Keyboard Confession - the pain edition

Every week I sit down and confess some things.  Mostly it's just an excuse to write a list.

1.  Ugggghhhh.  Today my sciatica hurts.

2.  This means I have a literal pain in my butt. 

3.  I carry a small purse now instead of my giant black behemoth purse, so no tennis ball to sit on. 

4.  I might have to walk around gripping my buttock.  It hurts.

5.  When you say through the week that you're craving cake and you never get any cake, guess what?  It becomes an obsession.

6.  My plan is to drive to the Walmarts, troll the aisles for milk and carrott sticks and junk, sneak to the bakery, buy a tiny cake just for me, perform secret ninja moves carrying my groceries in the house, hide the cake from my greedy kids, then ninja myself to the bathroom where I can cram my cake in my mouth. 

7.  I am total geniusy.  Now the big question:  yellow cake or chocolate cake?

8.  I am addicted to this song and video.  Beware uber creepiness.


9.  Owww.  My butt hurrrrrts. 

10.  You know the sad thing is that all I did was sleep.  I didn't run a mile, I didn't Tae Bo, I didn't lift heavy boxes.  Nay.  I just laid on my side and slept.  Sad.

11.  We're down to one car again.  Ask me how much fun this is. 

12.  Also, I only needed a car for the next 18 days and then it could've quit, caught on fire, been crapped on by a pterodactyl.  I really wouldn't've cared.  Nor do I care that wouldn't've isn't a word.  Word.

13.  I want cake sooooo bad.  Yellow cake.  Chocolate frosting.

14.  I made the mistake of looking at my heels.  Why didn't anyone tell me they look disgusting?  Seriously.  Also, I have a heel shaver file thingy here at my desk.  But so is my replacement.  This is kind of a private thing, I think.

15.  However, I don't want to take the heel shaver file thingy to the bathroom.  That's just gross.

16.  You know what else I don't want to do anymore?  Pack. 

17.  I can't hear the word MOTION without adding on the word LOTION. 

18.  So when my Hubs asked me what I thought of naming our church Motion, I just snickered.  I'm a twelve year old. 

19.  Speaking of Motion Lotion, I think we're low on gas, too. 

20.  Here's hoping you don't have a pain in your butt. 

Happy Friday.

The Poor Tooth Fairy

Last night, my daughter Addie lost her second tooth.  What started out as a sweet and milestoney thing is turning into a scary thing.  Here's what she did with her tooth.

It's a little styrofoam container stating My tooth is Here

With a little window cut gouged out where the Tooth Fairy could peek in and spot the tooth.

She even inked in where the tooth would sit, just to be helpful.

Inside it reads tooth fairy ONLY.  I'V Been Good.  here's My tooth!  KISS KISS. 

I Love You tooth Fairy

(She's totally kissing up, I think)

But what takes the cake is this:

Addie and her older sister crept out of bed and cut out a little note for the TF.

It reads

PLEAS GIVE ME 5 DOLLARS NOT ONE.

That turkey.

Happiness is...

...Noro yarn.

Also, it was like, a fraction of the cost.  So, even more happiness abounds. 

Only about 1 in 10 people know what Noro yarn is.  Those one persons are excited for me too. 

The other 9 are not so impressed and are only staring at that vein in my forehead. 

This is brought to you in conjunction with Leigh vs. Laundry and The Happiness Project. 

Monday is a royal pain

I'm sorry, I can't come in to work today because I'm depressed from watching the last episode of LOST.

- Things the Queen would never say

Keyboard Confessions - the training edition

Every week I sit down and confess some things.  Mostly it's just an excuse to write a list.

1.  Man, it's been a loooooong week.

2.  I'm training my replacement.  Guess what?  I think she already knows more than me.  So, it's pretty easy. 

3.  I'm also packing.  Guess what?  I hates it.  So, it's pretty miserable.  This is what our house looked like for one horrible day:

4.  I came home from work to find my Hubs and kids hard at work sorting through toys to pack and/or throw away.  I walked in the door and had a mini panic attack.  Hubs promptly shooed me out of the room because he could see the breakdown henceforth on it's way.  Thankfully, the house did not have to burn down to take care of the mess.  Nor did I die from hyperventilating.

