The Shower.

It's official. I have a house.


It is wonderful. Bliss. Heaven. Paradise. Adam and Eve never had it this good.

The shower. OHMIGOD the shower! Two heads! Walk-in! A window IN THE SHOWER, overlooking the Blue Ridge Mountains. Yeah. I. KNOW.

It is terrible to go on and on about it without showing you pictures yet. I'm sorry, I really am.



If I were a cartoon, I would have roadrunner running legs.

In the next month I am:

Finishing building a house
Moving into said house
Throwing a party for those who helped build said house
Planning and throwing my company holiday party
Cooking for Thanksgiving at my mom's house (yeah.)
Shipping a monsterously intense book
writing music
starting a band
recording music
donating platelets
going to therapy
flying to Colorado and driving back to NC with a friend
Friend is moving in
trying to get back to some semblance of a sex life with my husband
making Christmas presents

Just in case you're wondering where I may or may not be...


Smash That Glass, Grrrrl!

From the Huffington Post:

"Ann E. Dunwoody, after 33 years in the Army, ascended Friday to a peak never before reached by a woman in the U.S. military: four-star general."

Congratulations, Ann.

Read the whole post here.

Reason 135,778 to live in Australia

Seriously, I love this more with each viewing. Just as I also love my one and only beaver.


Unresolved Resolution

Hi peeps. Thank you so much for your words of support while I go through this very strange time in my life. It means so much to me that I can 'hear' the words I need to hear, regardless of where they come from and from whom. I'm lucky to have such a fantastic support system.

The mom and I went to a two-hour mediation appointment with my therapist yesterday afternoon. I took the day off work to finish up some of the house things we started this weekend (which look freakin' awesome; pics soon), so I was able to spend the morning centering myself and feeling grounded. I think this was the most important thing I could have done prior to this meeting.

My therapist/counselor/spiritual guide is a truly gifted person. He knew we were both nervous, and started us out when we didn't really know where to begin. He started by asking what both of us thought the other might not understand about the situation. I wish I could do this all the time in my life when I encounter a conflict, because it is such a compassionate and non-loaded way of saying how you feel. I said mine, my mom said hers, and I think that was all it took. She finally saw why what she had done was so destructive--strangely enough, before this she really had NO IDEA that she had damaged our relationship so badly--and I saw how really screwed up she is right now. Well, not so much screwed up as she is confused and dealing with a lifetime of issues that have been constantly pushed away. Fifty-some years of not dealing tends to catch up to a person like fire in an oil drum; BOOM. I feel for her and what she is going through, but because of the events of the past month or so, I don't feel tied to her fate and responsible for her happiness like I have in the past. She is going through some shit; shit that she can't see her way out of right now, and that really sucks.

But what I came away with from this meeting was basically this: My mom is a scared, fearful, negative person right now (she hasn't always been), and the best thing she could have done for me was to kick me out. She didn't realize it was so hurtful, but because it was, it forced me to become completely detached and independent from her in a way that I never had before. At first I was so hurt and angry--which I still own and those feelings are mine, and I was reacting the way that I think most people would have reacted--but now I have some perspective. I also heard her saying that what she did had nothing to do with me, and that filled me with a sense of relief. One of the things I was dreading about this meeting was what my mom might say to me--my faults, maybe something I did that I didn't realize, stuff like that--and I am so glad that this situation came solely from her issues. I felt that this was about her from the beginning, but it is hard to pull yourself out of the equation when the person involves you so immediately in it. And I'm sure that there is something pretty selfish about my relief, but I also know enough about myself to not hold it against myself. I can't fix her. I can fix me. I work on it everyday. I look for opportunities to grow, even when it might be painful (like this mediation session), and so I know what I can do and what I can handle, and what I can't. I can't fix my mom, but I can have compassion for what she is going through. I can't fix it for her, but I can be there for her. I am approaching this from a place of love--letting go of my ego for a bit--and realizing that the things that happen to me are not necessarily about me. (Not that I would let her do something like this to me again, not at ALL; but now I know what to say to her if she does, and that is pretty empowering.)

