of her life because she thinks she's a lesbian. I know the truth, though. She's sad because sometimes people (white, black, hetero, homo, tall, short, rich, poor, fertile, sterile, ugly, gorgeous) are sad. And, no matter who you crawl between the sheets with at night, being sad sometimes is ok.

Second: The infamous Terrell Owens of the Philadelphia Eagles must actually be a huge a#@hole.

Pretty much everybody but me thought so for like 2 years and I just would not believe it. His coaches hated him, his teamates couldn't bear him, the media, although they couldn't get enough of him, trashed him every week. My thought was, "He's just really honest and these other people can't take it. They are being WAY too sensitive. T.O. is a super-freaky talented, honest individual who really, really loves his grandma. How can that be a bad thing?"

I was so happy earlier this season when he and McNabb had Krispy Kremes together and made up, you would've thought I was the one he brought doughnuts to in his big ole limo. And I'm a Cowboys fan so, technically, I should hate the Eagles almost as much as being wrong about things... But now it is official. EVERYONE ON THIS EARTH HATES T.O. If his old granny was still alive she'd slap him and tell him to straighten up and do right. There is a difference between being honest and being mean. There is a point when you have to care about other people's feelings more than being right. I had to learn this the hard way myself. You can be brutally honest and tell everyone every little thing that floats into your pointed, little head and be right, right, right every second of everyday but guess what? You end up off the team with no real friends, no spouse, no granny. Just you, a big ass pile of money and a limo full of Krispy Kremes you gotta eat by yourself.

I Used to Love My Big Brother and Spiders and Now I Hate Both

2005-10-28T22:28:00.000-04:00

Warning: This one is kind of a downer but I'm hoping it will make me feel better.

My big brother is an ass. When I was a kid I actually loved him and thought he loved me because that is the way it's supposed to be, y'know? You see all of those t.v. shows and commercials and brothers are so great to be around and they love their sisters and protect them, and hug 'em and stuff like that. Yeah, right. My brother, who is about 5 1/2 years older than me, acted like he loved me until he was about 12. After that it was nothing but torture. Some of it was regular brother-torture which is now occasionally inflicted upon me by Mister. For example, non-stop brutal teasing until I start to cry. The face-fart. (Assbro, which will be my nickname for my ass of a bro, used to also wrap me in a blanket, sit on my face and fart and hold me down or throw me in a dark closet and close the door leaving me to untangle myself in the stinky pitch blackness. I am now extremely claustrophobic and terrified of farts.) Candy bar snatch and snarf which consisted of ransacking my bedroom to find my hidden Reese's cups, which I purchased with my allowance or grade card money, and then eating them all. Stuffed animal ransom. You know, the usual.

Assbro was not satisfied with this torture so he went on to bigger and better things: he has thrown puppies out of moving car windows, he lures deer to our Nanny's cabin and shoots them from the deck and then puts an arrow into the bullet hole, he doesn't speak to his children except the newest one he hatched out with his newest woman, he's had several heartattacks and blood clots and he's only 35 years old and everytime we go to the hospital to see him he acts all pissed off, he stole a house from my grandma and didn't speak to her or apologize before she died. He has tried to break my parents' hearts on too many occasions to count in many ways including, but not limited to ignoring every holiday, birthday and anniversary for the past 2 years. I hate Assbro. That is why I am so confused. The last uncomfortable hospital visit, with Assbro, clad in his hospital gown, and Mrs. Assbro, standing there in her trailer trashy clothes, was truly THE LAST HOSPITAL VISIT. My dad went in the room with me. We shot the breeze like this:

Assbro: "What the hell are you doin' here?"
Sis: "We came to see you. We heard you were really sick."
Assbro: "WE? Who else is here?"
Sis: I bristle at his tone and respond firmly, "Your mother, your father and your sister. We came to see you because we care about you and want to see that you're ok."
Assbro: "Is Nan here? Is Angie here? Did she bring the kids?"
Sis: "No."
Assbro: "Good. That bitch (his ex) makes me nervous. I been working for a month straight tryin' to get money to pay the fu*&ing child support so I don't go to fu*&ing jail. I've been having pain from these clots for a month."
Awkward pause.
Sis: "I heard you live in town now. We would like to see you at Thanksgiving."
Assbro furrows his brow and smirks; he's eating his dinner standing in his barefeet. He look so freaking OLD; he looks like twice as old as our dad. He's haggard and wrinkled and he is really losing a lot of hair.
Sis: "We still live in the same place. We still have the same phone number...YOU don't. Call us sometime."
Long pause. Mrs. Assbro is just staring at me. Assbro is still stabbing his food with his fork and jamming it into his mouth. He is eating roast beef, mashed potatoes and green beans. I tell him I'm going to let Mom have a turn. He has never really liked our mom.

