Bubble Writes

I'll Even Throw In a Hand Painted Hand Basket

2009-03-18T21:13:00.005-05:00

More proof that this world of ours is going to hell in a hand basket. I'm not sure what exactly a hand basket is but the world is going to hell in one and here's proof.

Overheard at the nail salon:

Man (yes, a man getting a pedicure and do NOT pretend to roll your eyes and call the guy a fag because deep down inside, doesn't every wife secretly wish her husband would do something about the gnarly toe nails he hides inside his white tube socks?)

"A garment bag? I don't think I need one, I heard it was semi formal". "Yeah, dude (or brah or whatever uber dudes call each other) I was just going to go with sandals, a collard shirt and jacket."

Dude, this? does not constitute SEMI formal! Semi is not your excuse or license to say fuck you to the morality of a dress code. Semi formal means a suit at the very least, linen since it's almost Easter I will grant you that but in all honesty? Black or Navy with a crisp white button down and conservative tie. You might push the envelope and go with a very trendy spring yellow or light orange tie (unless it's an evening wedding) but do NOT play dumb here and pretend that you think semi formal could in any possible way slightly suggest sandals, even if you DID get a pedicure for the occasion.

I'm sorry my lovely blog. I've ignored you again. And, in the near future you may be replaced in my heart with this:

Obviously only a bike of this magnitude and beauty could take your place in my heart but my god! look at this bike! My skinny ass would look SO fine on this gorgeous piece of machinery and art perfectly combined like two dancers in a perfectly choreographed perfect ballet. Just this perfect bike and my ass. I'd be like Forrest Gump and just ride from ocean to ocean. I'd even grow a beard.
I've jumped the iPhone ship, which I previously wanted for Mother's Day to the Electra ship where this little lady is created. An artist! designed the graphics on this bike. This ain't your little brother's huffy.

Logan and I rode combined over 10 miles today. Meaning, we rode twice and the sum total of our treks was 10.3 miles. We RULE the bike path.

Quarter Midget Racers

2009-03-10T12:03:00.002-05:00

The Strawberry Classic was this weekend. These are the drivers against whom Braden races. Braden took second only to the boy to his left in the white shirt, Hunter.
You gotta love Braden's little bad ass pose.

I'm learning all types of new phrases like: Pole position (which sounds a little salacious, doesn't it?) and heat and feature race. I think Braden is part of the Junior novice group but don't quote me on that. Larry thinks it's cute that racing terminology goes right over my head. I guess I don't have enough redneck brain cells for it.

Finally, Just a Really Good Day

2009-03-09T17:04:00.002-05:00

Nothing really special happened, it was just a good, even keeled day. A day when nothing bad happened, the weather was completely perfect and everything was just, well, fine. And, I am learning that fine is ok. Fine is good in fact. Not everything nor every day needs to be tweaked or improved. Some days, nothing much is really a good thing.

I got a lot of running around done today. I joined Costco and saved our family and company some money. All three boys made it to school. Lately, getting Logan to go to school has been a bit of a struggle. It seems that in college, they don't really give a shit if you show up. Just as long as you give them your money and can pass the tests, you're good to go. But I think Logan needs the structure of going every single time class is in session not to mention the social aspect. So, we battle about attendance. However, on this fine day, we did not have to battle what so ever, he just went happily off.

Thanks to my good housekeeping fairy, today my house is clean and all of my laundry is done. And that is always a very fine thing.

And this weekend Larry and I bought bicycles! And not with motors or any bells or whistles, just pain ole bikes. I think I love the exercise that the bike affords a bit more than Larry; he's more of a weight lifting kind of guy but man, the first time I took off down the street, I felt like I was flying. The wicked witch song from The Wizard of Oz DID begin in my head and I think I sang it for a minute (you know the one right?) but then I just rode up and down the street getting used to the feel of my new bike. And I loved it. I also found out that exercise can be fun and a major stress reducer. Since I've been riding it I've noticed that I'm not as anxious as I had been. I also stopped taking my Wellbutrin. Which I think I might have been over medicated with. I feel way better off of it than on. I do have to give it props for helping me quit smoking though.

After dinner, we're off to ride our bikes in our old neighborhood where they actually have streets and lakes and such. It does get a little monotonous just riding up and down our cul de sac.

Next week I'm participating in the Relay for Life with some ladies from Braden's school. This exercise thing? The part where I actually WANT to do it? Is just plain fucking weird for me but actually, it's pretty damn fine too.

I Like Talking About my Uterus I guess

2009-03-06T19:13:00.005-05:00

I had to have a biopsy of my uterus today. Because of my age, diabetes and former obesity (I love writing that) my Gyn wanted to make sure all was well with my fetus hotel. Not that I'm expecting any guests at ANY time in the near EVER but, I kind of like all of my innards and I'd just rather keep them all intact and healthy if possible.
We will know in a week or so if everything and all the cells are normal. She has suggested that I go on a low dose of progesterone to achieve more manageable periods.
So I'm miserable tonight and whining about the pain and cramping every chance I get. I can't cook, my uterus hurts! I can't drive Ian to his friend's house, my uterus hurts!
You get the idea.

This weekend will be full of really FUN! activities like little league team pictures, a game @ 9:00 A.M., much much to early. 11:00 is a much more reasonable hour for a game if you ask me. Then off to a birthday party for one of Braden's friends and then Sunday.... redneck fest in Wimauma better known as Quarter Midget Racing. I love making fun of all the Quarter Midget parents, fans and drivers but actually it's wonderfully fun, all the parents are mad nice and we always have a great time hanging out behind the trailer and eating Miss Debbie's famous chicken strips while Braden goes around in a circle.

Two days ago life temporarily ended when my cell phone just croaked. No last gasping breath so I could at least get all of my contacts off of it, no it just bit it out of the clear blue. Followed by me vowing that I have sworen off all electronic devices forever and then went back to old school with my Mommy Plan it calendar since I had just entered every race day, birthday, practice schedule and Doctors appointment in the fucking smartPhone (ironic name, I think) and two days later? It shit all over my scheduled life. But now that I've had time to climb back from the cliff I felt like jumping off of, I just might be able to turn this tragedy into stroke of luck if I can convince Larry to switch our corporate account from AllTell (I like to refer to it as AllSucksDonkeyBallsTell) to the iPhone. My God, have you every seen an iPhone? One of my girlfriends told me that her iPhone is almost better than her vibrator. Sign me up, sister.
So we will see if I can "convince" Larry to get me the pretty black phone that will complete me. And if you think by convince Larry I mean blow him? You would be right. I hope it works. I waaaaaaaaaaaaant the iPhone. My uterus hurts, I neeeeeeeeed an iPhone.

The closet renovation is almost complete. Larry's Dad is a master drywall artist and got our walls all purdy and ready for closet installation. I just have to commit to a wood color for the closets and have the flooring installed. I'm a bit commitment phobic though and can't hit the purchase button over on EasyCloset.Com

And next weekend Larry is taking me away again to this place. It's time for some adult time (perhaps this will be my opportunity to show Larry how much I want the you know what) so Larry's Dad is coming to stay with the boys and we are going away to recharge our batteries so to speak. I can't wait to sleep and such. Sleep uninterrupted, snuggled up with my husband not having to share his arm with a little hippie looking 7 year old. But just for 2 days. Any longer than that and I kind of start missing the offspring.

He IS kind of cute, isn't he?

Well OF COURSE I cried like a bumbling idiot!!

2009-03-02T15:55:00.001-05:00

Is It Possible That I Am Doing Something Right?

