Doing the happy happy joy joy dance!!!

Oh my god!  I am so doing the happy dance right now!!  I am so freaking happy I could climb a tall building and scream until I am hoarse.

So today was the Bi-annual trip to The Avenue. Which means that I got new clothes!!!  I get this treat twice a year so needless to say I get to act like a pretty girl twice a year.  I preen in front of mirrors and prance around the store like the belle of the ball.  I always get jeans.  ALWAYS.  I wear a lot of jeans. and it usually takes about six months for the pairs of jeans that I got on the last trip to just wear out.  Seriously this is how much I wear jeans.  I mean I wear slacks and skirts occasionally but mostly I wear jeans and every six months they just look fugly. (Side note: Fugly was in my Windows dictionary... who programs this thing?)

So anyway, I'm trying on pants and I always get my normal size 22's  They didn't have a huge selection today so I was prepared to be kinda disappointed but then the lady that always has way too much energy for tastes most days started getting personally involved and she looked at me and said that I didn't need to be wearing a size 22.  I was so prepared for her to say that maybe I'd look better in the 24.  I mean I am not one of those blind women that ignores the fact that I'm a big girl, I know I am.  So I was floored when she bought me a pair of size 20 jeans.

I swore up and down that she was wrong.  I might have lost weight recently but if anything I was still a 22 for the simple reason of I haven't lost any where I could see it.  I tried them on just for shits and giggles anyway though.  And OH MY GOD!!!  They fit!!  They fit! They fit! They fit!!  and not only fit, they looked good. I actually spent extra time in front of the mirror.

Holy schmoly! (Second side note, Schmoly is programed into my windows dictionary.  Seriously, who programs this thing??) I wanted to sing, I wanted to dance!!

I did actually but that's not the point.

I did get one pair of 22's but only because I liked the slouch.  I like slouchy (Seriously?  That was programed too??) pants sometimes.  Especially around my period time.  Speaking of that, it must be coming soon, I have an irresistible urge for chocolate cupcakes lately.  The kind that I couldn't ignore if I tried.

I called to get my appointment to have my teeth pulled.  I put it off because I was dreading having to do Christmas with no teeth.  I like steak.  Steak is an awesome thing and I like it.  The thought of having to cut it into itsy bitsy pieces because I have no teeth to chew it... not high on my list of awesome things.  No worries though because they didn't have an opening until February. So I'm good.  She said to keep calling back to see if there was a cancellation.  I told her that I am so good with February that we could set that date in stone.  She laughed.  I have to go get the first set of teeth drilled on Thursday.  This is going to be fun...

I'm catching up on my DVR.  So far I've brought 98% down to 61% so I'm in no danger right now of something not recording because there's no room.  On the flip side, I remember why I wasn't too concerned with missing Hostages the first week.  I'm on hour 3 of my four hour block and I'm about to plotz my brains out.  Have Toni Collette's boobs always been that small?  I distinctly remember her having a big chest in Muriel's Wedding and in In Her Shoes... hmm... I guess they're right when they say For all that God's forgotten, that's why he gave us cotton!

Hehe, And just like that, I got the topic for the Q blog... I'm going to do Quotes.  Stay tuned.  Same channel probably an asinine time when you're probably already in bed and will just have to read it in the morning when you get up in which case you will forget and your cat will be run over by a boy on a pink scooter and your job will spontaneously shut down and on your way home with your cardboard box it will start raining and the box will break and all of your stuff will wash down the street into the river where it will find it's way into the hands of an arms dealer who will use your house as the fake point of sale house and the FBI will come and raid you because they think that you are Alez Al kalif the arms master and all because you didn't get up and read when I posted the blog.

Shame shame shame...

Lol. I gotta go.  Ciao Bloggers!!  Stay frosty!

Rain, rain, go away! Go ruin someone else's day!

We did this, this summer... This rain thing...  We did it for like 21 days in a row.  Everyday rain, rain, rain.  A lot of people hated it.  Mostly the farmers who lost massive crops and people who couldn't sunbathe.

I didn't really care because it was rain.  Sure it kept my kids housebound and eventually drove us all crazy, but truthfully, we didn't have far to drive to get there.  The only adverse effect it had on me was that I wanted to stay in bed all day.  For me, rainy days means cuddling up in bed and just chillaxing. (Note here that Chillaning was in my windows dictionary.  How is it that I'm not surprised but very surprised at the same time?)