5.  I haven't been able to waste time on the computer like normal, you know, because my replacement needs to be impressed by my knowledge and prowess of the Legal World and such, and not my ability to multitask on facebook.  I wonder if I'm missed in my online life.  *cue the we miss you, Kearsies*

6.  Also, I've been busy doing fun stuff like this:

Kindergarten graduation

7.  Also, I was the weepy mom in the second row.  Also, my lunar cycle did not help matters.  IfyouknowwhatImean.

8.  Also, about 2 hours before graduation I realized that my poor daughter had no shoes to wear.  So I was the frantic woman in Walmart shoving my daughter's feet into shoes. 

9.  Also, see those sandals she's wearing in the photo?  She's not stopped wearing them since Tuesday. 

10.  Also, those shoes were from Kmart.  So I was the frantic woman driving at breakneck speeds.

11.  Also, I suspect I use the word also too much.  Alas.

12.  For one day, I want to talk like Emma Pillsbury, the guidance counselor on Glee. 

13.  Most of you have no idea what I'm talking about.  The few who do are pursing their mouth attempting to talk like her too.

14.  Also, I agree with Sue and Will Shuester does use too much mousse.

15.  Speaking of all this Glee, I love this song for this week's offering to Get Your Freak On Friday, hosted by Transient Pod.

16.  It's not a terribly nice song, but I sure love it anyways.  

17.  LOST shows it's last episode on Sunday, right?  I dunno if my questions shall be answered, but I'll bet you 50 bucks that Jack Shephard cries.  Because he cries in every.single.episode. 

18.  Dale's sauce on your burger.  That's all I'm saying.

19.  Ok, that's a lie, because I still have a couple more things to say.  So it's just one of the many things I'll say.

20.  I tried wine again.  It was still sicknasty. 

Happy Friday.

Whooey at the flies from all my open windows

If you're just tuning in and don't know what all the talk about opening windows and telling my history means, read up here and here.

So I left you hanging all weekend.  This was because I've been up to armpit hairs in boxes and trash bags.  But I'm getting ahead of myself so let me back up.

So, it's like, idk, circa 2005 and we're all hot and heavy about planting a church, right?  Which was a big fat deal, because I was so whole heartedly against it.  Actually, I was just scared of it. 

We decided to move to Tennessee and pastor a church there.  It was a big move for us and we were told by the church that hired my Hubs that they were completely excited about having a young pastor with lots of ideas on how to reach young people to grow the church.

Eight months later, my sweet Hubs was fired from the church for being too young and having too many ideas reaching too many young people who were joining the church. 

I know. 

I...know. 

What you feel is what we felt times eleventy billion.

About five minutes after being told the news, we sat there letting YOU'RE FIRED soak in, a group of people who were Pro-MySweetHubs approached us and asked us if we would consider staying to start a new church.

Soooo not the way we envisioned that whole thing playing out, but whatever.  Innovation is...something wisdomy and smarty or something. So we stayed.

Except...it just didn't feel right.  Kind of like that time I had a ratt tail, it just felt...weird.  Neither of us had peace about doing this church start.  It was a good thing with great people, just not the right time. 

Not to mention, hello, living with no salary and only donations sure do make your credit card bills stack up. 

So off my Hubs went to a conference, to snuggle all up in God's armpit and discuss our future and junk.  And 2 days later he came back all weepy and happy and junk.  And I was all full of the trepidatiousness and skeerdy catness and junk.  And he said, "Whaddya think about moving to Boulder, Colorado to plant a church?"  And I was all, mustnotsayhellno, mustnotsayhellno, mustnotsayhellno..."Ok". 

And there was Purpose again.

Except, we were stuck in a lease at our apartment and it would cost us approximately $98,226,355.00 to break it.  Which probably wasn't the actual figure but when you're uber poor, that's about what it feels like. 

And thus began Miracles.