2009-02-25T11:56:00.005-05:00

This morning I asked Logan if he would mind driving Ian to school. I have no good reason really for not wanting to make the drive, I just plain didn't feel like it.
When Logan got home from dropping Ian off he shared the details of the massive fight the two of them had on the way to school which ended apparently, with Ian smacking his hand on the car window and giving Logan the middle finger with the parting words: I hope I never see you again. And if I do, do NOT talk to me ever again. Or some sort of vomit of that nature.
And then something as miraculous as say, diamonds dropping from my anus happened. Logan got this text message from Ian:

Of course, the "no homo" was needed because neither of them wanted to come off like they might have "feelings" for their own flesh and blood brother or something. So in a totally no homo way, they said I love you and forgave each other.

I might.... and this is a long shot...but I might actually be raising sensitive, responsible, caring men.

Spare Time

2009-02-20T21:01:00.023-05:00

What with all the things I'm now NOT doing, like eating, smoking and such.... you may be wondering what I've been doing with all of my spare time. Did you know that it takes 7.5 minutes to smoke a whole cigarette? Times 20 if you smoke a pack a day. That is a whole lot of wasted time since I'm not likely to smoke while I'm say, making the bed or showering or emptying the dishwasher.
I've had a lot of time on my formerly nicotine stained hands! Time for

taking pictures of Logan's creative use for my double spoon rest.

And...

watching Braden make his yellow belt.

And......

while driving, instead of holding my cigarette out of the window, I took a picture of Braden blowing this gigantic bubble.

And.....

taking the boys to the Florida State Fair!!

Where I wondered how people can come out in public dressed like this:

are they pants disguised as shorts or shorts which want to be pants when they grow up?

and this... check her shoes!! Since when is it sensible to wear platform heels and a mircomini dress to ride the swings? And all that hair? Total weave.

Ahem, moving on... I also had time for:

watching sleeping granddogs in a laundry basket

And.....

ORGANIZING!! And surprisingly, staying organized too.

And time for.....

Making heart shaped Valentine's day chocolate peanut butter caramel swirl brownies

I also discovered that I can cross my legs and then wrap the front one behind the back one. A completely useless talent.

And I can eat my weight in tootsie pops and blow pops.

And lastly, we are in the midst of converting our home office into a walk in closet for moi. My clothes are bursting out of my closet and even the most aggressive organizing and purging didn't help much. I will relinquish my walk in to Larry but the new room? is all mine. Once we order the closet system and my handy man Lar Lar installs it, I will have my own private domain where I can lounge on my window seat, play dress up fashion parade or hide from nagging children.

Quitting smoking has proven to be a very positive experience. I smell better, my lungs are happier and I'm even more of a controlling neat freak than ever!

A Great Excuse for a Real Entry

2009-02-19T22:26:00.003-05:00

One of those 25 things about you found at All & Sundry via Dooce (no link needed, everyone knows Dooce and I'm too lazy to do another one). Also, we just had our 8th anniversary on Monday so this seems sort of, timely!

What are your middle names?

Mine is Ann and his is Eugene

How long have you been together?

Eight years. And yeah, Braden will be 8 in October, what of it?

How long did you know each other before you started dating?

As long as it took for him to send me an email, a few instant messages and the drive to Crabby Tom's Restaurant. Saw him once at a bar, didn't remember him but he remembered me so the next time we met, it was officially our first date.

Who asked whom out?

See above. He definitely pursued me.

How old are each of you?

I'm almost 45 and he just turned 40. Yes, I am a cradle robber.

Whose siblings do you see the most?

His for sure. I don't have any.

Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple?

Definitely his hardship is trying to be a Dad when he's only ever given credit for being just the step dad. Mine is trying to come up with viable excuses for why I killed him in his sleep for dipping.

Did you go to the same school?

Oh no. He's a Pinellas Park boy and I am a hometown Brandon girl.

Are you from the same home town?

See above.

Who is smarter?

Well, that would depend on the subject. Math? Him hands down. English, for sure my strong suit. He has way more reasoning skills than I but I have more parenting experience. 

Who is the most sensitive?

He is. Watch him cry the next time we watch a sappy crap movie.

Where do you eat out most as a couple? 

We love seafood. Crabby Bills. We also frequent a local German joint. And for a romantic, just the two of us spot? Charlie's Steak House.

Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple?

Tennessee? We're real worldly eh?

Who has the craziest exes?

I guess that would be me. He's not like, crazy just er, an uninvolved Dad.

Who has the worst temper?

Way me.

Who does the cooking?

I do ALL the cooking. Although Larry makes a Breakfast Casserole every Christmas that everyone raves about.

Who is the neat-freak?

Hahahahaha. Totally me. Ask him why he'll never make the bed correctly.

Who is more stubborn?

That would be me as well. I can hold a grudge like nobody's business.

Who hogs the bed? 

And this would be the 75 pound 7 year old. Larry and I might get to have both arms on the bed versus one on the night stand IF we're lucky. Last night I took a size 5.5 foot to the throat as he thrashed around all night.

Who wakes up earlier?

Since it takes me an hour to get ready and him half an hour to take his morning dump, I shower first therefor, I am up first.

Where was your first date? 
Crabby Tom's restaurant. We had an afternoon of oysters and margaritas. YUM!

Who is more jealous?

Neither of us.

How long did it take to get serious? 

About 5 minutes. Seriously? on our second date he told me he wanted me to have his babies. I laughed in his face. 9 months later, I was knocked up. I hate when he's right.

Who eats more? 

Before our weight loss surgery, we gave each other a run for our money. Now, I would say it's him but not by much.

Who does the laundry?

Well, technically neither of us.

Who’s better with the computer? 
Him.

Who drives when you are together?
Usually Larry because I'm too lazy but sometimes I just have to show him who's the boss.

Your turn! Come on, it’s more fun than that 25 Things quiz.

How I ate Crow for Valentine's Day

2009-02-14T15:37:00.003-05:00

So, remember my last post where I might have mentioned how much I feared that Larry might lose his mind and buy me a Vermont Teddy Bear for Valentine's day? And how I might have mentioned that anyone who would do such a horrible thing would be a tacky and thoughtless person? How just because his idol, Bubba The Love Sponge advertises Vermont Teddy Bears on his morning show that Larry might get the idea that I would be the type of person who would want a stuffed animal? And how I would so NOT like that for a present? How I was definitely not the type of person who would cherish and display a stuffed animal anywhere in my house? Well, by now even a complete moron could guess exactly what Larry got me for Valentines Day. In case you can't believe or grasp the irony of this little situation, here is living proof that the unthinkable happened:

If I could pull my tongue out of my cheek for a minute and stop with the attitude, I might admit that after I got over my initial shock of the one in a million coincidence of it all I thought about just deleting my other post about how much I would not be happy about this but more to the point? As soon as Larry and Braden placed this darling little bear on my chest this morning as I woke, I fell in love with him. My God! What is there about these bears? First of all, the eyes seem to have life behind them. Larry picked out the color, purple because he knows that is my favorite color, they embroidered the tag with To: Bubble From: Larry. Sweet, right? I melt just a little when he calls me "Bubble" anyway. And the flowers are the perfect shade of pink in a purple glass vase. Darling. The bear is very heavy, not like any of the 227 million stuffed animals Braden and Ian win from the claw machine at Beef O'Brady's. He's substantial feeling and very nice to hug. His arms and legs move and his fur feels like mink. I shall hug him and squeeze him and call him George.
As much as I hate to admit that I was wrong, I was. And even though I can't figure out why my family always says that I am hard to buy for (I never have problems buying things for myself) I know that this bear idea solved a gift dilemma for Larry. He told me that he picked out everything about my bear and had it delivered. I'm honestly, touched.
If possible, I love him just a little more for not listening to me piss and moan about how I didn't want anything for Valentine's day or our anniversary and he went with cute, just to see if he could touch my heart. And he did, damn him. I hate all that romantic, mushy, love crap and to make matters worse? he's making me go out to dinner with him on our anniversary even. As much as I hate the idea of dressing up and being waited on, wine and crab claws and steak and the best creme brulee in Tampa I guess I'll allow it. He said we have to go to a movie too. Without the kids. I hate him for torturing me like this.
He gets nothing of interest in return either. Just for kicks, my reproductive organs have decided to only have a period on holidays. This month, Valentines day, last month New Year's Eve so I'm guessing my next one will be accompanied by a basket full of eggs.
Does The Vermont Bear Company have Easter Bunnies too?

