Tessa

Mira

Pickles

Dozer & The Hubster

Fidget

This pictorial update has been brought to you by Imageshack and by my hand me down Cannon Powershot A70. Feel free to leave gushy comments as I stand by looking proudly at my family in what can only be described as a Lovey Dovey Pukey Mom Fest

Chilies has Happy Hour, every hour. I love it. I drank 2 spendifferous Caribbean thingies whilst stuffing my face and felt fan-diddly-tastic by the time I got home. In fact, if my brother wasn’t standing in the kitchen with the Hubster I would have probably knocked the Hubster over and mounted him right there. But alas my lil’ bro was standing there so I by-passed the boys and went to rinse off in the shower. It was at this point that I notice my bowels telling me that something needed OUT. Considering that we split an appetizer, then I consumed a grilled Cajun chicken sandwich and fries, followed by splitting a chocolate cake thingy all washed down with my al-ko-holik lovelies it was no surprise I was busting a gut. I sat myself down and as my processed food plopped into the potty below I felt my giddy haze begin to lift. By the time I wiped I was stone sober. I may be a cheap drunk by damn I sober up fast!

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday. This week’s picture can explain why I forgot last HNT (tisk tisk). You see I am sick, thusly last week I was getting sick, making me certifiably brain dead. And now I ask you what I have been asking The Hubster all week “Does this look red to you?”

Over the Christmachunnuka holiday, amongst the 10,000 screaming beeping million piece toys and my kick booty xoxo cherries purse we were slipped checks and gift cards. I’m used to receiving 2 or 3 or 10 to Target and happily load my cart with diapers all the while plotting the spend the unused diaper money on books. This year as I split the seam of card with wintry scene unimaginable to a Floridian like me, a Barnes and Nobles gift card slide from between the thick paper. I tried to be a good mommy and let the girls choose their own books, but they both dissolved into puddles of tears amidst the Barbie and Bernstein Bears when told only 1 apiece. The next day as if by magic a far away friend gave the girls each a new book freeing me to spend the card as I please. My local store is TINY, crammed with the best sellers and not much more. The bargain book table is abysmally small. I ventured online scanning through the sales, hungry for a girly, funny or interesting read. The Good Girl’s Guide to Bad Girl Sex popped up on the list and I could not resist clicking. Typically I scan the editors synopsis and then move onto the reviews looking to see why people were disappointed. I don’t care about the rave reviews but rather the one and two star bitchfests. When someone is disappointed they usually are very specific. I like to find out why a book fails to meet ones expectations based on the jacket blurb - was it a lie? Blatant or a lie of omission? Did it forget to mention the transgendered science teach who has a love scene with a turtle? Why was someone so disappointed that they were compelled to go to the computer, find the book and tell you all about it?

You know when you stumble across a blog that makes you spew your morning coffee through your nose? They say something so true and yet unexpected that your heart skips a beat and a grin pours across your face? That is what I came across in the reviews for The Good Girl’s Guide to Bad Girl Sex
Here’s the blurb on the jacket:

FROM THE PUBLISHER
Why should bad girls have all the fun? According to noted sex therapist and former “good girl,” Barbara Keesling, too many women secretly envy all the guiltless pleasures and wild experiences they believe “bad” girls are having. In this invaluable guide to sexual satisfaction, Keesling offers fun strategies and exercises for shedding your inhibitions and letting loose your wild side. From talking sexy to touching and teasing your partner, The Good Girl’s Guide to Bad Girl Sex teaches women how to feel comfortable with themselves and achieve greater fulfillment.

and here is what sizzled my griddle today:

Jenna, a loving wife said:
Idiot’s Guide to Prostitution
I bought this book last night and returned it this morning. I was hoping for some playful hints to spice up my sex life but instead I found a how-to guide to throw away my self respect. Last time I looked around sleeping with half of my husband’s friends was not considered normal. I had hoped for a book about being a “bad girl” not ‘The Town Bicycle’

Town bicycle…. AHAHAHAHAHAHAH. I could kiss this woman but that would go against her very wishes to avoid being the “town bicycle” BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA

I’ve spent this resplendent day mainlining an airborne and reduced acid OJ tonic. I woke with razor blades in my throat, droning in a nasal voice and bursting into hacking fits so spastic they border on becoming a Broadway production. I laid listless in bed, rising to break up the petty insults that only a 2 year old and a 3.5 year old can trade so easily and to mix up more tonic. Last night was like being hit by bird shit- it could happen at anytime but you don’t expect it. After making plans with a friend I hung up the phone, the receiver was heavy in my hand. When I placed it on the counter, SPLAT, my eyes dropped to half mast and a green cloud of ass breath escaped my mouth. I was officially sick. Yes, it was that quick. Typically as a day passes to night you feel worse but I am feeling meh and eh, not bad. My brother played with the kids for an hour while I rested in bed and ate my way through a new book. I have refused to surrender my Pjs and have already announced my formal resignation as far as tonight’s dinner is concerned. I’m crawling back to bed and perhaps at some point I’ll peel my PJs from my body, bathe and return to the store for more Airborn (honestly this stuff is the schitnit).