So now it's been raining for round about four days now and the pull to just hide in my bed is sounding again.  I just want to chill out and pretend that that the world begins and ends with my pillows and comforters.

Eventually I will have to get and participate in the real world.  I should really hire someone for that.  I need money to hire someone for that.

At the moment, I'm trying to clear out my DVR.  I only have two episodes of Once upon A Time in Wonderland to watch which is good because I keep trying to give this show a chance, but it's just not clicking with me.  I just keep giving it chances so I think something somewhere is clicking I just don't know what and where.

The one that's going to be hard to clear out is Hostages.  I liked it going in I really did, the first episode clicked with me but then I skipped one Sunday and I never managed to gain it back.  Now, I have four weeks worth of the show on my DVR and I just cannot sit and watch four hours of Toni Collette like that.  Most of the time, when she smiles, I just want to climb in her mouth with a yard or six of wire and wrangle those teeth into line.  I had a thing for people with bad teeth.

Which is oddly ironic because I think my teeth are the worst of all.  I just found out I can go to a dentist so I did and OMG  I have four teeth that need to be pulled and 12 cavities to be drilled.  Eleven if you don't count the chip in the front and I think I may ask her to keep my chip.  It gives me character.  I'm getting a partial.  I'm not over the moon about it but at the least I can smile and feel like I'm pretty again.

I need to shower and get dressed.  I have to be to my mother in an hour.  I get to go the The Avenue and get my jeans!!  Yay!!

So off I go!  Ta!

I think the holidays might actually kill me...

But I will die with one huge honking smile on my face!  Just made gingerbread cookies (From mix; the one time I tried to make it from scratch it didn't work out too well.  But then I didn't realize that you had to mold the cold hard dough and sometimes gingerbread is crumbly.  I might try from scratch again.) and OMG! my mouth is singing like Julie Andrews (Or Carrie Underwood depending on how old you are.) in the Sound of Music!  I wish it weren't raining and I lived in the Swiss countryside so I could go singing into the mountains.

I seriously love the holidays if only for the holiday baking. One year I made Sugar cookies and butter pecan bread for the teachers at my kids schools and I got like five emails from teachers thanking me for both the slices of bread and the cookies.  Then I made then for the children at church and I didn't even get one of my own cookies! (Which was totally fine considering I ate maybe half my weight in ones that I purposefully broke so that I could say oops broken! Can't send!)

I'm a butter user.  Margarine is a dirty nasty word in my house.  We don't say it and we don't use it.  If I were a dairy maid I would spent half of my time churning butter and the other half of it using said butter.  Everything just tastes so much better with it.  That's why I say the holidays just might kill me.

The church asked for Christmas cookies for the fellowship with the apartments right behind us this year so seeing as how this week is uber busy for me, I made the dough this afternoon.  I may have to make more.  My mother has been asking me for about two days when she's going to get some sugar cookies.  I may break down and roll out half of one of the bags tonight., and make her some cookies.  She'll be surprised.

I'm one of those people that love gingerbread cookies but while most people eat the head first and end the poor man's suffering, I like to start at the bottom and eat his feet then his arms, then his body then his head.  I pretend it's Gingy from the Shrek movies, and he's screaming that funny scream of his.  I am one messed up individual.

I need to catch up on my DVR. I have to date probably about five hours to clear but I don't sit on Facebook anymore so I'm not in my room as much and I just haven't caught up.  I think I am going to sit and do that over the next few days.  That is provided I get no invitations to go anywhere other than the places I have to go anyway.  Honestly, I rather go see a movie or hang out but if that doesn't happen, we'll sit and watch at least five hours of tv.

Made bread today as well as the dough.  The girls are pretty much salivating over it.  Hell I am too.

Okay, see yall later.

Christmas Cards and Beatdowns.

I decided this year that I'm going to send Christmas cards and OMG! I didn't realize how many friends I have!  I mean I really honestly didn't realize how many people I have.  I bought 48 cards and I think I'm going to need more.  When I was online on Facebook, I never realized how many people I hold close to me.  When in a social setting like that, the numbers don't add up

But when you are handwriting these sumbishes, the numbers really freaking add up.  The last two days, however, I've figured out how to get the envelopes to print in my printer.  They look really cute now.