A Struggle To Make it to the End of the Week

2009-02-13T18:41:00.004-05:00

This week seemed particularity long me. I always look forward to Thursday night, no lunch to pack and no uniform to lay out. Plus, well, TGIF right? Who doesn't like Friday. Well, maybe people who work the weekend shift but since I'm not one of them, I do love a good end of the week.

I had to get up at the ass crack of dawn today to take Braden to school and be in charge of Valentine's day cookie decorating for his class. Just me, alone with 20 6-7 year olds and red white and pink icing. I foolishly bought princess sprinkles for the girls and their cookies but was promptly put in my sexist place because apparently the girls in Braden's class do NOT like Princesses. In fact, they hate them. Who could have imagined. But with all things being equal and girls rule and boys drool, I should have known.
But I was also told that I was THE BEST!!! EVER!!! because I brought SUGAR!!! and allowed them to eat as many cookies as they wanted. If there ever was a case study in sugar and a 7 year old's reaction to it, ie: twirling around, eyes rolling in back of their heads, chattering very loudly and quickly about how you are THE BEST!!! EVER!!!, this was it. I've never seen otherwise subdued and proper little girls go wild so fast. But mostly, I enjoyed being the best, ever, and being a great Momma in Braden's eyes for coming to school and making him my cookie helper. And if only I could trade those cookie kudos for some sleep, well, that'd be just awesome. If only I could barter cookie decorating time for staying in your own bed young man time. Last night at 2:30, he climbed in our bed and I was never able to get back to sleep. Today, I've resorted to propping my eyes open with toothpicks to drive.

I'm a little at odds with Larry today. This marriage thing is hard. And when two spoiled only children butt heads, no one ever wins. I want certain things and he thinks my certain things are not important enough to give them to me. I equate meeting my needs with validation. If you do "X" for me then you must love and respect me. If you ignore my needs or my request for you to do "Z" then you must not think I'm very worthy. I'm sure this can all be hearkened back to some fucked up thing that happened to me as a child which I have blocked from my memory so for now, I just know that I just want what I want when I want it.
With tomorrow being Valentines day and our anniversary being Tuesday I sure hope ~~he sees things my way~~ things get resolved peacefully or it'll be a pretty loveless holiday. Things usually do have a way of resolving themselves with Larry and I somehow, and I will forgive and forget as long as he doesn't give me one of those tacky and completely and utterly ridiculous Vermont Teddy Bears for V day. Seriously? I will puke. Who does that anyway? A giant stuffed animal? Where would one put such a thing? In the storage shed? I can't imagine. I once knew a gal who's husband gave her a bottle of vitamins for Christmas so in comparison, I guess there are some wives who would be touched at such a sentiment. Not this girl, though.
But I DO wish each and every one (and I do mean one because most of my readers have given up on me by now) of you a love filled Valentine's day. I filled pink gift bags with thoughtful and useful items for my boys and bought Larry a closet full of new clothes since he's still wearing clothes that fit him 140 pounds ago. He was starting to look like he was wearing his Grandpa's, two sizes too big shirts and pants. I love dressing a man and I had fun picking out some really nice things for him. I hope he knows that I lovingly and thoughtfully picked out each item with care and that I think he's just about the most handsome man I know and that he never fails to make my heart skip a beat.

And not that I am counting or anything but I'm on day 9 0f NO SMOKING!!!!!!!!!! It sucks balls and I'm using tootsie pop sticks as fake cigarettes but I'm still not smoking.
Happy Friday!

Girl Time

2009-02-10T19:50:00.002-05:00

About the closest thing I will ever have to a sister is a good friend. Even my sister-in-law can't be a stand in for a real sister since she's only 13. Do THAT math!!
When I get to spend quality time with one of my good friends I always imagine that this must be how it is to have a sister with whom you are close. Shopping, lunching, laughing, sharing, busting on each other's stretch marks and granny panties in the dressing room.
I had a day like that today with a friend who's been my best friend for 22 years. Through pregnancies, raising subsequent products of said pregnancies, eyebrow piercings, divorce (mine, not hers), weight loss surgeries and boob reductions. Even moving across the state didn't change our friendship much. Before the internet, instant messages and email, we used to fax each other all day long since neither of us could really afford long distance phone calls. Obviously this was also the time before free long distance with your cell phone.
Today we have the luxury of just picking up the phone and making plans to get together. It never matters what we are doing, we always make it a good time. Today, we lunched at Panera and shopped for a few spring things. Most of all though, we got to laugh. We know how to make each other bust a gut and we also know how to really listen to one another, to hear each others hearts; not just the words coming out of our mouths. Surely that must be what it's like to have a sister.
And in these tough economical times, I have had to learn to shop frugally. Quality does come with a price tag but quality can also come from the clearance rack. And also in size 10 walking shorts. Internets, are you tired of reading about how it blows my mind that I am not still a 30/32? I'm sorry for your loss of happiness but I am going to write about it again. I just can't help it. Today, I started out with a size 14 short but my friend made me take the 10's, even though the thought of trying to get a size 10 anything past my hips made me feel slightly ill. The only things I've ever worn in a size 10 my friends, are my shoes. Never an article of clothes. And I got to share this with my friend.
So today was a lovely day full of positives and good things. And 10s.

Starts and Stops

2009-02-09T19:04:00.010-05:00

A few starts and stops all lumped in together in one convenient post. First a stop: I've stopped smoking. For 69 hours, 12 minutes and 14 seconds. Not really. I'm not exactly sure how long I've been smoke free, suffice to say since Thursday night at around 9:08. I ran out of smokes and coupled with the Wellbutin I am taking (taking just because I want to be like all the cool people and be on a "mood stabilizer"), I just don't have the desire to smoke anymore. I began to hate the smell of it; how it made me smell, it didn't mix well with my Victoria Secret sparkle perfume and I grew tired of having to wash my hands, brush my teeth or dig for gum in my purse after every stinkin' cigarette. Plus, it was a pain in the ass finding a place and time while out in the world to feed the monkey lest I offend someone by violating their air space with my smoke. It's expensive and, there's the whole annoying dying of cancer thing. So, I'm all done!
I've also apparently stopped having my period. (Hi Brian! Are you slightly uncomfortable yet?). The last one I had was December 31st, happy new year to me. True that it lasted an astonishing 21 days but as of today I am 11 days late. And no I am NOT pregnant. I sheepishly purchased a test in Publix along with my depends pads and Geritol. I was certain I exceeded the age limit on actually purchasing a pregnancy test but I wanted to rule out the idea that God now hated me and was intentionally ruining my life with another ~~leech offspring drain on my life~~ baby. I ducked into the bathroom and peed on the stick. Praise Jesus that I only saw one line. Loved, loved, loved the whole baby stage of my life but frankly? I LIKE shopping by myself and getting a full nights sleep, sleeping in on the weekend and carrying designer purses. So, I'm assuming and hoping that I am going through menopause and soon, I will be permanently dried up and period free and Larry and I can lock our bedroom door more often. Because a period lasting 21 days doesn't make for much going on in the 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours' game.