First, we needed a place to just Live and Be.  A place to Work Off Debt.  A place to Heal, because getting fired from a church sucks big fat rocks and other stuff and no seminary or book can prepare you for the emotions that transpire once a Firing has occurred.  And that place ended up being *cue trumpets* the apartment we lived those few months betwixt college and seminary! 

But first *cue bass drum beats* we had to deal with The Giant Lease.  And here is where Miracle #1 fits it.  See, unbeknownst to us, the owners of our apartment buildings were also the owners of an Old Folksy Type Home next door.  And those owners had themselves a Planning Session wherein they decided they needed to demolish our apartments to make room for some kind of Entertainmenty Type Place for Oldy Type People.  And in a big fat catered dinner for all the lease holders, we were told DUDE, YOU'RE NO LONGER IN A LEASE, EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY, IN FACT, EVERYONE GETS THEIR SECURITY DEPOSIT BACK TOO, EVEN YOU MURPHY FOLKS WHO'S KIDS SCRATCHED THE WALLS WITH CRAYONS AND FREDDY KRUGER TYPE NAILS, YES YOU TOO SHALL GET MONIES BACK, PLEASE TRY THE FISH.

And should you have been at that fancy dinner, you would've spotted a large group of shocked and sad people who were none too pleased with this news and at the table next to them was a blond guy and a brunetty lady with their arms raised in V for Victory.  <---That would be me and the Hubs, for the uninformed.

Insert Miracle #2:  Now freed from the expensive lease breakage, we boxed up what little possessions we deemed necessary, donated and/or sold most of our furniture and crammed our junk into a little trailer that was donated to us.  It was just big enough for us.  And what we sold and lived off of once arriving on the farm.

Insert Miracle #3:  My Hubs had a job waiting for him immediately working with his cousin.  This was because his uncle fell and broke his ankle.  Sad for him, but a paycheck for us. 

Insert Miracle #4:  This one company with the name of a popular red fruit responded to the application my Hubs had sent in months earlier for the new store being built in the next town.  They basically loved him and created a job for him.  I wasn't surprised.  He's pretty great, ya'll. 

I found a job just down the road from my house, working on a computer blogging facebooking typing up legalish stuff.  I'm near my kids, I take off when I need to and I am plied with chocolate and Diet Coke.  Not exactly heaven, but pretty durn close.  Except for the leaky roof and all the dust.  Those are lame.

So Work and Live and Be and Heal we did.  Except, this was not Boulder, Colorado.  And our Debt was still Mega Huge and Never Ending.  It would take another one of those miracle thingies to get us there.

Insert Miracle #5:  My Hubs applied to a program within his job.  Out of 8,000 applicants, he was one of a few selected.  I told you, he's awesome.  And guess where his new job would be?  If you guessed BOULDER, COLORADO, you deserve a gold star.  Or a thumbs up.  Because I don't have any gold stars.

And so, after all this time, we're moving to Colorado.

And you wanna hear the ironical part of it all?  All along, we would say we wanted to be there by July of 2010.  And guess when we'll be moving?  July 1, 2010.  Ironicalish.  Or, super duper amazingly cool.

And so now you know.  And so now I pack.

Happy Monday.

Vintage Noisemaker Giveaway winner!!!

The Random Number Generator gods have spoken and the winner of the Vintage Noisemakers is...

Gabrielle!!!

Congratulations, Gabrielle!  May you be noisy and joyous everywhere you go, clacking and twirling and rachetting in celebration of Twizzlers or LOST or Ugg Boots or whatever you feel like!

And many many thanks to Vintage Umbrella for participating in my humble anniversary!

Opening my windows, Part two

If you're just picking up what I'm laying down and haven't read yesterday's post on Kearsie:  The Woman Behind The Plastic Edward Dolls and Lack of Snuggies, I'd urge you to catch up.  It's quick.  I'm not particularly loquacious.

So me and Mr. Kearsie finish with college, move to my Hubs' hometown and shove our meager belongings into the apartment above his parent's newly built house.  Why yes, that IS the same apartment I'm living in now!  Bonus points for noticing! But let's not get ahead of ourselves. All in due time.  Or a few paragraphs.

