Working for the man every night and day

We all (those of us paranoid enough to have site trackers) comment upon and laugh at the search terms people use that lead them to our sites. My top two are still "Gorgeous Nipples" and "Naughty Housewives".
The porn fiends usually take one look at our sites and head (pun intended) off for their true goal. Really, it's just funny.

Until you get those creepy ones. The ones that make you shudder a bit. The ones that make you think there should be something you can do. The ones that border on or actually are quests for child pornography.

Now, I'm no friend of "The Man". I don't like the government getting too involved on our lives and private business. But as a mother, as a human the thought of child pornography erases all those hesitations. So I did what every mother would do, and I went to "The Man" in the form of the local FBI office. That's right sickos, I'm turning your ass in. I'd be concerned about tipping them off, but not a one of them has stuck around or bothered to read this, so I'm thinking we're all good.

I did warn the agent that the content here is meant to be humorous, and taken with a grain of salt, and my life really wasn't like that, and oh, I use a ton of profanity.... by this point I was babbling out of nervousness that the FBI might read my site and wonder if I should be put under surveillance. But The United State Government would never illegally monitor it's citizens, right? To be fair though, it was the NSA that President Bush used for his modern version of Nixon's tapes, not the FBI.

But just in case, Hi Mr. Agent Man! Welcome! I really am not this crazy, it's my persona. Don't worry about a thing here, okay?

I still feel like a tool.

9 months

The gestation of a human child takes nine months, and thank GOD we aren't elephants. Those nine months can be some of the slowest, most painful, most uncomfortable and most boring months of our lives. I know a lot of women enjoy, and revel in the state of pregnancy. Personally, I would prefer to move to a state with more liberal laws. But there we are and there we stay. Nine months of anticipation and worry and excitement and dread and preparation and eating.

Jack is nine months old today. This time has passed so much more quickly than his gestation. Mommies know what I mean. Technically, it's takes the same amount of time, and Einstein might disagree with our assessment that time has flown faster, but try telling that to a stressed out hormonal mother and see what you get.

Now is where I brag. My nine month old stands up when he has something to hold on to (though he has had a few split seconds where he's stood without aid) and walks (again as long as there is something to hold on to). We aren't taking hesitant steps here, he throws himself, sometimes physically, into the task. He has four teeth with two more about to come through. He talks (mama, dada, hi, baba) and waves to people he knows. Genius, thy name is Jack, and if you try to disagree may I remind you about the whole hormonal mother bit?

Here's the thing. I still feel like I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I worry about making mistakes that will require years of therapy that our future medical care won't take care of. I worry about the crazy that is me, and how that along with the genetic predisposition will effect him. But I do my best, and I love him ferociously, and when I see how happy he is I think somewhere, somehow I must be doing something right.

I don't think I'll ever feel as if I'm doing the job properly, and many say that doubt is a wonderful thing, that as long as you care you are on the right track. Those are the thoughts that help me sleep at night.

I'm still not ready to think about another child, and a large part of that is the disbelief I could love another to the degree I love him. I'm still not ready for him to stop loving mommy and turn to daddy, and I'm so not ready for the talking back. But it's okay, those things are far down the line and while he may not be my tiny little guy he was when he was born, he's still my amazing baby boy who thrills me daily, and who I love more than myself.

I'm still thankful we aren't elephants though.

I can't take it anymore

So I lost it earlier. Full on hysterical crying. Mouth stuck open in a screaming shape without the ability to actually scream because even as I'm losing it I'm worried about what the neighbors will think.

I just feel like there is so much that I deal with, and I'm the one who has to keep it all together, keep it all going and I am so fed up with it I'm starting to lose it. I don't have the motivation anymore, but I also know that I have to do it because it wont get done other wise, and it has to be done. Someone has to keep the baseline of existence going here. Since I seem to be the one that can do it, I am the one that gets stuck with it. And I am resentful as hell. I hate the fact that there are certain things I have to do because others are too fucking incapable of figuring out the simplest facts of how things work. So I take it, and I handle it, and I do it all and I have reached the limit of what my system can take. Then in the fucking middle of my breakdown I am expected to take over everything again. I cannot do this anymore. I am done. I am fed up, full up, and sick and fucking tired of being the manager of everything.