I walk out and as I'm leaving I say: "I love you." Dad stays behind. I hear, "Love you, too." Assbro said, "Love you, too." To me.

I go into the lobby and tag Mom. You're it and, boy, is it COLD in there. She goes in. Mister and the Bug and I just wait; we talk to a really nice lady whose husband has been in the hospital for a month and I told her I'd pray for him. His name is Anthony. Dad is still in there for moral support and they come out about 5 minutes later. Mom says, almost cheerfully, well, that's that. He said he doesn't want to see us again. He doesn't want to see Nan (Dad's mom) or his kids or any of us ever again. He said when he dies, we'll hear about it.

That's that. That's him.

I cried all the way home in the car. I felt miserable all day even though it was a Sunday; church day, football day, my favorite day of the week. I figured I was pretty much over it by the next day. Here comes the confusing part: Assbro is a horrible brother, son and grandson. He's a terrible father. He has practically no redeeming qualities whatsoever. Why do I want him in my life? He has not been nice to me since I was like 7 years old so why do I even care about him? Why am I still sad?

This brings me to the spider portion of this blog. The other night Mister trapped a big ole spider in front of our garage. He wanted to show it to me before he squashed it because I like spiders. (Not in a freaky Elvira Mistress of the Dark way; I just think they are neat to look at.) Much to his amazement, I vehemently opposed said squashing. My issue with the impending squashing was that I don't squash bugs outside and I really prefer others not to kill them either. Inside, they are on my turf and could potentially harm Mr., Bug or myself, so they are killed with a heavy heart. (I pick up the heavy heart, lift it over my head and bring it down violently onto the bug repeatedly until it is dead.) I hate the crunchy noise; I hate picking them up afterward with the giant tissue wad, I hate flushing them. It's all really morbid to me. One second, Mrs. Spider is walking around my guest bathroom, as happy as an unassuming spider can be and the next second SPLAT! GRAB! FLUSH! What if that happened to you? How would YOU feel about it? I just think it's bad Karma.

Anyway, I take the gigantic spider out to the back-back yard in the pitch darkness and release it probably to be promptly eaten by a big owl or something. But that is ok, that is just nature and I have nothing to do with that. That is between the owl and the spider and God. MY Karma is intact. Mr. thinks I'm retarded.

The next day I happen to flip open a student dictionary and see a spider that looks EXACTLY like my spider from the night before. It was a tarantula. Good to know. I get home that afternoon and, low and behold, there is a tarantula in the driveway. I see it as I am walking toward the porch. I decide to just leave it be.

The next afternoon, there is another one in the driveway (or the same one--I don't want to sound specist or whatever but they DO all look alike to me) and I don't try too hard NOT to hit it with my car because, well, it's getting to be kind of a lot of tarantulas for me.

The next morning, I'm getting ready in the guest bathroom and guess what? There is a medium sized tarantula trying to get into my bathtub. The same bathtub where I wash my infant daughter. Huh. I get Mr. to kill it but I let him use my shoe. I get the lecture: "Well, I'll give you a little tip. Next time you see one, don't freakin' 'rescue' it and release it into the yard. F*&king KILL IT." Jeez. Sorry.

Tonight I killed two. One in the living room right by where the Bug plays and one in the hallway heading to the Bug's room. Maybe Mister is right. Inside, outside, Karma or not, I guess I better get my spider squashing shoes on.

Friday Night Freak-Out Fest

2005-09-09T23:52:00.000-04:00

First of all I just want to say that all of my freakin' dogs are ingrates and right now I hate (yes H*A*T*E) them all. The idiot outside dogs (One Eye and Casperpiller) fight like they are either at war or in love and often draw blood and practically rip apart the doghouse trying to tear each other to shreds. My mother-in-law's dog (Mollicula the Urinator) has Alzeimer's so bad she doesn't know if she's outside, inside, going to the bathroom, sleeping, hungry, full, a dog, a cat; it's a NIGHTMARE! She'll eat like eight bowls of food a day because she doesn't remember eating, and can she have an empty food bowl for ONE FREAKIN' MINUTE?! NOOOO! She barks so loudly and in this raspy, annoying old dog voice; she sounds like a mortally wounded sea lion. The Pomeranian (Bad Andy) will not shut the f*&% up. He barks if he wants food, if he wants outside, if he wants inside, if he wants on the bed, if he wants in the living room, if he wants his nails painted, if he wants a Porsche, if his porridge is too hot, if his chair is too hard; where does it end with him? It's like living with a princess or something.