And, I've started reevaluating the Bubble Blog. Constantly feeling guilty for not writing more and forcing myself to come up with something entertaining after my friends called in death threats to try to get me to write something. Whining some unintelligible crap like "I read you with my morning coffee every day, I look forward to it, it's boring without updates from you". "Bitch, get to writing before you get finger cancer and can't type anymore". But originally my blog was supposed to be something I could leave around for the boys to read when they grew up. A daily chronicle. Life as I saw it while they were growing. But it has turned into an obligation more than a joy. So, I'm going back to my roots, man. Back to my basic reason for writing. It might not be an interesting read every time I write but it will fulfill my desire to leave some evidence behind that despite each boy ending up with some deep seated neurosis and/or adult onset post traumatic stress disorder, I did not beat them or tie them up to a tree in the yard. Even though I sometimes wanted to. And maybe fantasized about it. Just a little.
So I will be posting more often but I can't guarantee the content. I have a few events I desperately need to blog about, Larry's birthday, racing, baseball, our Super ~~Bore~~ Bowl party. Not that our party was boring but that damn game was a total snore if you ask me. I want to comment on American Idol, The United State of Tara, Big Love and Desperate Housewives. Jesus, we watch a lot of TV.

And I've started to wear these (again).

The bangs are new too. But that crazy lump of hair on the top of my head is a freak of nature that isn't normally there on a day to day basis.
I posted about my "eye jewelry" a while back but I just couldn't get in the groove of wearing them. Major attack of vanity. But now it's a necessity to drive and see words in print and on stop signs. I have contacts too but these are pretty easy to just slip on and they even came with handy magnetic sunglasses!

Another good start is that Braden has been sleeping in his own bed for a while now. After Logan shot his hand he began coming in our room on a nightly basis. We eventually got him to stay out of our bed and sleep on the chase lounge chair in our room. I hope it's a trend that's here to stay.

On the weight loss front: I've reached and surpassed my original goal weight of 180 and am on to bigger (smaller?) things hoping I can be done at 170. Despite my friends warning me that I am getting "too thin" BWAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHAHAHAAAA!!!! and they fear that I am becoming obsessed with it, I'm going for it. And I've come to terms with the fact that I will need a full body lift. I've worked too hard and come too far to not be completely pleased with how my body looks. I want to get all hot and bothered when I look at my naked self in the mirror. My lap band surgeon's brother is coincidentally a plastic surgeon specializing in post bariatric surgery body lifts. He uses an alternate type of sedation which doesn't require intubation and he is assisted by his brother during surgery so you are under half the normal amount of time. I am all for that. He requires that you be at your goal weight for one year before surgery. I am making an appointment with him for next week. I've pretty much done all I can do by myself, all of this hanging skin isn't going away by it's self and no amount of crunches or Pilate's is going to make it budge. On ward to better things yo. I mean, have you seen those bikini pictures of Star Jones? You can't tell me that as big as she was that she hasn't had a body lift. I'm ready too.

Next, They'll Pull My Pigtails In History Class

2009-01-30T13:10:00.002-05:00

As a young girl, did your parents ever tell you that the more a boy picks on you or acts like they hate you, the more they really, secretly like you? When they pull your hair in class, they're over the moon about you! If this is the truth, my boys (at least the medium and large one) must be crazy in love with me. Because right now? They're both busting my ovaries in epic proportions.
Medium boy's grades have tanked and he got lunch detention last week. The bane of his existence right now is an online program called Edline which basically spills the beans about every move he makes in school. Grades, upcoming tests, class work, bell work, parent teacher conferences etc. And what I've gathered from this advantage is that Ian suddenly would rather play his guitar than do anything else. Cell phone? dead for a week because he can't find the charger and doesn't really care. He doesn't want to clean his room, take a shower, eat or god forbid, do his homework. He says his guitar calls to him 'come play me Ian'. Great. Now he hears voices coming from his guitar. In the voice of Jimmy Paige, I'm sure. So, even though it felt like I was tearing his heart out with a fork, at the beginning of this week I had to take his guitar(s) away. And it worked! He's gotten straight 100's in every single assignment turned in so far. So proud am I of his effort that we decided to reward him with a temporary reunion with his beloved. On Saturday morning, after completing all his homework due through Tuesday (I told you he loves his guitar) he got to play again. I walked in his room this morning after being awakened with strains of Whole Lotta Love anticipating a shit eating grin on his face and more gratitude than I could stand. Uh, no. What I got was a face full of "Where did you store my guitar, the attic?" "Every time I play, the strings go out of tune." Not, 'thanks Mom, you're the greatest and by the way, your ass looks fabulous in those jeans, princess'. You know, a little ass kissing so assure more playing time. And yes, in fact we DID store his guitar in the sauna, hoping the rosewood would warp just for the satisfaction of knowing we wasted our money on it. He's definitely got us figured out.
After I slammed the door to his room, I rethought the situation and went back and made him grovel. Through clenched teeth and vomit, he DID manage a 'thank you'.
I hate this stage. I really do. I long for the days when I was his reason for living, I sustained his life and he adored me. I hate being the bad guy and restricting him. I hate being solely responsible for how he turns out.
Which leads me to large boy. For he too, has moments where he really just wants to fuck with me in the most outrageous ways. Except with him? my genius boy? I can't win the arguments. I end up just stomping my feet and flailing my arms and telling him to fuck off. Not the most productive arguing I admit but he literally drives me to it. I just wanted a commitment that he would clean his room. Not too much to ask, right? But we stood toe to toe in the hallway of my bedroom debating about whether he actually said "yes" he would or "probably" he would. I hate semantics and I've known him all of his life; I know when he says "probably" that's his out if he doesn't feel like doing it. I know it's sort of childish to make a 21 year old man "clean his room" but clutter and unkemptness give me panic attacks. So does slurping soup (something else we argued over in a restaurant this week) and poor grammar. He and I are definitely in a weird place right now. He's living in MY house but he's, like, a MAAAN. I feel completely weird about disciplining him but compelled to do so. Like when he's shaving and I walk in the bathroom and remind him to take his medicine. I imagine I am coming off like some kind of nagging wife more than his "Mommy". But it's about such childish things like the room and picking up after himself around the rest of the house. I'm pretty sure I am still not his maid. He resents me and I understand why but I feel the need to make him set the example for his brothers and if I let him get away with a messy room, they will feel like they can too. And then my spinal fluid will leek from my eye sockets.
So if it really is true; the more they act like they hate you the more they really love you. Valentines day should be a banner day for me and my 3 sweethearts.