I need a vacation. I need to not have a husband, a baby, or a job for a while. I wish I could just go somewhere and be alone for a week. A week where I don't have to do anything, or handle anything, or figure anything out. A week where I'm not the one who has to make the decisions, or even be a part of the negotiations. A week where I can stay in bed and not have a single responsibility.

I know we could all use this, but considering I'm the one who had the hysterical collapse today I get to go first. If you don't like it, then fuck you. When you are this close to walking out the door for good, you deserve a break, damn it.

It also doesn't help that I've been dealing with my period for two full weeks. God damn going off the stupid fucking Depo shot with it's dumb ass side effects.

Food Reviews

Baked Cheetos: They are a good thing. They taste a bit like a cross between a regular Cheeto and a Cheesy-poof. Which is great unless you don't like cheese, in which case you are an instrument of the devil and should leave my site. Begone foul spirit!

Recently I purchased some very expensive olives (expensive for olives) that were stuffed not with pimentos, but with feta cheese. I like feta, and I eat olives out of the jar so I was looking forward to my yummy, yummy treat. What the jar failed to mention is that the olives were not packed in the usual brine, but in oil. (Not even olive oil, but sunflower oil. WTF?) Okay, let me just say, that shit is nasty. Have you ever had tuna in oil? I'm not a fan. I am especially not a fan of really expensive olives stuffed with feta being packed in oil. Damn.

Campbell's Select Gold Label Soup: Now, Penny Pressed recently posted about how much she dislikes John Lithgow's commercials for this product, and I have to say I wholeheartedly agree. They are guaranteed to get the mute button in this house, a sign of true disdain. However, I am a big fan of soup, and I figured if I didn't buy any of the ones he'd shilled for so far, that I wouldn't be encouraging bad advertising. So I got myself some soup. Today I had mushroom filled ravioli soup (which I refuse to refer to as "the mushroom filled ravioli diet", another ad campaign I despise). Sure it was good soup, but I didn't dig it any more than I do store brand chunky chicken noodle or clam chowder. So I have no qualms about officially calling for a boycott on CSGLS, cause we wont really be losing out on anything, and it may get John Lithgow to stop taking stupid commercial roles.

Now you tell me internet, have you had any good foods lately that I simply must try, seeing as how I love food?

I feel like ass (version 2)

This was the start of my original post:
"I always thought that was a particularly good way to say I feel like shit and I don't want to do anything but sit here on my couch eating Cheetos and drinking Dr. Pepper and watching TV. Hey! I could be Britney Spears! Oh, except my husband isn't a trashy loser and actually earns a living and has something worthwhile to contribute to society."

After that point, I wrote what was by far the most offensive thing to ever appear on this site. No, you can't read it. No, it didn't have anything else to do with Britney Spears.

I took it down, not because I was afraid of making people mad (I had hate comments in the first five minutes of it being up) but because I was actually shocked at myself. I was really harsh. None of this is to say I don't believe what I wrote, I do. But I don't have to express that belief the way I did. Though, the Troll that did comment certainly made me feel justified in the statements. Somehow I'm a bigot, but you are the one making assumptions and accusations. But anyway, into draft-land went the post.

Now though, I can't really think of anything to say. My mood is such that I could talk about puppies and be a horribly offensive bitch about them, too.

Anyway, if you hate me now, sorry. If you don't hate me, good. If you are dying of curiosity, sorry as well.

Oh but hey! It appears to not be a hernia after all, so that's something good, right?