We were whiling away our days in Northern Alabama, my Hubs working a crazy 12 hour 3rd shift job and me staying up late at nights watching Martha Stewart at 3 a.m.  And the whole time we were loudly exclaiming to anyone with ears and maybe a few potted plants MAN I'M SO GLAD WE DON'T HAVE TO GO TO SEMINARY, WE'RE DONE WITH SCHOOL FOORRREEEVVVEERRRR. MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAA.

And then six months later promptly packed up our few possessions and moved to Seminary.  Because God is hil.ar.ious.  And pays me back for things I rashly say, like I'LL NEVER WEAR CAPRIS BECAUSE THEY'RE UGLY.  Also, to clarify:  God probably doesn't care if I wear capris.  And I'm wearing capris as I type. 

And then we procreated.  Dude.  We're married.  We're allowed.  And we created a wee alien pod in my belly.  And thus began My Life As A Mother And When I Began To Lose My Mind And Body Shape That I Totally Took For Granted.  I say "alien pod" because surely that's why my body began to hate any and all food and drink and why my feet grew and I got a rash and had leakages like nosebleeds and icky gross things that no book prepares you for.  Because all babies are alienish.

After I held my alien child, who looked a ton like me only so pretty I couldn't tear my eyes off her, my Hubs casually mentioned, "Hey, I think we should move to a random town where we don't know a soul, live in poverty and ocassionally bounce checks because our funding will be spotty and plant a church which will mostly likely fail because most church plants do and we'll be utterly alone and we'll never be able to buy cool things like fancy soaps or a Dyson vacuum, whaddya think?"

Ok, so that's not like, word for word, but that was in a nutshell what my new-mommy-getting-to know-my-alien-offspring-mind neuroses translated. 

And I summoned up all my godly vibes that surely had been expanding along with my thighs and new stretch marks, sifted through all the proper answers I could give, selected one and said "Uh...HELL NO."

Now, let me stop right here and say that sometimes patterns develop.  I've said "Uh...HELL NO" to a lot of things.  And most of those things have since transpired, like moving in August to the hottest state ever to a tee tiny college town with only two traffic lights and no Walmart exactly eleventy billion miles from home.  Learn from me, kind reader.  I am a Cautionary Tale.  And I like Unnecessary Capitalization.

Here I was, holding my wee babe, a whole nuther mouth to feed, a bottom to diaper. And I was Afraid. 

I give massive bonusy points to my sweet Hubs, not only because he grew a beard for me, rubs my feet and brings me Diet Coke when I am whiny, he dropped the subject of church planting.  Probably what he was doing was waiting for God to smack me upside the head.  Which is what eventually happened.

We moved from seminary housing to a tiny old parsonage next door to the church that hired my Hubs as pastor.  It was a crappy house, built in the 20's, moldy, had sloped floors and looked like a blind man had put together the kitchen.  And it was home for three years while he pastored 15 old people.  During those three years we procreated yet again and had ourselves a little blond baby.  Still alien, because she made me puke 90 times a day. 

And it was during these three years that guess what?  I became all hot and heavy about planting churches.  I know, go figure. 

And so that's what we set out to do. 

Shall I go for Episode Three?  Yes, I think I shall.  Come back if you can and I'll share the next chunk.  Also, learn from me and never end a sentence with the word CHUNK.  It's just not pretty.

Opening my windows so you can see inside, or my attempt at a seriousy post

Howdy friends.  Let's sit down and chat, shall we?

Also, now that I'm sitting down, you'll probably have to help me up.  Just warning you.  I'm old.

So.  I've been doing this here blog thingy for awhile.  But I bet you don't know that much about me.  Except that I collect Edward dolls and still don't own a Snuggie.  You'd be right on both issues.  But there's way more to me than that.  So let me just take a quick minute and open the shutters so you can catch a glimpse of who I am.  Don't worry, I'm clothed.  And I'm not dancing. 

I was born in Alaska.  No, sadly, not in an igloo.  No, I never owned a penguin OR a polar bear.  Yes, I had color TV.  Yes, these are real questions I'm often asked.  Yes, I think some people are stupid. 