Still no enlightenment on the stomach issue.  After the coffee and the two sausages I managed to keep down this morning, I felt pretty okay.  We were going to go to the Popeye's on Wilkinson Blvd., but the line was around the parking lot and out into the street.  We drove the 20 miles to Concord Mills.  Just for some chicken.  Yeah, we do that.  Don't judge us.  I felt okay after eating a breast and part of a thigh.  I haven't eaten anything else but then I'm not hungry.  I never really hungry anymore.  Dinner is fun. Did you feel the the exorcist head twist?

I'm having problems on the Ex front.  NOT with the Ex.  It's the girlfriend.  Back in July, I posted on Facebook because I was upset that when my girls were over their father's house, she didn't care one whit for their appearance.  Twice I asked her to help them with their hair and she refused.  She left the house looking runway fly but my girls looked like didn't nobody love them.  And yes I know that the grammar in that last sentence was all off but I don't care.  If you are with a man and he has girl children, as the woman in the house, it makes sense to make sure that when they are leaving with you, and people will look you as a group, that they look at least decent.  But she didn't and I resented that someone who was trying to be a self claimed role model was acting like that.  His godmother came on my Facebook and tried to reprimand me.  I let it go but I'm sure by the tone of the comment I left and the fact that I very soon after deleted her entire family from both of my daughter's Facebooks as well as my own may have clued her into the fact that it kinda pissed me off.  Whatever...  The girlfriend took the post sixteen ways from wrong which is you know whatever I didn't really care, but here's the thing, it's been six months and she's still holding onto it.  She actually snubbed me in front of my children.  I was a good girl though, I only called her a bitch and not even loud enough for her to hear it.

But here's the thing.  My mother called the ex the other day because she baked him a pie he asked for.  She called a cousin in Texas to get this recipe for him and she baked it just for him.  But when she called him, he was in the car with her and it took my mom a minute to realize he wasn't blowing her off, he was trying to get her off the phone because the little bitch in the passengers seat was probably making that weird pouty face that looks extra ugly because she is not a pretty woman.  Apparently, she bitched at him all freaking day about why he had to go to my mothers house and you know what?  He did end up blowing her off that night because he couldn't get away long enough to call her and explain and my mother felt bad.  She felt worse when she found out what her simple phone call had cost him.

You don't hurt my mother.  You can snub me.  You can talk about me.  You can call across the country and tell your friends about me, but You. Don't. Hurt. My. Mother. EVER.  You don't mess with my kids and you don't mess with my mother.

X always says he doesn't want drama.  And I have been moderately good about not causing drama.  I have caused my share, I own up to that but I'm not the one causing this drama.  It's been six months.  Let it go.  No one cares and if she cares so much, she needs to pull up her big girl grandma undies and come talk to me about it.  If she ever had any plans on marrying into X's family, she needs to learn to speak up for herself or she will be run over like fresh track under an Amtrak Turbo train.

Funny story... now... the night that X and I got to consummate our marriage, he paused above me... in me and apologized to me.  I asked him why and he told me that he was going to cheat on me when they went to port (he was in the navy) because he had always wanted a white girl.  To my knowledge, he never managed to get an Anglo Saxon white girl, he got another black woman and a Mexican; the other white meat.

And I realize that someone out there reading this may be mexican, let me be clear I am not slamming you or your race.  Honestly all the slurs are directed at her and her only.  This blog is my way or venting my frustrations on her.  If I don't vent then somehow, I may end up venting them literally on her.  And I'm not a nice person when I am venting.  I usually fight with my words, but I have been known to stop talking and start swinging.  I have also been known to carry my knife to a fight.  I'm not saying I would ever use it, but there comes a point in every cat fight where the brain reaches it's shut off point and anything can happen.

Okay, I'm already yawning and ready for bed.  I have to make the sugar cookie dough for cookies tomorrow and if I make it in the morning, I may can make a batch or two for personal taste testing tomorrow. Heh.

Goodnight, Bloggers.

As I sit here with my Sunday Morning Coffee...

I wonder why I still try to eat anymore...