The Cat And The Bag

2009-01-24T15:24:00.002-05:00

I can let the cat out of the bag now. For weeks. WEEKS. Many, many agonizing weeks I have been preparing a surprise party for my beloved. On Thursday, he turned 40. God, please let that insipid saying "Lordy, Lordy Look Who's Forty" leave my brain.
Pictures to follow. It's been the best party planning experience I've ever had. Basically I just turned everything over to a party planner. All I had to do was choose the venue (a lovely old colonial house out in Valrico), pick a color theme (teal and orange, duh!) and give her the guest list. 52 adults and 28 kids. Less than 20% declined the invite. To say this man is loved, respected, adored and admired is an understatement.
I'm so happy to have this chance to show him how much I personally love and adore him and for our friends and family to do the same.

It Must Be Hard Being A Washed Up Has Been

2009-01-19T20:29:00.003-05:00

Over the weekend Larry's Aunt had her 60th birthday party at a local restaurant. All of the family gathered to celebrate. After the loss of Larry's Mom and his Aunt's heart scare just before Christmas, we're determined not to let a birthday go unnoticed.
After we all had dinner, Aunt Linda blew out her candles, we all shared cake and life was good. Until the comedy show started. This is the part about the washed up, has been. I'm wondering if up til this point you were wondering if I was referring to his Aunt as the has been. Jesus, that would have been cold. No. I am referring to the comedian who's show started after dinner. I'm sure you've met a few washed up has been's. An old fucker who thinks he's still the toast of Las Vegas even though the comedy club was only at it's 40 person capacity because all of our family members were there. I doubt this dude could fill a house; even an out house.
He's the kind of comedian that picks on his audience. Pointing out the obvious: Hey! You're fat... hardy har har. Hey, you're old! bwah hahaha. I kept my head down hoping he wouldn't pick on me but he did. Hey, so Larry this is your wife? Yep. What's your name? Pam? Yeah, that's Map spelled backwards. (Obvious genius). So how about you stand up and show us your mountains? Snicker. He killed it, right? At least he didn't call me fat.
We suffered through 3/4 of the performance then things went to the dark side. This is how it went down: Larry's Uncle was sitting next to me. His daughters called on his cell phone. Oops. He answered it. Oops. The comedian stopped his routine and said something to the effect of he'd wait for the phone call to end before he would go on "entertaining" us. At first we thought he was, you know, kidding, like a good and possibly funny comedian would be. Larry's Uncle handed the cell to his wife who then decided to quickly and quietly finish the call which lasted no more than 20 seconds. No biggie. Unless by biggie you might be thinking like the comedian did, what was she thinking taking a phone call from her children in the middle of this ground breaking, world showcase of a performance? Who the fuck did she think she was? (he actually used those words). He called her out telling her if she couldn't go out for one night without her cell phone to stay the fuck home. Would she take a call in the middle of a movie? Her reply? If it was my kids, you bet I would. Mother's of the world unite!! I would too. Honestly, I had had enough of this bozo douche bag about 10 minutes into his performance when he told Larry he looked like his neck blew a bubble. Clever. How much intelligence does it take to insult people by pointing out the obvious and making pecker jokes? Yeah, we can all see that Larry is bald by choice and has a rather round, may I also say, sexy head?
But I digress.
Larry wasn't having any of this old fart calling his Aunt out and shouting angry insults at her. It's one thing to make half an attempt at being funny by insulting people but to insinuate that your weak performance is so goddamn important, that you are so important and famous and that the rest of your audience is so riveted by your performance that you can't just let the phone call incident go and move on to the thankful end of your rhetoric. Please, just go on with your banal crap so we can all get this over with and go home. To our children. And you can go home to your half empty bottle of scotch, your 1982 VHS porn video, make a half hearted attempt at getting a boner so you can whack off, give up and cry yourself to sleep. And please, do the world a favor, take off that ridiculous pinkie ring and those obnoxious boots and turtle neck/sport coat joke you're wearing and give it all to goodwill. It's embarrassing.
Now I'm not saying that Larry's Aunt and Uncle were completely innocent. No, should they have stepped outside or put the phone on vibrate? Obviously but for hell's sake, don't make a federal case out of it. You're not that important. And? We're just not that into you to care, frankly.
Anyway, Larry called him an asshole and I told him if he felt so insulted by a cell phone maybe he should make everyone sign a no cell phone agreement before his performance and possibly surrender their cell phones before his big show. I've never seen anyone so incensed. He was spitting and swearing and turning red; I feared his heart was going to give out. He just couldn't calm down over the whole thing. Which would have been nothing if he could have let go of his fragile ego long enough to just.move.on. Needless to say, we gathered up our things and walked out to his tirade of get the hell outs and don't come backs and yadda yadda I'm too important for you and don't you know who I am's. It was crazy, ya'll. Crazy.
Sweet justice though when I clicked on his website: his hit counter is at 637. Mine is over 14,000. And he's been "performing" for over 30 years. Who's laughing now, bitch?
I'm sure you might be wondering who this craptastic egomaniac is but I'm not going to give him any free advertisement or ammo. Be sure that you've never heard of him, you don't want to go see him and his momma didn't give him no love when he was little because his grill was screaming for a full set of invisaligns.
Let's just leave it at this: If you just happen to be near BrewMasters in IndianRocks Beach and want a bite for dinner, don't stay for the show. And honestly, the food wasn't that great either.

FatHead

2009-01-13T20:15:00.003-05:00

If you are tired of my endless blogging about my weight loss, you should probably stop here unless you are going out of your mind with boredom and don't have an old Oriental Trading catalog from 2003 to read. Cuz I'm blogging again. About weight loss.
It started 11 months ago. I started fasting in February and had my lap band surgery in March. So normally 11 months is enough of an adjustment period. Time enough to get used to the idea that one's body is changing. Shrinking. But I'll be damned if I'm not just fucking amazed every.single.time. I buy clothes. And I feel the need to share it. I'm not all bragging about how I rock and how I've done this amazing thing. I'm just genuinely shocked that it really worked. And that for the first time in....?......30 years maybe? I don't need to reach to the back of the clothing rack, all the way to the biggest size available, for the longest and loosest shirt in the store. It's still a mind fuck I tell you. Because I still have a fathead. In my mind and probably because it's just always been this way, I cannot embrace the fact that I am not a size 30/32. I can't, even if I wanted to, shop in Lane Bryant or Avenue or Catherine's "stout" shop (as it was once, so long ago called). I'm in the regular department, buying normal sizes. And the sizes? They keep getting smaller. I never was good at math.
Even as recently as the day before yesterday, I bought a few pair of pants at Stein Mart breezing quickly through and grabbing some Seven jeans on sale and I went for the size 14 figuring that the other Seven jeans I had at home were 14's and although I had opted for my Buckle jeans lately I was sure the 14's would still be fine. Um, even though the scale is still reflecting losses every day. I'm not sure how many pounds equate to a pant size but low and behold, when I got home the 14's were too big.
After I returned the 14's and nervously grabbed the 12's wondering if the cashier would (as I always do, I know it's sick but I can't help it) ask me if Ineeded gift receipts because surely these little size 12 jeans could not be for this fatass who stands before her. Once I got home, I held them up and thought, whoa chick I dunno, these are pretty small. But what the hell! they do fit me. And I just can't grasp it. I'm a fathead. In my mind, I am still not, definitely not, a 12.
So, here's the proof because if you've seen the pictures I've posted you are probably thinking the same thing... "she don't look like no 12 to me, nuh uh, no way sister".
I fished the tag out of the garbage. Will I EVER get used to this? Will I always be a fathead?