I'm part Eskimo.  I even have an Eskimo name.  I shan't tell you though, because it'll only sound like I'm cussing and spitting at you.  I'm Eskimoishly named after the prettiest woman in the village my family comes from.  I know, so fitting.  *pats my cowlick*

My mom and dad were teenagers when they created me.  And then married.  Life was chaotic and tumultuous for many years.  During that time, we welcomed my baby sister to the world and then a year later, my dad moved out.  He had a liquor problem.  Divorce came when I was 8.  We were very poor.  Pretty much if there's a statistic, I was one of those.

We moved a lot.  California, Alaska, Arkansas, Alaska, Florida, back to Alaska...I attended 11 schools in 12 years of education.  Because of this, I've never had roots.  I'm not sad about this.  I think some folks were just born to be ramblers.  When the wandering foot gets to itching, it's time to move on.  That's how the pioneers did it.  Or was it the gypsies?  *scratches armpit*

So.  We moved a lot, but would always head back to Alaska.  Like a bad boyfriend.  But Alaska is cool.  And not just the winter nights *slaps knee whilst chuckling*.  It's just this great place filled with gorgeous mountains and really fun people.  It's where I grew up, where I learned to walk in snow, where I watched beluga whales...you should really go if you can.  It's like no where else on earth. 

And it was in Alaska that I began attending church.  I started going with a friend from school who invited me to check it out.  So I went.  And even after she moved a few months later to live with her dad, her mom still would come pick me up and take me to church. 

There's a whole lot I could say about this time.  It was defining.  It was deep.  It was intense.  It was fun.  It was life altering.  We weren't perfect people.  Many of us made really bad choices.  But we did it together.  And many of us are still friends, all these years later. 

And it was during this time of attending church, and learning all the dimensions of this idea of a relationship with God, that I began to think about my future, of what I would be when I Grew Up.  Because my childhood dream of becoming a scientist came crashing down when it was completely obvious that I sucked rocks at all kinds of science.  Like when I had to come back to school and finish a Physics project AFTER I graduated.  Yeah.  Ask me how much fun that was.

So it was on a warm summer night in the mountains of Alaska that I had a tête-à-tête with God, and I asked the age old question "what should I do?"  Nothing was written magically on the wall, no booming voice was heard, and yet deep down in the solid parts on my mind, along with random things like I DON'T LIKE AVOCADO and I THINK RAP MUSIC IS AWESOME, was the idea etched inside TEACH.

Teach.  Teaching.  Teacher.  Pretty open ended, I know.  But I was down with it, so I began to look for opportunities.  And I studied.  I read books, I read The Bible, I took classes teaching me how to read books and read The Bible. 

Then I went to college.  I left my mountainous home on a jet plane headed for the tiny town of Graceville, Florida, home of peanut farms and allergies to learn How To Teach.  And it was there I colleged.  At first, with a major in education.  One semester into this new and official forray into teaching, it became rather clear (like the science) that I sucked rocks at teaching in a classroom.  So it was with much trepidation and fear that I switched my degree to Theology.  And four years and a Husband later, I left that tiny college with an expensive piece of paper proclaiming I was now colleged in the arts of bachelors and theology.  Guess what?  That piece of paper is still grabbing my pocket monies. 

So, if you aren't asleep yet, you picked up on the fact that I met and married my Hubs during my collegy years.  He totally changed everything, man.  Not only did he not like rap music at.all., but he had ideas of what we would do when we Grew Up too.  And some of them were good.

Except, when he first told them to me, I wasn't down with it like I am my Fiber One granola bars.  Nay, in fact, I didn't know I could say "hell, no" in so many ways. 

Ok, enough for today.  Come back tomorrow and I'll skip my regular Friday post and finish this story.

Happiness is...

...having breakfast in bed.

This was my Mother's Day breakfast, made lovingly by my kids.

...actually, there was some fighting going on in the kitchen over who was going to spread the butter, but whatever.

My breakfast included two pieces of toast, the last tiny bit of pink lemonade, a tootsie roll and a dum dum.

And it was mighty tasty.

This post is brought to you in conjunction with Leigh vs. Laundry and the Happiness Project.