But I swear, of all of these mutts, my Jack Russell Terrier (Rudy) is gonna be the death of me! (As you probably guessed, I didn't really BBQ him the other night, which is a decision I am now truly regretting on multiple levels. I ended up having Easy Mac, orange soda and cookie dough. Oh yeah, baby. If you recall, I didn't have a date with Mr. because of the outrageous gas prices and we were trying not to eat dinner out as much; you know, save a little money, watch that bottom line, yada, yada, yada. He turned around and drove like 10 miles out of his way to buy a friggin' taco for himself and Chadwick; yeah, THAT'S fair.)

Anyway, it's like living with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. (I'm talking about Rudy now but if the shoe fits...;P Just joking, Sugar.) Dr. Jekyll Rudy will kill and eat spiders and bugs for me. He risks his life and squatty, little limbs killing huge snakes in our backyard. At night, he climbs in bed with us and sleeps with his head on my arm, right by my side and when I roll over, he rolls over. We snuggle and I rub his soft ears and he's sooooo sweet. I love him and he's my buddy. AWWWWWWWWWW.

Enter Mr. Hyde Rudy to totally piss me off and drive me nuts.

For example, earlier this evening he fufilled his dream of late: swimming in our fish pond. I was calmly feeding the 8 or 10 fish we have in this beautiful, tropical pond and out of nowhere, Rudy leapt into the fish pond and tried to kill all of our gigantic, beautiful, harmless koi. I nearly fell in fishing him out, he was totally soaked with fishy, pondwater, he was smooshing and killing all of the beautiful plants Mr. works so hard NOT killing. I got drenched with disgusting pondwater, the fish were freaked out. The outside dogs started fighting, Bad Andy and Mollicula were inside barking which woke up the Bug: it was a freak-out fest and it really pissed me off! Between eating plastic gloves, getting branches lodged in his mouth, flailing himself into the pond, etc., he is DEFINITELY my "problem child."

As mad as I was at him, he is currently sitting on my lap, smelling like a goldfish and watching me type. I don't know what I'm going to do with him but I also don't know what I would do without him. He's an idiot but I am the bigger idiot, for sure.

P.S. He is MUCH more evil than this picture would lead you to believe.

Passion, Tight Pants, and Itty Bitty Pieces of Paper

2005-09-07T02:28:00.000-04:00

I have a couple of things to say tonight so I'll try and make it short since it ain't gonna be sweet.

#1 I'm glad OU lost. I have only been a football fan for a few years and that is only because I found out people make these things called "picks" and win money and glory for being right which is my favorite thing in the world to be. (Just ask Mister.) I now LOVE football, especially professional football, because it's full of drama, violence, passion, athleticism and really, really cute guys in tight, tight pants. Unfortunately, OU has lost a lot of these things recently and I think it's good for the team, the coaches and the fans to have to fight to get it all back. Winning every time is not good for anybody. It's like playing Tic-Tac-Toe with a Kindergartener. Sure it's fun for awhile but then three things are going to happen. 1) Everybody is gonna get bored; 2) the victor gets a big head which causes a distraction; and 3) the five-year old is gonna whip your ass while you aren't paying attention. Then you feel like crap because a five year old kicked your butt just like TCU kicked OU's big, crimson butt. But guess who wanted it more? Guess who NEEDED that win? Not the big dog; the underdog.

#2 I was watching Dr. Phil on Monday and this lady was on the show who is afraid of paper. More specifically small pieces of paper. She claims that they make her nauseous and Dr. Phil vouched for this stating that it is a real affliction some people have. Now, I truly do not want to make people feel badly about something they cannot control, and this lady admitted that she knows this is stupid so you gotta give her credit for that, BUT W*T*F!!?? There are people wading around in stagnant, chest deep water that has dead bodies floating in it and this woman is scared of scrap paper? I think the best cure for something like that would be a visit to the astrodome in New Orleans to help clean up the mess left by thousands and thousands of homeless men, women and children. That'll fix her right up.

Yeah, I see your mouth moving but...

2005-09-04T01:15:00.000-04:00

Why is it when you want people to pay attention to you, they don't and when you want to be alone everybody's hanging around? This drives me NUTS. At work, I've got all of these little kids staring at me wanting to know what we're gonna do next and is it for credit and can we have partners and can I pet the rat and is this for homework, yada yada yada as if I've EVER not explained every little thing in a torturously detailed manner (this blog for example). As a teacher, if you're not careful, you will have the entire class standing around you in no time flat asking you questions to which you've already told them the answer. I set up boundaries in the first few weeks of school that limit this sort of brain melting chaos. At home, that's a different story all together.