A Reason To Tie One On

2009-01-10T08:19:00.005-05:00

A few posts ago, I wrote about Logan crashing my Mother's car into a barb wire fence and catching a field on fire. The estimate is in from the infiniti dealership and when my Mom heard how much it was, she did this:

Just kidding. Actually she was just tasting the holiday beer that Logan had on Christmas day. The estimate called for something much stronger than beer. Stay tuned to see if I can catch a shot of her hitting her bong.

Like Punxsutawney Phil

2009-01-08T21:29:00.006-05:00

Like that stupid groundhog, I poked my head up, out into consciousness and reality to see if it was all over. And thankfully, it was.
I'd like to skip over all the blogging about our wonderful, warm and fuzzy, bling filled, loved filled, movie quality Christmas, past my yawn of a New Year's Eve party (not that my guests were boring but in rebounding from my last NYE party were my walls were bulging at the drywall seams with people, some I didn't even know). I invited way too few people for a proper party and conversation didn't really flow, boobs didn't pop from under shirts and no one got pregnant in my bathroom, on to just regular ole today.
No pictures of cute kids in matching Christmas jammies and wild eyes filled with excitement and surprise as four wheelers were discovered in the garage. No Christmas casserole recipes or any of that shit.
Just regular today.
Logan is officially a college student. Registered, bought the tee shirt, laptop in hand, pencil pushing college student. Two online classes and two on campus classes. He is taking a full load. In less than 2 weeks his mother of a pain in the ass pins come out of his hand and he is happy. Focused, clear headed and happy. The good news about my once troubled and sad large boy just keeps on coming. He kept his promise, he stayed the course (God, what a good pun) and I am nauseatingly proud and gushing about him.
Hard work really DOES pay off. Who knew.
Medium boy is my steady eddy. Just trucking along in school, wailing in his guitar and talking about HIS college life where he is going to become, one day, a brain surgeon.
Small boy is still struggling with staying in his own bed at night but this weekend we are buying him a new bed and he is going in for a sleep study. I personally think he has sleep apnea but saddling him with a breathing machine for it at the tender age of 7 is a thought that is breaking my heart. But if it has to be, it has to be. Something has to give because I haven't had a full night's sleep in 7 years. Possibly why I look 110 years old.
This month Larry officially becomes an old man. 40. Frankly, I'm hosted out and the thought of throwing him a party makes me want to hurl. Would I be just thee most shiteous wife if I didn't mark the occasion with just a little something special?
And finally.... finally football season is the fuck over. In past years, by this time I would have had such a fill of football I'd have fantasies of taking those fat lips of John Madden's and wrapping them around his head to suffocate him just so I wouldn't have to hear the sound of his voice but Larry has toned it down just a tad and it's not as painful as it used to be but still, I'm glad it's over. Just that one little game they play to determine the winner in February and once again, the sound of whistles and cheering won't be competing with the sound of electric guitars in my house.
And that is our January 2009. Is it terrible that I'm glad all the yule and glitter is over for another 11 months? I know my bank account is.
As requested, here is the Christmas before and after picture. I am 6 pounds from my goal and Logan is down a head of hair and 60 pounds!! The first picture is from Christmas last year.

Last Minute Thoughts and A Story

2008-12-24T20:19:00.003-05:00

I started this post on Tuesday as we dashed out to do some very last minute Christmas shopping but have just now, now being Christmas Eve had the chance to finish it.
Here it is as it read on Tuesday:

As we dash out the door to do some last minute, VERY last minute Christmas shopping I wanted to share a funny story about the AC/DC concert night before last. At first, I was all pissy and whiny in my own mind about our seats; we were pretty far back and up high in these semi sort of luxury box seats and at $800 a ticket, I expected to be up Angus Young's butt. I could have used binoculars to even see his butt to be honest, however...... I studied the boy's faces for any sign of disappointment since at the Eric Clapton concert we were eight rows front and center but they seemed very content with our seating situation and I didn't want to spoil the night with a fit including a cold shoulder to the purchaser of the tickets.
The seat location turned out to be a bonus as we ended up having box seats which meant we shared luxury seats with just 12 other very friendly people who had booze and pizza. We also had an attendant who served us and saw to our every need. And, the concert was ear drum burstingly loud so we were far enough away so no one left bleeding.
During the great concert by some very old rockers, a blow up doll of Rosie (you know, the song "A Whole Lotta Rosie" appeared on stage. It was about 15 feet tall and was astride a motorcycle. Here's what it looked like:

Somehow, the concert Rosie's nipples were thankfully covered but Braden was pretty sure he could see her "privates" but you really couldn't, it was just a thong. But he DID turn to me with wide eyes and a shit eating grin on his face and said: "Momma!! That's YOU!!"
Ah, to see yourself through your child's eyes.
I guess I'm flattered?? Or violated? I'm not exactly sure.

So hey! Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night. I hope you all have a beautiful love filled holiday with your loved ones. I'm just hoping for diamonds.

Sunday Yummers

2008-12-21T16:47:00.002-05:00

Today was a sit in jammies and rest day. No one did a damn thing except drink coffee watch Football and play the guitar. I made a standing rib roast crusted with dijon mustard, bread crumbs and rosemary along with Cesar sweet peas, yeast rolls and wedge potatoes. Thank you Publix apron recipes. We're having an early family dinner so that we have time to get our rock on for the AC/DC concert tonight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (extra exclamations because you know my house is full of classic rock lovers and well, they're pretty excited). As I type this, I can hear strains of Back In Black coming from Ian's room, I know he's excited to see it played by the original and God, wouldn't it be awesome if he caught a pick or a drum stick?
Yesterday we spent the day at Busch Gardens with our friends who have two boys who are each good friends with my boys. We ate our way to Timbuktu and back with Turkey legs and cotton candy and rock candy and corn dogs. We had a great time and every time I part company with our friends I always wonder why we don't spend more time with them. I guess we just get wrapped up in our own lives and need to reach out more and make time for doing fun stuff like roller coasters and elephants.
The good news about the infiniti is that my parents only have a $500 deductible so no matter what the damage the out of pocket expense will be very do-able.
Logan still feels like crap about it and I imagine the fear of it happening again will linger for a while. I'm doing driving duty for a while until he's a two handed driver again.
I have 2 more presents to buy and I'm completely and totally finished with the Christmas shopping except for the food shopping. I have post traumatic stress disorder from my unpleasant encounter with that cashier at Publix but I'm trying to be big about it and just check out the cashier before I pick a lane to check out. Sad, isn't it?
This post is practically putting me to sleep so I can imagine that you have probably considered moving on before the end so I shall stop here before my head hits the corner of my desk and I have to go to the concert with a black eye.

Must Love Dogs

2008-12-19T20:33:00.006-05:00

I can guess your reaction to this post after you read it. If you're anything like me, you'll say something like: Are you fucking kidding me? She's making this stuff up just to have something to blog about. Or, if you're like my more delicate and ladylike readers, you'll probably say something like, Wow, that really stinks, poor Logan. What the heck or shoot or darn the luck. When *I* got the call that this happened, I said... Oh my fucking God, are you kidding me? Ok, I'm just going to go off to the padded cell they have reserved for me at the mental hospital. Oh, yeah, of course, after I asked him if he was ok and was anyone else involved.
Logan borrowed my Mom's brand new G37 Infiniti coup so that I could be a lazy good for nothing and stay home and wait for Stanly Steemer to come clean my carpets for Christmas and he could drive himself to his doctor's appointment this morning. Coming around a curve, a dog ran out in front of the car and being the animal lover that he is, he swerved to miss the dog and went off the road, through a barb wire fence, missing a telephone pole by 4 feet and then ended up back under the fence. Oh, and he started the dry grass and woods behind the fence on fire. A big fire which would have blown up the car were it not for a good Samaritan passing by who happened to have a gallon of water in his trunk for his dogs.
And no, I'm not making this up and it's not April fools. Two fire trucks and two crash investigators later, the fire was out, no one was hurt but the car? Well, it was towed off to the infinity dealer pending a look see for more extensive damages than appear in this picture.
Logan was fine. He anticipated a righteous ass chewing from my Mom but being the loving and saintly Grandma that she is, she was just relieved that he was ok but I'm sure she saved her massive outrage tantrum justifiable piss fit for home when she could take it out on my Dad because as we all know, everything is his fault anyway.
I just don't know who Logan pissed off in a former life to continue to manifest this craziness but it must have been someone very important and his offense must have been of epic proportions is all I can figure.