My blog anniversary would be an excellent time to have a noisy giveaway, don'tcha think?- THIS GIVEAWAY IS NOW CLOSED

THIS GIVEAWAY IS NOW CLOSED

Once upon a time, many moons ago, I sat down at the computer and busted out with a sweet little blog talking about tomatoes.  Or tornadoes.  Or something.  And that was two years ago. 

Isn't it so sweet?  My blog is a toddler.  Potty training.  Learning to play patty-cake.  Or in dog years, my blog is getting boobies and learning to curl it's hair.  Good luck, sweet blog, and by the way, learn from me and don't put a crimp in your bangs.  Your 7th grade pictures can't be redone.  Trust me.

So.

Here it is, my bloggy anniversary and it's time to have ourselves a little part-ay.  How best to do this? 

A GIVEAWAY, OF COURSE!!!

Because at my parties, I like to give stuff away.  However should you want to send me presents, I'm currently in the market for a Snuggie. 

BUT ANYWAYS, THE GIVEAWAY!!

This giveaway comes from the amazing and eclectic shop of Vintage Umbrella, run by my fancy friend Winn  and her friend Donna.  Their hobby is pillaging yard sales for the vintage and the unique. 

This giveaway is for a set of FOUR VINTAGE NOISEMAKERS!!

The rules (because even rebels like me must occassionally follow them)

To enter, please:

* Go to Vintage Umbrella on etsy and come back here telling me what your favorite item.  This step is mandatory and good for one entry.

* "Like" Vintage Umbrella on Facebook.  This is done by clicking on the link and then clicking the THUMBS UP button thingy on the top of the page.  This step is optional and good for one entry.

* Favorite Vintage Umbrella shop on etsy.  This step is optional and good for one entry.

* Please comment separately, so that your comments are easily countable.  Sadly, I'm not a rocket scientist, people. 

* Please leave me a safe way to contact you, such as your email address, so I can let you know if you're the weeener. 

This giveaway will run from May 10th - May 17th noon CST.  I shall pick the winner using the Random Number Generator who shall receive two bells, a clapper and a ratchet noisemaker all for their very own!!

(Should the winner not respond to my email regarding the winnings after 48 hours, I shall pick another winner.  Don't make me do this, I'll be so sad.)


GOOD LUCK AND MAKE SOME NOOOIIIISSSEEE.

(That was total cheesebally. It's my blog birthday, I can be cheesebally if I want to.)

Honestly, I love being honest, and receiving awards

So today, I logged on to the innernets and discovered I was tagged in a post by my buddy and pal, Dee of Barefoot Bath and Body!

Now, I must wrack the brains for 10 random things about me.  Also, if I was really lazy, I would just point you to all my Keyboard Confessions.  It's a good thing I'm a go-getter.

1.  The last time I won this award, I mentioned a vaginal skin tag.  I bet ya'll forgot.

2.  For all new people, you're bleaching your eyes because you just read the words "vaginal skin tag".  Or, you're intrigued and thusly will email me begging for the VST story.  All in good time, my friends.  That's code for "I'm total chicken, I might just tease you for life."  I never said I was nice.

3.  My youngest daughter is wearing a nightgown, pajama pants underneath, and a tshirt worn only on her arms like a shrug.  And sparkly black dress shoes.  I wish I could walk around like a homeless person and it be cute.

4.  I have too many Edward dolls.  Also, prepare yourself this week for a one on one interview with Sparkly Edward.  No, I don't use drugs. Sheesh.

5.  It's time to hula hoop.  Cyberly.  Or Wii Fitty.  Erm.

6.  Just so you know, in real life, if you come my way and your hair is in your eyes, I will hand you a headband.  I told you, I'm not really nice.  Except, I'll hand you the headband with a smile.  So maybe I am nice.  Also, if a ninja pops out from around the corner and slings a ninja starry thing at you, you're going to be thanking me for removing the vision obstruction thing.  Forget nice, I'm your best friend.