And the two biggest things: She finally apologized, and I was able to hug her and tell her I love her, and really mean it.

Now, I hope that she can get through this crap she is going through and come out a better person on the other side. I see her desire to do that; she just doesn't know how to go about it. She will start seeing my therapist on her own, and I am hopeful that she owns who she is and fulfills all the potential within herself, because she is an amazing human being. I hope for her what I have found for myself over the last year: internal peace, personal understanding and acceptance, and a whole lotta self-love.


Photo Love: Halloween Costume

He might kill me for this--most likely he'll laugh--but here is my fabulous husband as "Red, The Washed-Up Showgirl."

Yes, those are my fishnets.


Conflict Resolution

My mom and I have a mediation appointment on Monday with my therapist. He thinks that we will be able to work through this. I'm nervous, anxious, and conflicted with wanting to get this over with versus not wanting to deal with it at all.

I'm doing it. And I'm trying to come at it from a place of love. It is hard to do that and still retain my grasp on how I feel about the situation. But I'm working on it.

A part of me doesn't want to resolve this, because it has been almost blissful being away from this incredibly intense and stressful relationship. But she is my mom, and I guess I'm stuck with her. I might as well make the best of it.

God, this is more nerve-wracking than her actually kicking us out.

But! In good news! We are putting in the flooring, kitchen, and bathrooms this weekend! Squee.


Ear Candy: Movement

This song is irrevocably stuck in my head for the foreseeable future.

LCD Soundsystem's "Movement"

Frame, Slate & Shoot: The Smoking Gift

I worked on a short film over the summer as part of the 48 Hour Film Festival.

Here is our entry.

Genre: Spy
Character: Chelsea Raynal, Printer
Line of Dialog: "Is that all you've got to say?"


Updates, etc.

I just got back from a business trip to NY, and had a fabulous time. Even the "business" part was somewhat entertaining. I have decided I'm moving. But I guess I need a higher-paying job so that I don't look like a walking trash bag, digging in the bins for the next flavor of the month for survival. Anyone hiring? I am multi-talented with a flair for bullshit. Just sayin'.

The best thing about NY? I didn't think about my mother once. Not once. Well, I talked to one of my best girls about it over dinner one night (a delicious french dinner), and she made me feel decidedly better when she said "Your mom is such a drama queen." She and I have been best friends since 7th or 8th grade, so she knows my mom better than a lot of my acquaintances. It just feels good to know that you aren't crazy, you know? To know that my reaction to this entire situation is pretty fucking justified. Blah. Anyway.

So I get off the plane from NY, and saw the coolest thing: A group of monks (I assume), dressed in long black robes, greeted another monk that disembarked from my same flight. They have bells, flowers, and starting singing this beautiful song in their lovely tenor and bass voices. Everyone in the airport stopped and watched as they sang, with obvious joy on their faces, to this man from the plane. They all greeted him with cheek kisses, gave him flowers, broke a loaf of bread with him, and really made my day. You don't often see things like that (especially in Asheville) and it was just downright touching.

Another interesting note: The first voicemail I get when I get off the plane was my mom. She said she misses me, she loves me, and hopes I'm doing ok. I actually felt pretty good about this until I had a conversation with my husband over lunch. While I was gone, he talked with her about a few logistical things involving our house, and ultimately the discussion turned to this whole drama of her kicking us out. She basically said that I need to grow up. Yeah. All that does is confirm that fact that she is nowhere close to realizing what she has done, and for me solidifies that I am doing the right thing by having nothing to do with her right now. Once again, as she has done throughout my life, she is projecting, and now that I can recognize that and not question my instincts and feelings about it, I realize how far apart we really are, and probably have been for a long time now. I feel sorry for her. I do. But it doesn't make me want to repeat the agonizing cycle of prostrating myself for her so that she is no longer upset (a cycle that has been going on with us since I was three years old. "If I make Mommy happy, she won't be angry at me anymore and she will love me." A hard realization, but ultimately and good one for my soul.)