Thunderstruck

So many a many a year ago (but not in a kingdom by the sea) I was a mere 10 year old shadow of the woman that would become JRM. At that time there was an event that led to my becoming the wonderful raging woman you see (read) before you. At this time, I attended a summer camp. Now, about this summer camp, I actually lived there. My father worked for the camp, and as such we children had free camp attendance. Our parents sent us to music camp. It was summer camp with usual camp stuff, but also with singing and instruments, and sign language- If one was in sign language choir as I was. But despite all that, and at any rate, at camp I was. And at camp I met A BOY. Now, this was approx. 1988. I was 10, and you know how it is when you meet a boy when you are 10. So here I am at 10, and I've met John. To me, John was the coolest. We hung out, and we talked, and made lanyards together. (I don't know for sure John was in my art class, but I remember that camp was the source of my lanyard making skills.) And when we went on our camp hikes, it was John who sang to me "Goodness gracious my balls are on fire" to the tune of "Great Balls of Fire". Not only was this risque to me at 10, it proceeded to stick in my head every time I heard "Great Balls of Fire" for years.

Then comes the end of camp, and the end of pre-pubescent romance. But not for John and I, oh no. We wrote one another letters for the next year leading up to the next summer's music camp.

There I waited in my cute outfit, white with different colored vertical stripes. I thought I looked kind of cute in it, so what better to reunite with my guy? I sat there on the deck railing to the main building banging my heels against the ballasters waiting for registration to be done and my reunion to happen. And finally, across a crowded deck I saw him. He walked by, and I greeted him. And he ignored me. I said hi, and introduced who I was, just in case he'd forgotten how I looked. And still he ignored me, and brushed me off.

I was crushed. Then I was confused, and hurt, and finally angry. Later on during camp I attempted revenge by trying to get him in trouble. I told a counselor he'd kissed me. It was a Christian camp, so if they'd believed me it totally would have worked. Alas, they didn't and it didn't and camp ended. Over the years I was embarrassed, and as with any embarrassing memory I proceeded to block it out. It worked. I couldn't even remember his name.

I didn't remember his name, but he remembered mine.

I received an email the other day. It wasn't a name I recognized, but I opened it anyway, there was something about it that didn't seem like spam. I read a paragraph into it, and knew it was someone from my past contacting me. Into the second paragraph I was still at a loss. Then he described himself as such "I'm that butthole guy at camp Mikell way back in Toccoa, GA 16 or 17 years ago who liked you, went home that summer, wrote you letters for a year, and just like a little teenage punk jerk, ignored you the next summer."

OH MY GOD. In my head I saw myself sitting on that railing. Then I remembered my attempted revenge. I knew who he meant. So I read on.

"Anyway - to the point -- I still to this day feel bad about that summer...
like it's one of those things that bothers me when driving down the road or
walking by myself or doing dishes every so often. Do you have those things
that sneak up on you when you're alone and you go "man, I was such an idiot"
or even "I am an idiot" (in the present tense). Because all those little
things you do to people or those embarrassing things you say -- they haunt
you. It's Karma talking. Anyway -- this happens to me every now and then.
My being a butthole to you is one of those things that sneaks up on me once
every few months or years. I thought about it last week for the first time
in a long long time. Not sure why. I guess I was in that kick-myself mode.
So anyway - I found you - and I'm telling you, even though it's been so
darned long ago and probably doesn't mean much at this point (and you may
have even totally forgotten) -- But for what it's worth - Sorry for being a
jerk way back in whenever it was - 1989."

I was floored. Sure, it was something I'd felt bad about over the years, but it was also something I'd edited in my memory to reflect only my own immaturity of the event. Things came flooding back, and I remembered that little girl sitting on the railing in her favorite outfit waiting for her friend to show up.

"Just wanted to let you know - that summer I learned something. I didn't continue to be a jerk to women after that."

I wish I could tell that girl "Hey, this guy is going to be a jerk. But guess what? He will feel so badly about this that he will never treat a girl this way again". She wouldn't have gotten it, and wouldn't have cared. But I do get it, and I do care.