I got up at ten to seven this morning so that we could all have a hot breakfast.  I made sausages, oatmeal, and grits.  Everyone got some sausage and coffee.  I served the kids (Which sounds like I was doing the subservient mom thing when they're teens and fully capable of doing for themselves, but really it helps keep the sanity if I do it myself.) and I sat down with my coffee and my few sausages.

The main reason I made sausages was so that I had something to eat because drinking coffee without eating makes my abdomen hurt worse.  I'm trying to do right with whatever this is going on.  Three sausages in and I found myself trying to keep it down.  Why do I bother anymore?  The things I can I eat without nausea make me fill me up before I get enough.  and everything else well... I have to struggle to keep it down.

A lady at church gave me a pair of size 20 pants because she had them sitting in her closet and I needed a pair of black pants.  Three weeks ago maybe four, they were so tight I could barely breathe in them and sitting down was so not happening... the last time I tried them on last week, I had to keep pulling them up.  Either they stretched or I'm shrinking.  And not shrinking at a healthy rate either.

I normally fluctuate between size 24 and size 22 jeans.  24 close to my period when I bloaty and 22 on a normal day.  The 24's?  Forget it.  I can't even begin to try and put on anymore and I need a belt to keep the 22's up.

I need the doctor to figure out what's going on.  I'm not used to losing weight like this.  Any, you know what?  I don't know where I'm losing it from because it damn sure isn't my Stomach...

Okay, time to go do hair.  Happy Sunday.

I'm in the nursery so it's an easy Sunday for me.

I don't actually suck at this daily blogging thing

There just aren't enough hours in the day.  In my case last night, enough pain pills on the face of this earth. Early Christmas present from my mommy, I got my hair braided. It took two women six hours to twist up just about every strand of hair on my head and last night I could barely turn the damn thing.

But I look good.

I looked in the mirror and saw myself first the first real time after the tylenol kicked in and I saw her the girl I love seeing.  The one that looks her age instead of years older. I missed her.  She's awesome.  She's cute, she has confidence, and she holds her head up high all the time and not just because twenty pounds of hair is pulling it back so she has to.

Back story time!!  Gather round all yee readers!  Everyone comfortable?  Good.

When I was in the fifth grade, I was finally able to go to the Intermediate school in my district.  We had moved to Twinbrook a year or so before hand, but my mother had continued to take me every morning to Red Bank schools.  At middle school she decided it was time to send me to Ocean schools because she worked at the middle school in Red Bank and she knew two things.  I would get special treatment because my mother was a big wig in the school (She was an English teacher but depending on the circumstance she wielded almost as much power as the principal.  A lot of people were afraid of her.) and two, eventually I would end up in her class.  She wanted neither.  So she put me in OTIS; Ocean Township intermediate School.

Now the summer before fifth grade, my mom thought I should try the newest style among black women at the time: The Jehri curl.  Mothers, don't ever do this to your daughters.  If, God forbid, this hairstyle ever comes back, don't do this to your kid.  You might remember this style.  Think Michael Jackson early 90's or if you've ever seen the movie Coming to America, just remember Soul Glo and you know exactly what I'm talking about. Anyway, whatever.  The problem was not long before that I had gotten a relaxer in my hair and you can't have any chemicals in your hair when you get a curl so my hair went from down my back to maybe an inch long in the space of a day.  I cried.  Hard.

I had a deep voice, I had a chest so small the bra size was actually measured in negative numbers as in a training bra (What exactly are they training?) was totally pointless.  I insisted on wearing one but it was still totally pointless.  And now I had boy hair.  And I hated wearing frilly, girly anything.  I wore jeans and sneakers.

First day at the bus stop and the bus driver, her name was Doris decided what better way to keep her bus in order than by separating the boys from the girls.  She put me with the boys.  I stood there looking at her like she was stupid.  Couldn't she see that I was a girl?  I mean wasn't it obvious in my polo shirt, jeans and blue sneakers?  Didn't my black and hunter green bookbag give it away?  Really?  She thought I was a boy?  I didn't see it.  When she yelled at me I told her I was a girl.  She then accused me of trying to sit with the girls in hopes of getting a girlfriend and then read me her own version of the riot act on why kids shouldn't think about boyfriends and girlfriends in fifth grade when we were all about nine and ten.  I calmly repeated that I was a girl and I wanted to sit with the girls.  She told me that she didn't have time for this and to take my seat.  I took a seat.  With the girls.  To which she physically grabbed my shoulder and tried to force me to the back with the boys.  I stood up, dropped my back and listed my shirt to show my very useless training bra and asked her would a boy wear this. (My mom had insisted I get the trainers with the pretty pink and white checks and the pink boy smack in the middle.  I had the trainers that actually looked like bras not sport bras.)