I know that I will eventually talk to her. I mean, I'm not going to cut her out of my life completely, and she will be my next door neighbor for the next two years at least. I know that I will talk to her, but I also know not to expect her to react the way I want her to react. She is who she is, and the best I can do is accept that and continue living my life. But one thing is for sure: I will not let her manipulate my feelings or force me to do things I don't want to do just because it will make her happy. I'm over that. And that is how I know that I have grown up. As painful as it is, I have grown up.

On a happier note, our house is getting very very close to being finished. This weekend, we install the flooring, the kitchen, and the bathrooms, and the next weekend is our painting party. After that, we will be days away from living there, and that is a good good feeling. To have a home that we have had a choice in every thing you see, to have a home that is perfect for my little family. Hell, just to have a home. Bliss.

I have a good life.

Oh, and one of my oldest friends and I--we've known each other since 3rd grade--are starting a band. So I'll also keep you updated on that progress as well.

Thank you all for your much needed and heartfelt support. I can honestly say that I have family all across the world, some family that I've never even seen their faces. But family all the same. Love you guys more than you know.



Love Letter

Dear Ms. Mix & Bitch,

You rock.

And I love the mix. Thank you.




Dirge in Word

a cap of black and purple curls
atop a peak of sorrow
lives within eyelash unfurled
glazed with cheer on borrow
forget me now to my false regret
heed not the salty rain
for no more was yours that you beget
through haze of childhood pain


Mommy Dearest

Ok, are you ready for this?

With five weeks left until we can move into our new home, the woman I knew as "Mom" has kicked my husband and I out of her basement where we are living (if you can call it that) while we are building a house.


She told me this while I was at work on Friday. There was no fight. There was no drug-running from the basement. No broken windows. No band practice. No exorbitant power bills. The reason? She and her boyfriend need privacy.

To say that I'm reeling is a drastic understatement. To say that I'm devastated is closer to the truth. To say that I've never felt so alone in my entire life is pretty spot on. I feel like my mom has died--that is how out of character this is.

She told me this over the phone. I sobbed at work. I went for a walk and came back. I sobbed more.

She has yet to look at me, much less speak to me.

Luckily for me and my little family unit, we have an amazing support system. Within 2 hours of finding out I have nowhere to live, we had secured a place to live in rent free with our animals until we can finish the house.

Oh yeah, did I mention that we are just now beginning to do our finishing work on the house? The house that I WAS living 30 feet from in order to make that work more convenient, but now have to travel 30 minutes one way to reach? Did I mention that we are doing all the flooring, building the kitchen, building both bathrooms, painting, and running the trim? Did I mention that? Because I think the woman I called "mom" has forgotten. Strange, she is only 51. Early onset Alzheimer's? I wish.

So tonight marks our first night in a being-remodeled rental. The hubs and I are finishing the remodel work in the rental in exchange for the place to stay. And we are finishing our house at the same time. Awesome.

I might be a bit M.I.A. for the next couple of weeks, but when our house is done I promise I'll have pictures.

Does anyone know what to do when your mom decides you are no longer a part of her life? Because these are new and risky waters for me. I could use a good word. Maybe I can get a mix from Ms. Mix & Bitch.


Frame, Slate, and Shoot: Crawford

The first feature by Hulu.com, called "Crawford." It is a long one, but worth every minute.

"A small town thrust into big politics when George W. Bush moves in next door. Gritty, authentic and often funny, CRAWFORD is Hulu's first movie premiere."


Photo Love: I'm Never Satisfied

I needed more of a fall-like feel.

Ear Candy: I'm Afraid of Americans

David Bowie, I'm Afraid of Americans (featuring Trent Reznor)


All the World is a Stage

...and the characters of my story make me crazy.