This is what that little girl all grown up had to say

"Of course I forgive you, and it says so much about you as a person that
you remember an unkindness from childhood and sought to rectify it."
"Thank you so much for writing me, and saying what you did. Yours
wasn't one of those wounds that still haunted me from those years, but
in an odd way it helps heal some of the ones that do. Trust me, if I
do bring you up on the blog it wont be to blast you. It's a pretty
amazing thing you just did. You should rest assured you turned out
not to be a jerk to women after all."

It was only later last night as I thought over his email that certain details came back to me, and it truly wasn't one of the things that hurt me on a regular basis any more. I am still stunned, and amazed at what he did. How often does someone from the past find us and apologize for an ancient pain? The man he has become blows me away. The fact that something like that could make such a strong impression and help form him as a man overwhelms me. That I could play such a role in his development makes me proud. Sure he may have broken my 11 year old heart, but if it saved that many other hearts? I gotta think it was worth it.

The universe reaches out to us sometimes. I was just hurt by someone who seemed to abandon me for no reason. As I am puzzling through this one of the first people to do this is also thinking of me, and reaches out to me for forgiveness.

He gave me permission to mention him here, and permission to "blast" him. That's not something I can do, nor something that he deserves.

Thank you John Scott, for remembering what you did to an insecure little girl. Thank you for caring, and being ashamed of the actions you took as a child. And thank you eternally for the actions you took as a man to repair those damages.

Just as in my last post that friend broke my heart all over again, you have helped to heal it, and restore my faith in humankind.

Rid of you

I put off writing painful posts, and I have butterflies in my stomach thinking about this.

Before I moved to Omaha I had a really great female friend. Not usual for me at all. I am not really a girly-girl so I've always gotten along with guys much better than girls. So this was good for me. It was great for me. We met at work so between that and hanging out we spent a lot of time together. Joe was living in Omaha already, so it wasn't a case where I had do divide time between my best friend and my boyfriend. For Christmas she essentially redecorated my apartment, and for my birthday she paid to take me with her to Disneyland. Hotel, airfare, park fees, all of it. I got her a life size James Marsters cutout for her birthday. We were those annoying giggly girls at the bar or restaurant that only said half of their sentences since the other already knew what was going to be said.

Then I moved.

Basically, she dumped me. Have you ever had a friend just stop being your friend for no reason? After Junior high that is. I thought that was the type of thing that you outgrew. That when you became an adult you got responsibility and you didn't just stop talking to people. Well, this wonderful person, my best friend who I loved in a totally platonic way just stopped talking to me.

I would call, IM, email, everything. We talked, I told her when I got pregnant, she asked if she could be the godmother, everything your best girl friend says. But I was always the one making these overtures. She would always be glad to hear from me, but she would never return a call, IM, email, anything. The only vague goodbye I got was an unspecific Live Journal post about things being out of sight, out of mind.

When I moved back I made no effort to get back in touch with her and let her know. In a way, she broke my heart. I didn't want to be set up to be hurt like that again. Then the other day I ran into her brother. He asked did she know I was back, etc. He really made it sound like she'd love to hear from me, so I gave him my phone number and new email to pass along. I honestly never expected to hear from her. So when I saw her name on the caller ID I was thrilled.

I felt tentative, and played over a lot of scenarios in my mind, and asked myself numerous times if I could get over what she did to me. I usually don't forgive things like that, it's a defense mechanism I've developed over the years. But I called her back.

We played phone tag for a couple of days, and yesterday I got through to her. It was the most uncomfortable 15 minutes I've spent on the phone since junior high. Go figure. There was no sense that she even wanted to talk to me, even though she'd been the one to call first. I got off the phone and came to the conclusion that it wasn't something that could be recaptured.

And my heart broke a little bit all over again.

So funny it hurts.