I am going to do some bitching. What? You say, you Fidget, queen of the cool and level head? (um so you’re new here right?) Yes, bitching.

Firstivly - who the HELL buys a working camera for a 3 year old? Not a chunky Little Tikes one either, one that is clearly and BOLDLY marked FOR AGES 6 AND UP. While I am bitching about this and how it will have to sit in the closet for another 2 years minimum why did they buy us Christmas presents at all? These people can’t drag their fat asses the 4 miles to my house to attend a party for my kids, they don’t call unless they need something and though they are technically (barely) related to us have they not noticed that we don’t give a shit? Sure we care about what happens to their kids but that is mostly due to the poor parenting choices we’ve seen them repeatedly make. One of these choices is the compulsive overspending on their children. My nephew had 2 dirt bikes at one point - 2 and he was not allowed to use them unless supervised, this would make sense except neither one of them can pry themselves away from the television that carries every channel know in the English speaking world as well as thousands of movies in their personal collection, to watch him ride said dirt bikes. This could get long and ugly so I’m cutting it off here. Basically it’s vastly apparent in almost every aspect of their lives that they have NO CONTROL over themselves. They spend too much, they eat too much, the bitch too much about my husband not doing stuff for them (like he doesn’t have his own family to care for or anything).

Secondivitivly: While on the topic of family I wish my dear father-in-law would stop promising my husband’s time to strangers. The biggest reason this pisses me off? HE DOESN’T EVEN ASK! He’ll call the Hubster up all in a pickle because some side job he signed on for requires skills AND tools he does not possess. A long time ago and a land I like to think is far far away we needed any work that could come our way - this is no longer the case. The Hubster is often busy with work from dawn till dark and then comes home and works on our house. The Hubster was in a crabtacular mood all day due to this recurrent event. Yesterday he came home from work and took Mira with him to the store where he receives one of the above phone calls. He goes to help his dad and then finds out he will have to help him later. Comes home, changes clothes and leaves for 6 more hours right in the middle of painting our house (with no dinner to boot!). He then spent today stewing about the whole thing as this seems to happen 2 or 3 times a month.

Thirdativly: My garbage men… Can I just say ARGGHHHH. Prior to Christmas they did their best to level a friendly threat at us. The Hubster was home, working outside and it was trash day so he paid no mind when they stopped in front of the house. The driver then gets out and in broken English demands a Christmas tip. It takes the Hubster 20 minutes after they leave the string together the gist of the conversation. Basically we tote your shit away, sometimes we take stuff we are not supposed too, we take care of you. Now it’s your turn to take care of use or we will stop taking care of you. Do you know why this chaps my ass? Because I’ve left cold sodas in the summer for these jerks when I’m sure no one else is thinking of them. Additionally NO ONE else we’ve talked to had the same conversation with the trash guys - we think they hit us up because we’re white (the minority in my neighborhood) and since we are fixing up our house we must have some money right? WRONG we’ve spent it all on the house you fucking dunderheads. As retaliation they refused to pick up our Christmas tree. They came and picked up every other mother fucking tree but ours. Normally I would call and raise hell about my house being skipped but I’m collecting evidence at this point. You want a piece of me? Bring it cause I’m out to get you Mister Trashman and it ain’t going to be pretty.

and my final bitch? Rock Bitch, over in my side bar. Check her out. She’s renting for the week and you really should go visit her. You don’t want to end up on my shit list like the garbage men to ya? I didn’t think so. Just a little clicky click at the top of my sidebar, painless no?

As you might have guessed form the prominently absent post I FORGOT about Half Nekkid Thursday. Not completely mind you, just until laaaaaaate last night when posting a HNT would be a moot point. D’oh, I’ve been more than a little brain dead lately. Between the stress of my brother moving in, the kids having the left over Christmas Crabbies, my brother-in-law’s car accident, and minimal sleep I’m bordering on a basket case here. Just to make things more rosy I’ve decided to crack back down on my eating habits making for one crazy stressed out bitch that would kill anyone who came with in 50 feet smelling like chocolate or cake.. And woe be it to the person that smells like chocolate cake!