Well, that shut her up.  Set the bus laughing so hard we literally rocked it and poor Doris never ever regained the upper hand over anyone on that bus again.  She did report me.  They tried to suspend me.  My mother marched into the school and asked them if they rather I should have dropped my pants and showed them the girly underwear instead of raising my shirt and showing my bra.  Would that have been acceptable?  They didn't actually have an answer that I heard for this but they let me back on the bus and back in school.  My mother made me wearing earrings at all times and she started getting me braids with extensions in my hair then.  I looked like a girl.

Doris retired from Ocean after that.  I really wish she hadn't've because then we ended up with a leacherous old man that liked to touch the girls on the bus.  Mainly me.  To this day when I have the really bad nightmares, the two most prominent faces are of that old guy and the guy that raped me in college.  In the bus drivers case I was saved in my eighth grade year (two years of this abuse in) by a bus lot monitor that finally looked up and noticed that I was trying to get away from this guy.  He had noticed that of the two busses that went to my complex I always tried to get on the other one that didn't drop off near my house and that I would look very upset when they made me get on my assigned bus.  He noticed that on the days I wasn't on my bus, my name appeared on the late bus list (which meant that I had chosen to walk an extra mile home versus the less than eighth of a mile my bus would have dropped me at.) and then he saw what he needed to see which was the old man trying to actually touch me.  I missed the bus that day.  A random teacher with a CDL license drove the bus that day.  I was taken to the office and my mom was made to come in and listen while I described the last two hellish years of having to be with that driver.  They were all made to listen to the stuff I had been trying to tell them for two years.  The stuff they had been ignoring.  Six more girls came out in the next few weeks.  Of the seven of us, one other girl and I were on the worst end of it.  He had actually touched her.  The last I heard from him was he was arrested.  I honestly didn't care if he burned in hell.  We got a female driver for the remainder of the year.  The boys drove that poor woman to shaking but we got a female.

Ninth grade I joined the band and most days I stayed after for marching band practice so that my mom came to get me at five ish.  I took the bus occasionally but not very often.

So anyway.  Back to the matter at hand.  My head.  I may post a pic when it stops really hurting but for now, I am on my way to my buddy's house so I can watch Reign with her.  Trying to make this a Thursday tradition.

Ta Bloggies!  Love you!

Finally working on me...

For years I have been all about my kids.  Only about my kids and never about me and while I felt somewhat rewarded (not really but sorta.) The me that I was before I was We, slowly slipped into a me that I don't recognize.  Give me a minute that was a little more me's and I's than I'm used to I have to think about that...

Anyway, my health declined.  If I had a pain, I let it go because paying for my kids to see a doctor or dentist was more important than paying the copay for myself to see the same.  My eyesight declined not only because I didn't wear the glasses I was given many eons ago but I got Shingles and it spread to my eye.  It weakened my eyesight so much that the least amount of sunlight nearly blinds me.

I knew that I was going downhill, but apparently my teeth were on a skateboard to hell.  With each of my pregnancies, I basically lost a tooth.  Cavities that got bigger and bigger until they became holes all because in most places, you cannot see a dentist when you are pregnant. A rule that I really feel should be changed. Then we were military and if you are an adult and not the service member, getting your teeth knocked out by a crosstown bus is easier than getting the approval to see a dentist.  Take it from me, if you are a military spouse, have a job that has dental coverage or your teeth will take the express train to hell.  I was approved to get a root canal three times on the same tooth (Which honestly I didn't know was possible since I thought the point of a Root Canal was to take out the roots.  What's left to hurt when you take out the roots?) but they don't pay for any of the crown so after the root canal if you don't get a crown all the pain you just suffered through goes to crap.

I just actually got back from the dentist.  I knew going in that I was going to lose anywhere between one to four teeth as they were so bad.  I DID NOT expect her to say that all four had to come out AND that I had TWELVE cavities.  Honestly, I think it would probably would have been better for me to let these sumbishes rot out, get them pulled and get dentures.  As it is, in a few weeks to a few months, I will be wearing a partial... but hey!  I'm going to be able to smile wide again!