I love Mister more than any human being on God's green earth. He is cute, funny, sexy, handy, extremely smart (check out the brain on Mister!) but I'm sorry to say he is deaf. Last year I had a kid in my class whose dad works where Mister works. I told him this just about 83 times. I wanted to know if he saw this guy, knew who he was, what he was like, if they worked the same shift, yada yada yada. Nothing. At school events when I'd see the guy and Mister was around, I would offer to introduce them to each other. No thanks. I even found out he and Mister graduated from the same college with their master's degrees in the SAME THING! Was Mister impressed? Crickets.

Yesterday, Mister calls me up from work and says, "You aren't gonna believe this but I got an email from this guy who works here and he said last year, his son was in your class. Can you believe that?" REALLY?! You don't say.

Now I'm pretty sure that somehow this has got to be my fault. First of all, I talk A LOT. My parents said I used to lie in the backseat of the car (no seatbelts required back then, my friends) and go on and on and on and on and they would finally say, "Does this story have a point?" and I'd pout up and mope all the rest of the way home. My parents are great but sometimes they were kinda mean. They would tease me pretty darn hard and would say, "Ah, we're just zinging you." It toughened me up for Mister, though, because he is as ornery as a wet cat. Anyway, you can't expect a guy to really take interest in every single thing a chatty cathy like me says.

Secondly, I have a big mouth. Unless I am told specifically NOT to talk about something (and sometimes even then) I will tell all about it if the time seems right. I'm not evil, it just happens. Again, lots of info coming outta my mouth and not all of it is in any way useful or interesting to Mister. The poor man HAS to filter it or explode.

Thirdly, I was wearing clothes every single time I mentioned this kid's dad working at EDS. That is the second best way to get Mister's attention and I clearly did not want his full attention or I would have had the conversation in my skivies or less.

Finally, it is my fault because I did not first pick up a book, magazine, newspaper or get involved with a movie, t.v. show or project or try and go to the bathroom before telling him the father/son story. Even above being sans clothing, the best way for a woman to hold a man's attention is to try and do something else.

I hate to give away my secret for fear that I won't get any more attention from Mister because it is the thing I crave the most in the whole universe but, please see second reason above, I can't help it.

Secret: Sometimes when we are at home or in the car and it's quiet and I'm lonely, I will pick up the latest Harry Potter, try to take a nap, or start to get involved with the sports page knowing that I can practically count down to conversation.
Shhh. Don't tell anybody.

DoggieQ

2005-09-02T19:06:00.000-04:00

I can't edit my "About" description and I have no idea where my loving hubby stores the pics on his gigantic, high powered, fancy pants computer (I DID try My Pictures...I'm slow not stupid) so clearly I am NOT the smartest woman alive but at least it's Friday! For those people who do not care about Friday b/c they have the sad, sad lifestyle of working part or all of the weekend (practically everyone at EDS) all I can say is that's why they pay you the big bucks. As for me, I am going to take a moment to do a jig because I have a three day weekend and will get to be with my baby and my other baby more than usual. Yippee!

The gas prices are so freakin' high that I'm staying in tonight instead of going to see Mister. He works about 25 minutes from our house and since we'll see each other tomorrow morning, we decided to skip our Friday night date. That's cool but it is leaving me here with nothing much to eat so I am seriously considering BBQing a dog.

We have a plethera of dogs at our house so there are lots of choices; it's a dog buffet for crying out loud! If you want aged dog, there's Molly. She is a blond mutt who is a whopping 15 years old by everyone's best guesstimate. She's deaf, stinky and urinates almost continuously. Eating her might be a mistake though b/c she's looking a little stringy around the backend.

Casper, another blonde mutt, would be a great choice if you like fatty meat. I don't. Daisy would make great steaks because she's a big, relatively young black lab. Unfortunately, I can't eat her. First, she's fast. Even though she only has the one eye (jeez, I sound like an okie). Second, she's strong. Third, she's my girl and I love her too much to coat her in sauce and throw her on the barbie. Mister would kill and BBQ ME if I ate Bad Andy. That's his boy. That stinky little Pom gets kisses before I do.

That just leaves Rudy, the Jack Russell. He's a tough little monkey. Rumor has it he's half Tasmanian Devil. He spins around in a frenzy, eating my flowers, killing butterflies, digging in the yard, and humping all the other dogs. I love 'im but it looks like he's gotta go.

P.S. I think I just put my first pic on my blog. (tear rolls slowly down cheek and fade to black)

Well, I'm the smartest woman alive!

2005-09-01T23:10:00.000-04:00

Or maybe it just feels that way right now...
I cannot do anything when it comes to computers and normally I sort of hate them for it. Let's be honest; they just sit there staring at us all day unblinking and smug with their big ole stereo ears wishing they had feet. Well, today I am a blogger and I am super excited and not hating my computer quite as much. Actually, let me try and finish publishing before I get too fired up....