So this is hilarious. Feel free to laugh along at home.
I was going to post the other day about my cramps, and how much they sucked. I hadn't had cramps in forever, and I was not pleased. I never wrote that post. But this one is so much better.

It would appear that I don't actually have cramps, I have a hernia. Yep. A freakin' hernia. No, I'm not old and decrepit, or a man (which for some reason I associate with hernias). Hernias aren't really a big deal. They are easily repaired with minor surgery. Now, as if that weren't humorous enough, I have no insurance.

Joe has insurance. Jack and Caleb have insurance. I, however, have no insurance at my own insistence. Remember how I'm crazy? Well, the clinic that I go to that only charges me $3 per prescription would no longer take me as a patient if I had insurance. Considering the cost of insurance versus the cost of the clinic, it's a much better deal. I can still see them for medical reasons and get the crazy pills at the same time. The only glitch in this plan would be the fact that the clinic doesn't perform surgeries. Go figure.

It gets just a bit better, though. I could be added to Joe's insurance, and give up my clinic coverage so that I could have the hernia surgery. However, it seems stupid to do that without knowing for certain if I have a hernia. As no flesh has started protruding, we* don't know for sure. I could go to the clinic and be diagnosed, but doing so would create a pre-existing condition in the eyes of the insurance company, and I wouldn't be able to receive treatment for the condition. I love health care in this country.

Currently I am hobbling around my home hoping that this is a pulled muscle, a rupturing ovarian cyst (which I had before and got over without treatment) or even gas pains. If you read this site though, you know luck is not in my favor.

I just have to figure out if the pain is worse than the crazy. That's an easy call, right?



*My mother is a nurse

January Books

My goal for the year is to keep track of all the books I read. I'll have a monthly link off to the side instead of the normal few books at a time.
In no particular order:

January 1 - January 17

Seventh Son By Orson Scott Card *
Red Prophet By Orson Scott Card *
The Folk of the Fringe By Orson Scott Card *
Xenocide By Orson Scott Card *
Children of the Mind By Orson Scott Card *
Shadow Puppets By Orson Scott Card *
Shadow of the Giant By Orson Scott Card
First Meetings in the Enderverse By Orson Scott Card
The Princess Bride By William Goldman *
A Canticle for Leibowitz By Walter M. Miller Jr. *
The Nanny Diaries By Emma McLaughlin and Nicloa Kraus
Azazel By Isaac Asimov
Robots and Empire By Isaac Asimov

January 17-28
Foundation By Isaac Asimov
Foundation and Empire By Isaac Asimov
Arranged Marriage By Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
River, Cross My Heart By Breena Clarke
Ordinary Wolves By Seth Kantner**
Guards, Guards By Terry Pratchett*

* Re-read
** Stopped reading due to boredom

I need my props, dammit.

Ok, so I am not a BoB finalist. I didn't expect to be, no matter how badly I wanted to. Secretly I think every freak wants to be the Homecoming Queen, or Most Popular. I was merely Most Unique. (True story, they created the catagory my senior year. I was thrilled. )

Anyway, I'm not a finalist, but SJ is, and I nominated her. So gimme my props bitches! I got one of the best blogs out there into the Best of Blog awards for Best Overall Blog. (Okay, so she got herself there, but still.) Not just mommy, or most humorous (which I also nominated her for) but BEST OVERALL. Go vote for her now, and while you are at it hit Eccentric Father for best Daddy Blog.

Ahh, vicarious lovin'.

Taupe, I'll dress only in taupe.

I'm a lazy bitch. I am sure I've mentioned this. Did you know I still have boxes in my living room? To be honest they are blocking an opening into the kitchen that Jack could get through, but the concept of me not being completely unpacked remains. Our bed isn't even put together, we're sleeping with the mattress on the floor. The excuse for that being I am awake during the day and Joe's asleep. I can't really put the bed together underneath him. On his days off I want a rest from the baby and he wants a rest from 12 hour work nights. I have legitimate reasons to put things off, I just don't go out of my way to fix the legitimate reasons so I can get things done. So the bed is still leaning against the wall and the mattress is still on the floor. I'm tired of it now though. We moved in here in October for Chris'sake. I really have got to get off my ass.