If the following people in my life had a catchphrase, this is what it would be:

My Mom: "Let me tell you how I feel about this..."
My Brother: "You are an idiot." Also interchangeable with "Shut up, idiot."
My Husband: "I don't know."
My Grandma: "I wish you would insert anything with an edge of guilt."
My Sister: "..."
My Boss: "If you wanna do insert great idea here, then you can take it out of YOUR paycheck."


Was That the Rubicon Way Back There?

This is an excellent—albeit somewhat simplified—way of REALLY describing what is happening in our economy right now. And of course MAINSTREAM MEDIA isn't reporting it this way, because mainstream media is corporate.


Recipe for a Peaceful Mind

1 medium to large fire pit (allow leeway for burning bans in drought-striken areas; use grill for backup)

8 medium steaks (no need for the expensive stuff; get what you want and what your pocket can handle)

1 container Butt Rub

4 large russet potatoes

2 6-packs of delicious beer

8 friends/family members

1 cord of applewood
1 bag of charcoal
1 box of mesquite chips

Directions: Combine applewood, charcoal and mesquite chips in fire pit until golden embers. Coat potatoes in sea salt, wrap in foil and place in hot embers. Sprinkle Butt Rub on steaks, wrap individually in foil, and place on grate above embers. Cook 10 minutes for potatoes and 5-8 minutes for steaks, depending on cooking preference (if you are me, give it a killer look and then eat). Cut potatoes lengthwise and each half on a plate. Place one foil-wrapped steak on each plate. Add simple salad as necessary. Enjoy with beer, friends, and family.

Dessert: Have the good sense to have a brother with apple trees in his yard. Choose the 8 nicest looking apples and pick them. Slice in half, hollow out core, wrap in foil and place in dying embers. Allow to cook for 10 minutes or until somewhat soft. Unwrap caramel squares and place in hollowed apple, let cook for another 10 minutes. Roast two marshmellows above the embers while waiting for apples to cook. Remove apples from embers, place marshmellows on top, and enjoy. Commence with guttural sounds of delight. Repeat.

*I advise that, if you are a Chicago Bears fan, to not watch the game until AFTER eating. Then, you really won't care that they were up by 10 with 4 minutes left in the fourth and let the Bucs tie, go into overtime, and let the Bucs take that candy home. Seriously, I promise if you eat first, you won't care. I didn't eat first.


Simple Math


(Hey, if lipschtick on a pig is noteworthy, then so is my simple fucking math.)

A Couple of Quick Points

First off: I want a free market too, but just like Communism sounds great in theory and fails in practice, as does our capitalistic model (something we have seen unfold this year alone). So, let's think of this in terms of a sports analogy: Regulate a fair playing field like a ref would a game. Establish rules, allow competition, and watch the game unfold. In our system now, with bailouts coming from the government, it is like the ref is stepping in and playing for an injured player. It just doesn't make sense.

Point number two: So, these companies have lost people money, and now the government is using our tax dollars to bail them out. For what? So we can pay TWICE OVER to save an institution who is working towards the bottom line of the few, and not the many??? How about the government takes that 85 billion and pays back the investors and stockholders, and let the companies go belly up? Then, establish regulation that would avoid this kind of greed-based failure in the future. Conclusion: The Bush ass-ministration are fucking idiots.

Point three: McCain has admitted he knows nothing about economics. His economic advisor is one of the architects of this administration's failed economic policies. Conclusion: McSame.

To all of those investors out there that have lost their asses: Hold on. I know it sucks now, but you can do nothing about it at the present moment. Let this play out before showing your hand, and pray to your god that we have an administration change in November.

The beauty of our country is its flexibility. If something isn't working (current economic policies), then we should have the wisdom and ability to fix it. Let us do that.


Whoa, I'm Nominated for Something

Hello loyal readers. All two of you.