7.  I hope my Hubs is my best friend and washes some underwears for us this weekend, because I'm soooo tired.

8.  But I think I'll be his best friend and get up and wash the underwears, because he worked all day.  I mostly sat around and watched The Abyss.  Also, this is my fave movie.  Or, one of the 15 that are my fave.  Also, I'm not good at picking a fave.

9.  My new purse is from Bolivia.  And it's awesome.  It's orange.

10.  And I suspect the burps I have are orange.  From chili.  Except, they sure don't taste orange.

And now, to tag my peeps.  Except, I'm going to just leave this open ended and ask you, dear reader, what 10 randomy things would you like to share with me?

You're it.

Keyboard Confessions

Every week I sit down and confess some things.  Mostly it's just an excuse to write a list.

1.  I shall never ever ever drink a Diet Coke late at night again.  This is what I thought at 2:30 a.m.

2.  You know what else I shall never ever ever do?  Eat a brownie at 2:37 a.m.  I'm pretty sure my stomach was like "whoa whoa whoaaah, don't do it, young person! We do not accept anything after hours.  You'll just have to come back when we're open for business."  To which I responded "hey hey heyyyy, who's the boss of this body?  Me *points to self*  TAKE THE BROWNIE."  To which my body replied with a shrug, "whatever, dude, it's your digestive track."

3.  I changed my mind, my stomach is the boss after hours.  Ugggggh.

4.  Also, I highly recommend reading through old archives of blogs if you're up at 3:00 a.m.  Especially my blog.  Because at 3 a.m. I am hee-lar-ee-ous.  Now, at like 9:19 a.m. I'm just meh.  Also, The Queen soooo needs to find me.  And Stephenie Meyer.  And maybe Dave Barry.

5.  You know what would jazz this here Keyboard Confession up?  Some muzack!  Cue Get Your Freak On Friday, brought to you by Transient Pod.

6. And today, I offer Phoenix - Everything is Everything. 

7.  In some cosmic way, everything IS everything.

8.  *staring off into oblivion, drool puddling*

9.  Wha?  Oh yeah.  So.  Super tiyard.  I suppose this is my cue to crack open a can of Diet Coke.

10.  I'm sooo predictable.

11.  Miracles happen. I know this because we broke a car this last week.  A blown head gasket.  On a really old car.  And we were just going to sell it for scrap metal.  And someone bought it.  Who, get this, MAKES HEAD GASKETS.  Or FIXES HEAD GASKETS.  Or HAS ACCESS TO HEAD GASKETS OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT.  Seriously, this wad of cash I have to deposit is just paper miracles.

12.  Now to tackle the other two crap cars we have.  *rubs hands*  Actually, my hands are sticky.  Hold please, whilst I squirt some hanitizer.

13.  Also, I wonder what my keyboard would confess should it type by itself?  Probably something like this:

14.  "Dude.  Seriously.  Wash your hands.  Yes, you, you need to wash your hands before--ewwww, and use a Kleenex.  Blech.  Booger germs."

15.  "Hi.  My name is Keyboard and I love to collect crumbs.  No, really.  Please, add some more.  Oh good, you're eating a muffin.  Yay."

16.  "Dude.  Quit typing "abou tit".  Seriously.  Learn to type."

17.  "There is NO REASON TO BANG ON MY SPACE BAR.  I don't care how mad you are.  And it's not my fault that Twitter only accepts 140 characters.  Be kind to the backspace."

18.  I think my Keyboard has an attitude problem.

19.  I think I might not eat brownies ever again.

20.  I think I should quit while I'm behind. 

Happy Friday.

Cheese and wine. Minus the cheese.

My Hubs and I text often.  Usually it's something inane like BRING HOME FOOD.  Sometimes it's racy.  We like to keep the spice.  This last weekend was no different.  Except I was in a foul mood and my texts were nothing of the normal sort. 

I had just spent a really horrid day with my kids.  I was trapped in my home as all our cars are broken and was bereft of transportation.  Should I have had a working vehicle, I wouldn't've left the house anyways as our farm was rapidly becoming the setting of Noah's hood post-Ark construction.  That's flowery language for IT RAINED A WHOLE LOT.