I did achieve something today, so I feel a bit better. We kept all our videos and DVDs on a bookcase in the living room next to the TV. Then Jack learned how to stand up and all of a sudden the best game in the world became "Lets pull down all the movies!". So he would. Over and over and over again. I would try to just leave them but I don't have that ability. I have OCD! I can't leave movies all over the floor! Toys? Sure. That's where they live. But the videos live on the bookcase and if he pulls them down one more time I'm going to pull out the small bit of hair I have left oh my god make it stop.
So I moved it to the dining room completely out of range of being useful, but also out of range of Jack's freedom. Yay for mental health!

I know I want to get the bed done next, because I am using it as an excuse to put off so many other things it would start this theoretical chain reaction that would have my home put together in a beautiful music and flashback montage. I mean, that's the way it looks in my head. It'll look less glamorous and much more sweaty in reality. But I'll have clean carpets! And I'll buy curtains! I'll get a Martha Stewart Living magazine and coordinate my candles and towels and outfits. Wont I be fun then! AAAAAA. Ok.
Calm now.

Who said that it's a sure sign of insanity when a person uses that many exclamation points? Terry Pratchett I think.

P.S. Yeah, it's the period.

1000 Oceans

So here's something odd. I don't really cry much anymore. I used to cry all the time, at the drop of the hat. I was that person who cried at the cheesy Hallmark commercials. And god the sadness. I was miserable all the freakin' time. My ex and I used to fight a lot, and he could send me into the longest crying jags. It's good that I don't do that anymore, don't get me wrong, but there also seems to be something else missing.

There's a degree of passion that just isn't there in my life. Sure, I don't get miserable about things, but I also don't seem to get thrilled either. Yes, I love Jack and Joe, and they both make me incredibly happy, but outside of them there just isn't that much that interests me in my life. A lot of times I can't even think of anything to write about here. I'll have periods where I can write about fairly interesting things every day, then there are times like the past couple of weeks where I just can't seem to get anything out.

It seems a bit like depression, except I'm not sad. I know sad, and this isn't it. I'm sleeping, I'm eating, I'm leaving the house, I just don't have that spark. It could be the meds, but if it is it's highly likely that if I weren't on them I'd be suicidally depressed. I know a lot of people who gripe about how meds kill their personality, and I've experienced that. I just also know without a doubt I'd be dead if I didn't take them. So I deal with those dull times when they come along.

I'm sure I'll hear from some of the psych Nazis who think that medication is wrong, and I should learn how to tough it out a live without it, and I suppose they are entitled to their opinions the way that everyone is entitled to an opinion. They just also happen to be assholes and drive me nuts. If you haven't lived my life and been through the experiences I've been through you can't tell me what choices are right for me.

Of course, this is all more likely attributed to the fact that I'm about to start my period.

Lost semi-spoiler

On tonight's Lost, when Mr. Eko is starting down the swirly-black-smoke-creature, there are faces in it! I love the DVR and it's slo-mo abilities. :)

Ancestry

(Forward: I found this sitting as a draft on my computer. I don't know what brought it on, I believe it was an offhand comment someone made that seemed racist to me. At any rate I'm pretty sure I was drunk when I wrote this, and hence the not remembering writing it at all. It starts mid thought, and since I can't remember the thought I'll just let it go from there. Enjoy)


There are the Irish, who are hard to track due to the poor record keeping during the famine. There's the German, who married one of the Irish, whose marriage certs. and ships manifests I have copied of. The Mexicans don't have the same documentation, not out of illegality, but further poor record keeping at the time. Then there are family histories. Imagine my surprise at learning that my five (or so) great grandfather was none other than Geronimo. Apache "royalty" who I could use to claim grants and scholarships. There are the DAR records that make me a legitimate member, and the questions about the combining of the German and Irish lines.