Fixing me is starting to hurt.  But I can't complain.  At least when I drop dead for whatever reason, I will have good teeth and a moderately healthy inside.

Always looking up!

Going to try and do a little writing before I go out to pick up Mommy.  Blog ya later!

Short Blog Today

Mainly because nothing happened.  Really.  Nothing.

I took my mom to her Dr.  Then to run a few errands and then I came home.  I tried to do a little writing and I did get some done but then I turned on the music and well... Random Dance party time...

I guess I could talk about how music makes you feel certain ways.

When I was about thirteen years old I was browsing channels trying to find something to watch and of all the channels to stop on, I stopped on PBS.  I know right?!?  Anyway, this long hair Greek God was playing the piano with one hand and as I sat there and watched, he spun around, the lights went up and BOOM! I was caught hook line and sinker.  That man was Yanni and for the next five years I loved him.

It didn't matter that he was probably forty years older than me, I was caught.  This was my celebrity crush.  I spent more years than I would like to admit writing my name a Claudette Hryssomallis and it didn't matter that I couldn't pronounce the last name I hoped to have one day.  In my mind everyone would call me C.H.  I actually wrote an entire story series around him and a guy that looked like him.  They had some pretty steamy sex scenes.  Looking back now... ewww.

Over the years my love for his music ebbed and flowed and eventually became what I listened to when I was sad or depressed.  I don't know when I stopped listening to him only then but in the past few years, I don't use him to lift my mood.  I think it might have something to do with him cutting his hair and trying to go mainstream.  To each his own.  I still listen to him, just not for any specific reason now.

Now when I need a pick me up, I turn to upbeat songs like I'm a gummy bear or the Hampster Dance or my favorite... Walking on Sunshine by Katrina and the Waves.

Songs like that cue up random dancing.  Sometimes naked dancing.  My kids are generally afraid of me during Random Dancing.  I like that.  Random Dancing happens a lot more than it really needs to happen for just that reason.

I'm a stinker, aren't I?

Nothing really to discuss blog wise tonight though.  My tum tum still hurts from yesterday and I am trying not to take another Tramadol.  I need to go wash my hair.  Dentist in the morning.  My first in over four years.  Wish me luck.

Bright shiny day dimmed a bit...

Just got back from the Gastro doc... Yippie, I get to have the total irrigation done.  Both ends in one day.  I'm going to be hungry as a mug when I wake up.

The nurse was exceptionally unhelpful when totally not answering my questions.  I'm scheduled at a quarter to seven in the morning for this thing and I have to start taking the stuff the night before and six hours before which means that I will be up past midnight.  I'm not at my best past midnight.  I can do it.  I don't want to, but I can do it.

Based on the pains that I have and the other factors that are too yucky to mention here he feels that yes, we should go down both ends in one day just to see.  The fact that I had a close relative pass away from stomach cancer did not add any sunshine to this visit.  In fact my doctor thought it would be a great idea to tell me everything he tells patients who he thinks need double irrigation. (I am not calling the procedures by their names. I even put it in my calendar as Garden hose.) He wants me to do some looking into stomach and colon cancer.

The fact that the pain that drove me to the er that night was on my left side and the inflammation was on my left side means that the Motrin was what caused the pain I was feeling not the colon problem.  He's not even sure that the colon inflammation would have been noticed until it was a really big issue.  And in his opinion, when things like an inflamed colon can go unnoticed, they tend to point towards the cancer side of the scale.

So operation scare the shit out of Claudette was a rousing success!

And I'm going to worry.  I inherited that ability from my mom.  Jump to the worst possible conclusion almost immediately because there is no one there to say, "Calm down."

Why is that doctors always know exactly which spots to press on your body to make you radiate with pain?? Seriously??  I was doing very well.  Hadn't had a bad Tummy day since Sunday afternoon and before that possibly Thanksgiving because I seriously over ate. But now, he hit that one shit spot just under my ribcage and my entire abdomen feels like I've been doing crunches are drinking a gallon of milk.  Not nice dude.

Grilled/ fried/ baked BBQ chicken for dinner (The kids defrosted a BJ's pack of drumsticks and they all need cooking.  I may be back with the Q blog tonight but I'm gonna say no right now because the need for a tramodal is pressing very hard right now.  You know what?  Let's just assume that I won't be back until tomorrow.