I'm nominated for... for...umm....maybe a prize or something?

Anyway, if you have a minute, go check out the BlogAsheville Extravablogaversapaloozathon 2008 nominees and look for me! (I'm A Girl Named Boo, just in case, you know, you can't read the top of this page.) And they placed me perfectly: Blog Most Likely to Not Make Money (sweet! I'll never sell out!!!) and Blog That Makes Me Feel Happiest (clearly they haven't seen my latest postings, but whatevs. Don't tell them!)

Go HERE for the excitement.


True Feminism, Part Deux

Eve Ensler, the American playwright, performer, feminist and activist best known for 'The Vagina Monologues', wrote the following about Sarah Palin: Drill, Drill, Drill

I am having Sarah Palin nightmares. I dreamt last night that she was a member of a club where they rode snowmobiles and wore the claws of drowned and starved polar bears around their necks. I have a particular thing for Polar Bears. Maybe it's their snowy whiteness or their bigness or the fact that they live in the arctic or that I have never seen one in person or touched one. Maybe it is the fact that they live so comfortably on ice. Whatever it is, I need the polar bears.

I don't like raging at women. I am a Feminist and have spent my life trying to build community, help empower women and stop violence against them. It is hard to write about Sarah Palin. This is why the Sarah Palin choice was all the more insidious and cynical. The people who made this choice count on the goodness and solidarity of Feminists.

But everything Sarah Palin believes in and practices is antithetical to Feminism which for me is part of one story -- connected to saving the earth, ending racism, empowering women, giving young girls options, opening our minds, deepening tolerance, and ending violence and war.

I believe that the McCain/Palin ticket is one of the most dangerous choices of my lifetime, and should this country chose those candidates the fall-out may be so great, the destruction so vast in so many areas that America may never recover. But what is equally disturbing is the impact that duo would have on the rest of the world. Unfortunately, this is not a joke. In my lifetime I have seen the clownish, the inept, the bizarre be elected to the presidency with regularity.

Sarah Palin does not believe in evolution. I take this as a metaphor. In her world and the world of Fundamentalists nothing changes or gets better or evolves. She does not believe in global warming. The melting of the arctic, the storms that are destroying our cities, the pollution and rise of cancers, are all part of God's plan. She is fighting to take the polar bears off the endangered species list. The earth, in Palin's view, is here to be taken and plundered. The wolves and the bears are here to be shot and plundered. The oil is here to be taken and plundered. Iraq is here to be taken and plundered. As she said herself of the Iraqi war, 'It was a task from God.'

Sarah Palin does not believe in abortion. She does not believe women who are raped and incested and ripped open against their will should have a right to determine whether they have their rapist's baby or not.

She obviously does not believe in sex education or birth control. I imagine her daughter was practicing abstinence and we know how many babies that makes. Sarah Palin does not much believe in thinking. From what I gather she has tried to ban books from the library, has a tendency to dispense with people who think independently. She cannot tolerate an environment of ambiguity and difference. This is a woman who could and might very well be the next president of the United States. She would govern one of the most diverse populations on the earth.

Sarah believes in guns. She has her own custom Austrian hunting rifle. She has been known to kill 40 caribou at a clip. She has shot hundreds of wolves from the air.

Sarah believes in God. That is of course her right, her private right. But when God and Guns come together in the public sector, when war is declared in God's name, when the rights of women are denied in his name, that is the end of separation of church and state and the undoing of everything America has ever tried to be.

I write to my sisters. I write because I believe we hold this election in our hands. This vote is a vote that will determine the future not just of the U.S., but of the planet. It will determine whether we create policies to save the earth or make it forever uninhabitable for humans. It will determine whether we move towards dialogue and diplomacy in the world or whether we escalate violence through invasion, undermining and attack. It will determine whether we go for oil, strip mining, coal burning or invest our money in alternatives that will free us from dependency and destruction. It will determine if money gets spent on education and healthcare or whether we build more and more methods of killing. It will determine whether America is a free open tolerant society, or a closed place of fear, fundamentalism and aggression.