If we all look back far enough we can find these links. I love the melting pot we belong to. No matter my political affiliations I am drawn irrevocably to the role my ancestors played in this country. But those who know I am Mexican call me names. Those who call me liberal call me names, without knowing that various branches of our family helped to form this country. But here I am a bi-sexual female, not welcome on that status alone. What did your people do but put up signs outlawing Blacks, Irish, "Reds" and dogs. It's no wonder I have a low self esteem.

The whole process makes me angry. The double standards, the willingness to sacrifice my people to save yours, these things cannot fail to anger. Then people wonder where the bitterness comes from.

I'm a wetback. I beaner, a mick, a kraut, pick your poison. If you want to write off a group, you are writing me off. If you are okay with that, may I make a polite suggestion that you get the hell off my site and do not return.


(Afterward: Further research leads me to beleive it was something on the TV that pissed me off, and not a comment since the comment in question was far too long ago to have inspired this rant. It's also terribly written and incoherent. How drunk was I?)

I am not dead. I simply have strep and feel so bad I wish I were dead.
Jack has a great big old cold that furthers my desire to be dead. Luckily Joe is well and wonderful and is taking care of us. I love him so much.
I go now.

Par-tay

Tonight I am single. And childless. Joe's at work and Jack is at my mom's (maybe for two nights even!) and I am all alone. So what do I do on my night off? I am sitting at home watching TV and blogging. I'm such a risk taker. But I am watching The Book of Daniel which two NBC affiliates have decided not to air due to it's sacrilege. That's risky, right? BTW: if you think the media bias in this country is liberal then why did I have to go through 3 articles until I found one that didn't refer to it as "unholy" or "sacrilegious". But I wont go off on that rant. I want to be pleased tonight on my night off. Pleased and buzzed. I've got my alcohol at my side, I'm all set.

Since even though my son is not here I can't stop talking about him here is today's update. Jack got his first pair of shoes today (yes first. I'm a cheap bitch and if he didn't need them what's the point?) and they were size four. Yeah, my eight month old wears size four shoes. Now do you believe how giant he is? As a side note, the woman at the shoe store said "Oh! I think he has a tooth coming in up top!" Well, actually there are three, and do you honestly think we wouldn't have noticed them by now? I know she was being nice, but it just struck me as weird that she seemed to think she discovered it. Oh well.

My only goal for the new year was to keep track of how many books I read (and which ones) and I think I've already lost track. How sad is that? Or conversely how cool is it that I've already read enough to forget how many? (It's like three or four) Oh, and lose weight ( I like that "lose" like we can forget where we put it) but that isn't a New Years thing, more of an "I always mean to do this thing". We are down an expense now so I may be able to join a gym. We live in a small enough area that we don't have any real chains though, and I don't know if the independent ones provide child care. I really should check so I don't just keep it as an excuse, it just seems so much more useful as an excuse, you know?

The Book of Daniel is pretty boring so far. Where's the juicy sacrilege? This sucks.

P.S. Beer tip # 42: Add a small shot of vanilla to low quality beer. You'll thank me. If you get the total geek reference in this you get 100 points in the JRM account book.

Thursday night

Sine the Sex-thingy went over so well, I'll spare you all the bad college poetry from here on.

Remember how I said Jack was teething? Yeah, my darling baby boy went from two teeth to five in about a week. The pain part sucks, but you know what sucks more? Teeth make a baby look older. Sure he was a lot bigger, and less wrinkly and had slightly more hair, but he still looked like he did as a baby. Now he looks older and seems older, and has three words (hi has been added to the vocabulary) and waves and has started finger foods. I know it goes by fast but it's just kind of sad how the mile stones seem to fly by. They are wonderful but it also makes you mourn a bit.