Which means my children were practicing in How To Make Mommy Go Hoarse And Later Cry In The Kitchen With Her Face Buried In A Hand Towel.

So. 

My Hubs texted me to let me know he was leaving work and would be home shortly.

And I texted back BRING ALCOHOL.

I've said this before to him. Usually he brings me Diet Coke. Because he knows BRING ALCOHOL is usually code for MY DAY HAS SUCKED ROCKS BRING ME A PRIZE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. 

Only this time, he took me seriously.

So it was with great surprise that I watched my Hubs trudge up the stairs to our abode laden with plastic shopping bags from Publix containing that night's menu.  And a large blue bottle.

Let me give you a brief aside:

See, we're not drinkers.  I've had the occassional sip of boozy drink over the years.  Once it was a "Quick, my parents aren't home, let's mix up a Screwdriver" in 9th grade, once this one random wine cooler from 10th grade whilst midnight-sledding, a sip of a Margharita last year...just little "let me taste it" moments.  But my Hubs has never drank anything stronger than orange juice after the expiration date.  We're both pretty square. Pretty conservative.  Pretty vanilla. 

We've often perused the Wine Aisle at Publix, inspecting the hooch, reading the foreign language of wine with confusification: CHABLAIS, BEAUJOLAIS, SOAVE, BORDEAUX...lots of words.  All we see is BLUE BOTTLE, GREENISH BOTTLE, FOIL COVERED BOTTLE, EXPENSIVE BOTTLE.  And then we'd slink off to the Frozen Food Aisle feeling ignorant and dorky. 

Until Saturday, when my Hubs braved the Booze Aisle, texted a friend who knows his wines and had a text-versation I suspect went something like this:

HUBS:  Dude.  I'm in the Booze Aisle.  IDK what the crap I'm doing.  What kind should we get?
HUBS' FRIEND:  Get a weird blue bottle.  It's goooood.
HUBS:  Thanks.

So.  It was with mixed emotions I watched him crack open the Weird Blue Bottle, pour the yellowy mixture into coffee cups, because sadly, we're fresh out of wine glasses, and carry the potent liquid to the couch. 

We sat and looked at each other and took a deep breath and said "Here goes!" and took a swig.

I wouldn't recommend swigging a strange brew, especially when you can barely read the words on the bottle and it smells like old juice.  Nevertheless, swig we did.  It was...gross.  I did not feel any sophisticationish vibes nor could my mouth ease from the pucker it immediately drew up from Taste One.  By Taste Seven, I was swallowing as fast as I could and trying to hold my tongue in suspension, so as to avoid taste or sensation of any sort. 

For 15 minutes, we nursed our coffee mug wine and would say to each other "do you feel any different?  I don't feel any different.  Am I drunk?  What does drunk feel like?  Is your throat burning?  Maybe this is like rubbing alcohol and we won't get sick this week, I definitely feel some germ burning.  This is gross.  I don't think I could ever like this.  Why do I feel guilty?  I'm 34 years old.  I'm allowed to drink wine.  How much was this? Ten dollars? Dang. We could've bought a cheesecake for that. "

I couldn't even finish mine.  I felt like such a failure.  And way more vanilla.  And really craving cheesecake.  Perhaps I wasted my teenaged years when I could've learned to appreciate gross drinks. 

I shall steer clear of all blue bottles with foreign words.  Unless Diet Coke makes something in a blue bottle. 

Happiness is...

...losing enough weight to be able to put on your wedding rings.

I wear three rings.  My engagement ring was my Hubs' grandmother's ring from like, 40 years ago.  My Hubs bought two supah sparkly bands to go on either side.  As the jeweler said, I am certainly making a statement. 

Except for the last year or two, when my fingers have been a wee bit too fat to make much of a statement other than "please don't mistake me for the breakfast sausage!". 

So it was with a sigh of relief that had nothing to do with gastric emissions that I slipped on all three of my wedding bands today.

This post is in conjunction with Leigh vs. Laundry and the Happiness Project.

Tell me, folks, what makes you happy?

Monday is a royal pain

If only I just owned one pair of sweat pants...just.one.pair.

- Things the Queen wouldn't say