If the Polar Bears don't move you to go and do everything in your power to get Obama elected, then consider the chant that filled the hall after Palin spoke at the RNC, 'Drill Drill Drill.' I think of teeth when I think of drills. I think of rape. I think of destruction. I think of domination. I think of military exercises that force mindless repetition, emptying the brain of analysis, doubt, ambiguity or dissent. I think of pain.

Do we want a future of drilling? More holes in the ozone, in the floor of the sea, more holes in our thinking, in the trust between nations and peoples, more holes in the fabric of this precious thing we call life?

Eve Ensler
September 5, 2008


True Feminism

"As a woman and a registered Republican I am very concerned about the choice of Mrs. Palin as a vice-presidential candidate. I do not believe that she stands for most American woman as she is against a woman’s right to choose in medical decisions concerning her own body, she has demonstrated an intolerance for differing beliefs, she does not believe in birth control or sex education. I was planning on voting for McCain but the Republican ticket has lost my vote because of this choice."
–Carol C., Tiverton, RI

"Sarah Palin is the classic example of a woman being used by those in power to remove power from women."
-Iliza A., 39, San Francisco, CA

"As a woman who is proud of the accomplishments of women over the past one hundred years, I am appalled and terrified by the selection of Sarah Palin as John McCain's running mate. This choice gives much credence to McCain's and the Republican party's lack of judgment and responsibility. I do not question whether Ms. Palin is a good mother or not. I don't care. As a potential leader for this country she is an abomination. What a ludicrous, blatantly pandering, frightening irresponsible choice this was. I can only hope that ultimately women see this for what it is, an arrogant, denigrating ploy to get their vote."
- Penny W., 56, North Carolina


Growing Pains

Ah, the self-realization just keeps on going, doesn't it? One day I'm living a blissfully ignorant existence, happy to medicate my depression away with the not-so-legal meds, and the next I'm stone cold sober and pissed off. The balance just won't last.

But in the interest of bettering myself, I know that it takes these moments of pain to get to the better moments. The moments when it is ok that I didn't realize something about myself 20 years ago, because how is an 8-year-old child supposed to tell her mother that she is the mom, and I am the child, so just let me be a kid? It isn't easy.

This all has come to a head in recent days. I've had issues with my mom in the past, but it was never anything that I felt could end our relationship, or I just refused to allow that to happen. It has been a tough couple of years for the two of us, matching and almost surpassing the struggles of my teenage years. Back then, I could just be an immature little brat, and she could be the adult (for the most part, but now I even question that). But the illusion is gone. I have been the caretaker.

She never had it easy, and she constantly reminded me of this. It did exactly what it was supposed to do: made me feel guilty for having a happy life. And to this day, even though I'm old enough to have my own children, this pattern repeats itself with a dreadful regularity that has me as depressed as I've been since the days after my dad died.

She was a child raising children. I can't really blame her; she did the best I could and she loved me. But what am I supposed to do with these feelings? The resentment that immediately makes me feel guilty? The frustration that she still can't care for me as her child? My reaction to all of this, which is to pull as far away from her as possible? My husband and I have recently contemplated moving completely across the country just so I can loosen her hold on me. A hold that is so subtle, so complete, that I never noticed it until now. Until I witnessed one of my dearest friends caring for her 14-month-old son and recognizing my own feelings of jealousy. How could I never have seen this???? It is almost devastating. It might be devastating if I didn't have so many other things on which to focus my frustrations.

And here I am, building a house right fucking beside her, and all of the sudden it comes into focus. Very clear focus. She has bound me to her more completely than I could have thought possible, and I convinced myself that our relationship meant that we were close. As close as sisters. As close as best friends. What a fucking lie. She has cared for me, yes, but she has manipulated me to care for her as well.