In related news my sprained back has healed enough that I’m back in the gym. Sadly someone came into my gym and painted everything dark and dank colors making me want to be there even less. Honestly, what genius decides to paint a windowless stairwell dark olive drab with black trim? I’m wondering if they have the previous owners on my house on retainer as color consultants, the choices they are making are suspiciously similar. Speaking of paint, MY HOUSE IS PAINTED. Did you catch that PAINTED. No more 1/2 peeling paint 1/2 concrete block. No more 100% white primer, my HOUSE IS PAINTED! (insert image of me doing the whoopdee-freakin-doo dance). With about 1 afternoon worth of touch up on the trim and painting where the body of the house and the overhang meet my house will be DONE. The next move will be deciding door color, painting that and replacing the ugly lock set with something beautiful which so happens to compliment the new front lights. Soon my unfinished secret will be hidden from the world behind a facade of freshly painted goodness and newly finished front porch. Oh yes, I did say newly finished front porch. The Hubster finally added that wall so I don’t have to stare at black tar paper. He’s refinished the ceiling and all that is left to do is paint the ceiling. We’ve even been discussing the building of a small bar to add out there. If we actually get to that it’ll have a bottle cap mosaic counter top (how farking rocking is that?).

Now that my brother is here I’m hoping the extra set of hands will continue to motivate him. We NEED to get all the insulation done and have it inspected before we can move on to dry wall. I’m chomping at the bit to get into purchasing and installing flooring, do you know why? Because then we could LIVE in our WHOLE house… Not only that but then I’d have a VERY valid reason to FURNITURE shop. Aside from out dining room table and the bed frames for the girls we’ve never purchased furniture (I do not count an $80 futon as furniture, sorry, that’s called a faux paux). Everything we owned has been purchased for us (like our bedroom set) or passed on to us (like oh everything else) and the occasional dumpster dive find (like the girls toy box). People I’m envisioning a purposefully decorated space where *I* didn’t just have to make due. Where all the craziness has been tastefully chosen to blend with my sense of style. I’ve already picked out a fabulous Day Bed for our reading room as well as the lighting. Now I need a room so I can order it. That same room I want to find an old 50’s secretary style desk/bookcase to fit on the short wall as well as a round coffee table or leather ottoman to act as a coffee table. I think I can tastefully furnish that room to MY needs for under $1500. I better get saving. The walls in that room will probably be some lovely shade of orange (not peach, orange) since the next room it flows into is a deep red.

A scotch but ape the attest.
on sputnik , actinide and sprig, , focussed not chasm , orbit not oaken and corkscrew see attempt.
try boyfriend and hewitt or jackman.
and belvedere the four it escalatemay phonograph , knifelike it az.

Can anyone explain the above email? It came earmarked as SPAM with the title “Small Cap Investors” and yet seems to contain such universal wisdom and no link to the products you would expect them to be selling based on the email title. I’m just so taken with it’s broken English beauty, can you hear me? I’m practically breathless here.

I may not make a regular weekly visit to a center for the man up stairs but I believe that prayer is powerful. My husband’s brother was in a nasty car accident a few days ago. He suffered a concussion among other things that we are just finding out about now. He has serious whiplash, 2 twisted vertebra, some hip problems, a knee problem and the most disconcerting - a brain hemorrhage. The hemorrhage isn’t bad enough to warrant surgery yet, they are going to be watching it. We all were worried that it was more than a concussion because he is still having lots of memory troubles and behavioral changes. The accident happened at a high speed. Apparently the driver that hit him was trying to avoid another accident and instead rear ended Mark. Marks head snapped back and went through the back window of his work truck. If you can take a moment to converse with the man upstairs, send out some healing & positive vibes, or send some good thoughts sailing his way I would truly appreciate it as would his wife.

Yes, that is me, I possess all the grace of a drunken dancing hippo. I can swing dance like nobody’s business yet I waltz through my day like a bull in a china shop. Let’s take yesterday for an example. I’m in the bath tub scrub a dubbing that nasty ring that turns up every few days when you live with 2 boys. Scrub scrub scrub, all day long, scrub scrub scrub - oh eee ahh oooo (windmilling arms) NOOOOOOOO! BANG! (insert painful face and swollen elbow here). I tried to rescue myself and still fell, then tried to recover by immediately jumping back up. In my hurry to jump back up I created a worse problem. I knocked the faucet off the WALL - YES the facets off the shower wall.. In the bathroom that took a year to finish. Nevermind the huge horrid nasty bruise I now have on my ass - I BROKE THE BATHROOM - NOOO!!! (insert uncontrollable sobbing here)