My Fat Cells Hate Me

2008-12-15T10:53:00.002-05:00

After the stomach flu, I was down to a pretty acceptable weight of 187. Bringing my total weight loss after the surgery to 121 pounds. Affectionately known as losing a 14 year old boy. Plus one pound.
However, it has become clear that my fat cells have not been fooled. No, they haven't packed their bags and gone off to find a more suitable host. They were waiting, like spiders in a dark corner, waiting for just that right moment when I, being their life long host, decide, what the fuck, this weekend I'm going to actually EAT like a normal person. Screw skipping meals and just nibbling my way through the family dinners. I wanted to, you know, eat. We were on vacation. Where calories don't count.
Once we got to our hotel on Friday night, we ordered room service. The compulsive eater's equivalent to an open bar wedding for an alcoholic. And dammit, I wanted food. We had mushroom soup, bruchetta, lobster ravioli, key lime torts and chocolate covered strawberries.
On Saturday night, we had dinner at my favorite restaurant with some of our favorite people and ok, perhaps I should have reconsidered that third basket of bread and rethought my rational of hey, if they bring more butter and no one is looking, I could smear the entire pot of butter on that third roll. Chocolate mousse for dessert? Why, yes! Thank you. It was free too so I HAD to eat it. It wouldn't be right to let it go to waste.
And my fat cells? Think wack-a-mole. I flatten them down with all my stellar dieting and lap band but they have the ability to pop right back up with just one swipe of the butter knife. Mother fuckers.
It's just not right. And completely unfair that after all I have done, the starving and limiting and pushing away and saying no and making good choices, christ, I even order skinny lattes with sugar free vanille and non fat milk from Starbucks, and eat my god damn weight in leafy green vegetables, and after just one weekend of sane and normal eating (or maybe not so sane)? I gain five pounds. How does one actually DO that? Two days? FIVE pounds?
So, this being Monday, I'm back to the old plan. Coffee for breakfast, a longing and loving look at the golden arches as I drive bye for lunch and happily serving dinner to the fam but not daring to even smell it for fear some of the juices or spices or grease or fucking calories go up my nose and find a comfy home inside those fat cells that yes, hate me.

Fun Friday

2008-12-12T14:20:00.002-05:00

Even though whoa is me I have the stomach flu that has been ravaging my loved ones, we're off to our 'let's pretend we don't have kids for the weekend' weekend.
We have dinner plans with my fairy god-friend and her Skipper's best friend husband. You guys know how my fairy god-friend has come to my rescue and helped me with my kids on numerous occasions so we're honored that they asked us to spend some time with them over dinner. And we're having dinner at my most favorite restaurant in the whole world so, there's that too.
I know Larry is thinking about us, alone, kid-less, all alone, in a hehehe, hotel and I'm down with all of that but honestly? I am just happy to be alone, sex is just the gravy on my huge plate of all alone doing nothing no one asking me for anything watching movies eating room service being naked aloneness. I should probably have come up with a different word for alone.
I probably won't blog and any pictures from the weekend will feature me naked with the aloneness so I'll see you all when I return to my reality of dogs, kids and that Christmas thing that is looming in the distance but which I have chosen to ignore.
I'd love to hear about your Christmas plans. Where you're going, with whom and most importantly, what you are eating. Oh and what you hope is under the tree with your name on it.

A Few Gold Nuggets In A Sea of Floating Turds

2008-12-09T09:58:00.005-05:00

You know me, your favorite optimist. So, here I am like a cracked out hamster on her spinning wheel trying to turn every crazy fucked up thing that has happened in the last few weeks into something good, something positive, something salvageable.
Logan's hand. You know, the one with the bullet hole through it? Well, it's healing. But he still has the pins in it and faces more surgeries and rehabilitation. Final outcome is still an unknown. However.... he's been staying with us while he heals. I've been smothering him in Motherly love. Making sure he's taking his medications, eating properly, keeping the wound clean, making all of his appointments, driving him around, even cutting his food for him. It's just like when he was a baby minus the ass wiping and crayons. And it's been really, really nice having him here. I love spending time with him. We've been shopping and I even got him to go to Pottery Barn with me. He's a great help with the brothers as a mediator of sorts. Trying to get them to listen to some reasoning without all the eye rolling and dramatic sighs that usually follow my requests to do ungodly things like, brush their teeth or clear the dinner table. Plus he's cool so they think he's got something of value to say unlike their Mother who's just a raging pain in their ass.
And through all of the drama of the shooting and the surgery, Logan and Ian's Dad and I have been communicating like sane adults on the same page. I know, right? What alternate universe have we moved to. But it's the truth. And even though I could have gone without the bullet thing, I AM grateful for some small and insignificant positives that I can find if I dig hard enough and spin it at warp speed. Their Dad's wife even sent Ian home with enough Chicken Parmesan for everyone. It was real authentic Italian food that didn't come in a box or brown paper bag.