Hey, you know what? I'm watching ER and I swear Ray just called Kerry "Aunt Kerry". They haven't said anything else about it so far but that would be a nice little twist. And Abby is pregnant and I hope she has it. After twelve years I am a little bit too attached to these people. I need a life.

I should shut up now. Someone tell me a funny bad date story so I have something to laugh at. 'Cause you love me and all.

Sex

This one thing that we quest for. Male and female alike, this one small thing. We blush and sigh, we hide and we peek. I like you.... I'd like to sleep with you. I want to be with you.... I want to share with you. Ever thinking, never saying. It becomes the grail. So important for such a small word. Such a small word for so big a thing. I sleep with you, I'm connected to you. It's been years, how are you? Blushing in my head, re-playing events. Remember the scratches on your back? We dance around it, we flirt with it. We talk about it ad-nauseum because we are impotent to action. Years and years we dream of it. When we achieve it we can feel let down. When it is held from us we want it all the more. We dream and fantasize.....scenarios and positions. I see you across a room.. I feel a hot flush. Do you want me too? We make it mean so much, at times we try to convince each other it means far less. It can be so easy to achieve and the most difficult obstacle of all. It's better than cold pizza.... sometimes worse. It's harder when we love. It's worse when a face swims in front of your own all the time. Why is it so much? How can it be so little to some people. I want you again.... I feel you still in my arms. Dancing, looking, twirling, spinning, reaching, wanting, hoping, needing, feeling, crying, laughing, hurting, healing. Will you sleep with me?


(This was written a while ago when I was both single and childless. For some reason it came to mind and I thought I'd share)

Adore my cute child!

Bathtime baby butt :) He's going to need a lot of therapy in the future.

Jack loves to play with the computer. I tried to get a really good picture but he was flailing so wildly they mostly came out too blurry. Shortly after this he broke the "E" key.

I kind of gave up keeping this part of the living room clean. If I pick up the videos he pulls them back down. Occasionally I put the toys in the crate, but he just pulls it over again. It's easier to be lazy about it.

For some reason he would not let go of the trashcan.

He really had no interest in the wrapping paper. He liked the boxes though.

Jack's first snow. I love how this picture came out.

Here he is learning about Vytorin. Educational television rocks.

Anyway, I have more up on flickr. Just click the badge over there if you want to check them out. If you have an account feel free to add me as a friend.

We had our date night last night with my friends. I'll get a post written about it and up tomorrow or so. Bye for now internet!

P.S. There aren't any pictures of my hair as yet. If I can get a decent one I'll share. It's kind of flattering everyone wants to see it :)

Auld Lang Syne

Well, Happy New Year internet. I tried staying up but ended up falling asleep reading. Joe passed out around 8 though, so I don't feel too old. (In all fairness Joe had been up for over 24 hours, so he wasn't just being an old fogie.) We had champagne last night, and once again fell asleep early. 2006 is the year of Sheep Counting apparently.

We have Caleb right now, so my schedule is out of whack, but it's also Joe's four days off from work, so we'd be out of whack anyhow. We did his Christmas, and then since we needed batteries went to the store and spent another $170. It was kind of the grownup's Christmas, as we got flannel pajama pants (my favorite), I got two new bras, and we got a new toaster oven. It's purty.
Tonight is our dinner with my friend and his family, so that should be interesting. We bought a couple bottles of wine. They used to drink, and just in case they don't know we got wine that we like. We're pretty awful like that. Of course, we may not make it at all as Caleb is homesick and keeps saying he wants to see his mommy. Don't I just feel fantastic. I understand though, he's not feeling too well and when you're sick you just want your mommy. He was telling her last night that he wanted to go home and she started asking him what had happened and what we'd done. Then she put her skank friend on the phone to find out. Have I mentioned how much I hate this woman?

Anyway. So that's my New Years. Tired and frazzled really bodes well for my year, no?