Love peace and Hair grease!

Ow! Hiccups hurt.

night!

Oh Money, money! Wherefore art thou money!!!

For deny thou creditors and return to my bank or if thou wilt not, be but sworn to Duke, Tr. Lawing, and the City of Charlotte and I will no longer be in debt!

I'm in a funny mood at the moment.  I just paid my rent and my electric bill so money here, money gone.  It seems that my bank account is only a brief layover for George, Abe, and Ben... I don't really mind.  Then not staying here means that I can can have water, heat, lights, and a roof over my head so begone you past presidents!  Do not tarry in mine presence much longer!

I remember reading Shakespeare in high school ... see I went to what people now refer to as the white school.  I lived in an upper class, mostly white, predominantly Jewish school district.  Compared to the education handed out in some other school, I would guess that labeling my school as a white school means I got a good one... huh... Anyway, ninth grade year I had this AWESOME English teacher (My second actually because I was first placed in remedial English and my teacher Mrs. Gilmore took all of two weeks to decide that this was just wrong and had me transferred to AP English.) named Mr. Looney.  Yeah that was his name Paul Looney, one of the best English teachers of all time.  We read the Lord of the Flies (Didn't much like the book, HATED the movie) a few others and quite a bit of Shakespeare. I remember sitting in class during Romeo and Juliet wondering why I never ever got called to read Juliet and then to my total surprise, the day we read the balcony scene out loud in class, I got to read it!  Oh Frabdous day!  I loved Romeo and Juliet.  Never quite understood why they had to die and subsequently take down 80% of the cast with them nor how they could have perpetrated this whole thing being what? 14? 15?  I guess times were different then...

I meet with the internal doctor today.  He's going to make the final decision on whether or not I get the garden hose up the bum or not.  For freak out purposes, we're going to go with yes I'm getting it and he's just the fluff and executor. 

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, one of my smoke detectors decided to beep.  It beeped twice and never beeped again but it was enough to wake me out of a sound sleep and wonder which one of the effers is dying.  I have this thing with smoke detectors.  They are on ceilings.  I am short.  I don't like heights so a ladder, even my little four foot one is a huge point of anxiety for me.  To help with this, TR Lawing put the smoke detector in the girls room where I reach them on my tippy toes but there's still the one that hangs just past the half wall on the second floor of my house.  I can get it but it requires holding onto a door frame and perching on the half wall while trying to reach this and hanging a grand probably a million feet over my living room floor.  No.  Just No.

Have a great friend, D who came over and re attached them and put new batteries in and made then all stop their infernal beeping and work again.  But that was almost six months ago so now we have reached the season of them dying and I am working up the courage to prostrate myself at his feet and beg him to return to make the beeping stop because me on ladders or perched on half walls while hovering over my living room.  No.  Just No. Let the fuckers beep.  It was once pointed out to me that if I call the local fire department, some of them have it where they will send a fireperson out to check and maintain your detectors.  Mine laughed at me when I asked about this.  Brings us back to me dangling off a wall. No. I may have to prostrate myself.  Le Sigh...

In other news, I am working on banishing thoughts of romance from my head by concentrating on my newest story... a romance.  Or maybe with my other story... a romance...  See, I have this theory that if I concentrate on the romantic lives of totally made up people who fall into situations that are sorta absurd, I won't have time to concentrate on my life.  Thus I will be happy...er... happier... and hence I will not feel the need to walk into traffic.  Plus I can totally go live in my fantasy world where I am loved to the moon and back by Jude Law.

Did I mention that I have a thing for Jude Law? I do.  He's my celeb hottie.  My real life hottie is very comparable to him but DAMN IT! I wasn't going to go into that today!

Ugh... time to go get dressed. Or rather finish getting dressed.  I've been sitting here half dressed for like an hour.  It's part of the beauty of being home by myself while the kids are at school.  I get to have naked time and half naked time.  It's actually fun.  I love to put on music and dance during naked time.  That was probably TMI but it's a thought and action that makes me grin like a schoolgirl and I take my happy when I can get it.  So one more romp around the house for half naked time and then I have to get dressed and go do the doctor thing.

Ta!  See ya later!!