One of the negatives of my weight loss surgery about which I have gone on ad nauseum is the lack of action from the back door. Yes, not much food in, means not much waste out if you know what I'm saying. And coupled with stress, not drinking enough water for the last few weeks, I had a rather embarrassing and painful incident last weekend. A few Saturdays ago I spent 20 minutes in Pep Boy's bathroom amidst the frantic and super! polite! (not) black Friday shoppers trying to...... (god, let's pick a term shall we? poop you say? ok, we'll go with poop). I spent 20 minutes trying to poop in Pep Boy's bathroom. Next time you're in there, check out the random buttons that are super glued to the tile on the bathroom floor and get back to me as to what purpose they serve ok? The outcome of my 20 minutes was less than successful so I gave up. But on Sunday, the turd of mammoth proportions was having none of the "just ignore it" philosophy. This turd was determined to find a way out of my butt even if it meant splitting my anus in half. As I lay on my bathroom floor not sure what the fuck to do because sitting on the toilet was out of the question but lying on the bathroom floor for all of eternity wasn't happening either, I was going to have to do one of two things, either dig the shit out or have someone dig it out for me. From what I could surmise, this turd was at least double the size of it's exit and I had no idea how to extract it without an episiotomy of my butt hole. I was seriously also afraid of a bowel perforation too. I'm not sure if that is even a real medical condition since I stopped watching E.R. three years ago but the idea scared Larry enough to convince him that he had to either extract this poop from my ass or he better call the paramedics to do it. Since the idea of my husband scooping poop from an area in such close proximity to my lady bits, the lady bits that are, you know, according to him, the center of his universe, was out of the question, we had to call 911. And what do you exactly tell the 911 operator? "Yes, Ma'am we need an ambulance because my wife has, is, um, she is experiencing..... er... Stomach pains. Just go with that. No sense elaborating on anything else. When the paramedics arrived I cried to them, begged and pleaded with them to just.get.the.poop.out. PLEASE? But, no go. They do not put anything in to the body or take anything out and since poop extraction included both of those, I bought myself a ride to the hospital. I passed out twice while they carried me to the stretcher and once on the ride to the hospital. Who knew the butt of so many jokes could turn into something that made me want to die on my bathroom floor.
Surprisingly, I was registered with the hospital and in line to see the Doctor pretty quickly but while I was waiting to be seen, I needed to pee and well, while I was peeing, I took care of the problem on my own. While I was in the bathroom though, I heard the oddest conversation about me and my condition. The Doctor asked the nurse where I was, she told him I was in the bathroom and he asked her if I was "crowning". Yeah, he wanted to know if my ginormous poop was crowning. I guess he had expected that she would examine me but she hadn't so she had to tell him that she didn't know if I was crowning or not. So gross, no? The entire experience was just embarrassing and it puts me straight on into the being old status. Only old people can't "go". The positive spin on this shittious experience? I lost 3 and a half pounds!
And as if that shit wasn't enough to make me feel old, while I was at Publix last week I asked the cashier if I could buy some Santa Dollars. You know, for Braden. After she ripped me a new asshole (since I was finally healed, it was time for my ass to get some attention again) about the price of the Santa dollars being TWO DOLLARS! AND ONLY WORTH ONE DOLLAR! AND HOW COULD ANYONE PAY TWO DOLLARS FOR SOMETHING ONLY WORTH ONE DOLLAR AND ALSO DID I REALIZE THAT MY PRE-BOILED SIX PACK OF EGGS WAS TWO DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS? She also asked me if I was buying the Santa dollars for my............wait for it....................wait for it.................wait for it..................... GRAND child. Mmmhmm. Translation? I do not look young enough to have a child young enough to appreciate Santa dollars. Thank you so very much old bitch who's obviously so unsatisfied with her life's work as a cashier at Publix that she has to make sure she reprimands every customer who spends too much money keeping her employed and who also have FRAGILE EGO written across their foreheads and need to be reminded of how old they are/look. I could only look at her with tears in my eyes trying to think of some very witty and hurtful remark back to her but I just quietly said no, it was for my seven year old son and could she please refrain from any more comments about my purchases. Then I went and told on her.
I have no way to spin that incident except to say that it became a moot point after some old drunk creamed the side of my car in the parking lot while we were both trying to back out of our spaces and then tried to convince me and the 4 witnesses who saw him hit me, that it was MY fault. And the cherry on that sundae? Since the accident happened on private property, my insurance pays for my damage and his pays for his. Apparently though, he was driving a company car and he told Larry (who I called to come down to the scene and whip this guy's ass for trying to lie about who's fault the accident was) that he was fucked anyway because he was driving a company car and was now required to go straight to a clinic and take a drug test which he was going to fail. Sucks to be that guy who is now fired 2 weeks before Christmas for being a drunk or stoned driver in the parking lot at Publix and hit a psychotic old bitch with bowel issues in her Suburban. I asked him if he wanted the opportunity to apologize for being a liar and he declined my offer. I hate liars more than anything and I hope he burns in hell. Even though I don't believe in hell being an actual place but if there was such a place, I'd want that guy to have a front row seat to the inferno.
The spin on the car accident is that I'm going to have the 'burban completely repainted while it's in the shop and Larry is going to buy me some super pretty and sparkly new wheels for it.
At the top of the week Ian had the stomach flu and missed two days of school and a day of tutoring. This sucked for him but it did give me a chance to also spoil him and I even got to spoon feed him oatmeal. I miss so much of the baby days. And because puking pretty much involves mouth activity, his scheduled braces installation had to be postponed for 4 days but on Friday, it happened. He got a major bite plate so he's entertaining us with his unintended imitation of Sylvester the Cat: "Sufferin Succotash" and all that. Except with the "S" 's all funny sounding.
On Saturday Braden had his end of the season quarter midget racing banquet with BBQ and trophies and then on Sunday, my parents came out and we did our annual making of the Lebkuchen cookies. All 250 of them. If you're not familiar with the cookies basically they're old school German cookies which are sort of like gingerbread cookies kicked up a notch. We make about 250 to 300 cookies depending on how many we initially screw up trying to get the batter just right, wrap them up pretty and give them away to business associates and friends. They are amazing with a nice hot cup of coffee in the morning or after some banging schnitzel for dinner. I guess you could say that we're not exactly the menorah and dradle types.

On December 21st I'm hosting (for the first time and holy shit) Christmas with Larry's side of the family. Because we were excommunicated from the family for so long due to a family feud between Larry and his Mom I'm pretty excited to finally be back in their good graces (since the unfortunate passing of Larry's Mom) and I'm trying to do the house up right for our brunch get together. We're doing a little gift exchange, Secret Santa style. I still feel fairly new to the family and I want so much for the get together to be special and wonderful for his family whom I love dearly. So I'm in major decorating mode right now, trying to fit everything in between the flu, stray bullets, car accidents and plumbing problems. Oh and Larry and I are taking the boys (medium and small) to see AC/DC the night of the 21st. I know it should raise some eyebrows, the thought of taking a 7 year old to a rock concert but I doubt 2007 concerts will be like the old school concert of my day but if anyone tries to pass a doobie to my kids, I'll just politely decline. My boys do love their classic rock.
I do thank you all so much for leaving me all the comment love. And I know you feel properly thanked by my blatant lack of posting that followed. But my God, sixteen comments? I felt the need for a post coital cigarette after reading all of them. Thank you. I haven't forgotten my promise of an angel card reading for each and every one of you. I will get to that.
Once I'm finished drowning my house in bleach to rid it of the flu virus and everyone is back in school etc etc... Angel readings will be forthcoming.
Our puppy is coming home today from being away for 2 months at puppy school. With Logan's dog, that makes 4 dogs just in time for the holidays!!
I think Larry has realized that I have reached maximum capacity on the Mom duties what with someone saying "Hey Mom" or a dog peeing on my floor about every 5 minutes so he's taking me away for the weekend. We're just going to hole up in a hotel while Braden stays with his Grandpa and the brothers stay here. I think I'm going to sleep for the entire 48 hours, naked.
This post was going to include some pictures but every once in a while Blogger looses it's mind and doesn't allow any picture posting. As soon as the technical glitch is fixed, I'll post the pictures.

Whining About The Love

2008-11-22T19:37:00.004-05:00

Pssst... HEY! I know you're out there. Thirteen thousand plus readers have stopped by the Bubble blog since it's inception. And yet? The comment section looks like John McCain's campaign headquarters right about now.
So how about, everyone who takes just a teeny little minute to leave me some comment love gets a $25 gift card from Amazon? Yeah, that would be sweet right? (OR possibly very desperate.) But no. Just knowing that I would love you that much more if you would stop just rolling on through without a trace should be enough of an incentive to leave me your thoughts. Or, how about this... for every reader who leaves me a comment, I'll pull an angel card for you and do a reading.
But I need to hear from you.
I'm shallow and insecure, people. Also remember that I am an only child and I need your undivided attention.
PLEASE? Just one? You know you want to! You've been secretly dying to write me so now is the time!!! Just click on the comment button and say something like, 'Hey Pam, love your blog, you're the queen of the blogshpere'. Or shit, just tell me I'm old and fat and can't write worth shit. I don't care as long as it's some sort of letters and words in a semi coherent string of thought process back to me.
I'll be your best friend!?!