"What have I done to deserve my children treating me this way?"

"You have it so easy. You have no idea what it means to have a hard life."

"You spoiled brat."

These are the things that she would say to me if I wanted to make a choice about my own life. And I fucking believed her. Now I'm living in her basement, building a house 50 feet away from her bedroom, and I want to just disappear. I want to get on a plane with my husband and my dog and get the fuck away.


Destination: Unknown

We didn't make it to Mexico.

Me and the hubs got to the gate for our early morning flight, and just as we were stepping up I realized I had not yet changed my passport to my married name. Of course, the hubs had booked us under our married monikers, as he should. I haven't been out of the country since we got married, so I haven't even thought about it.

So yeah, they didn't let me on the plane, and the sweet hubs refused to go without me. So we changed our tickets to go out to L.A. to visit the good friends with the sweet bebe, who is not such a bebe anymore.

But before we left for L.A., I went and got mah hair did. Whad'ya think?

Peace out from L.A. peeps. Don't underestimate the ability to fuck yourself over. It is a lesson well-learned.




Mas cerveza, por favor

So I'm off to Mexico tomorrow morning and won't ever be back!!!!

Alas, no; I will return in about 10 days. But a betch can dream, can't she? I'll probably have loads of pictures when I return, so prepare yourself for a feast of the eyes.

We're traveling to the very tip of the Baja peninsula, and there I plan to drink lots of margaritas, kill myself surfing, lay on the sand, and maybe even do a little deep sea fishing.

I would say that you might miss me, but since I've had a lax posting month and haven't received any complaints, I'm assuming that you most likely won't.

See you guys in about a week and a half. Miss me while I'm gone!



Photo Love: Building a House

It is finally happening. Finally. Our new house has WALLS. Yes, they are unfinished, but there they are, standing tall. Framed and waiting.


Photo Love: SNAKE in my muthrfukin' YARD

A copperhead, to be exact.

He dead.


Boo's Top Ten: Why Margaret Cho Rocks

10. She's SOOOO nineties. It makes me super nostalgic.

9. She's Korean, and therefore most likely shares my intense love of kimchee.

8. She met Arsenio Hall. (A personal hero of mine.)

7. A pretty freaking hilarious comic.

6. Talks very openly about her drug addiction and subsequent recovery.

5. A huge supporter of gay, lesbian, bi, and transgender rights.

4. She does a burlesque routine.

3. Wearing a fake penis.

2. While showing her beautiful and imperfect belly.

1. And her amazing tattoo work, some of which was done by the legendary Ed Hardy.


Boo's Top Ten: Why I Love Where I Live

10. Great local music and venues.

9. It is just as easy to go out and be crazy on the weekends, or stay in and be lazy.

8. Small town appeal; metropolitan attitude (kinda).

7. You can get anyway in or around town in 15 mintues. Period.

6. The area is a haven for creativity. It must be the crystals in the bedrock.

5. The liberally-minded oasis of the South. And it ain't Atlanta.

4. The beautiful beautiful mountains!!

3. Swimming in the coldest water holes supplied by fresh mountain water. And jumping off rocks.

2. Crisp, chilly, foggy summer mornings.

1. Local food. Buying fresh figs and blackberries from the gentleman farmer that comes into the downtown restaurants. And then eating said figs for breakfast with yogurt, honey, and walnuts. YUMMMMM. And making blackberry cobbler with orange essence in the crust. Oh yes. You know you want it.

If you aren't from here, or aren't familiar with the area, you really should check it out. And this coming from a person that silently curses the stupid tourists, especially when they attempt to parallel park for 15 minutes before just giving up and driving away, all the while you've been sitting behind them, waiting, because they can't get their big freakin' SUV into the space, or out of the way enough for you to scoot by. And this is NOT a hard town to drive in. AT ALL.

But seriously, if you haven't visited, you should. I hear the leaf change this year is going to be glorious.


Thanks for Playing

Just when I think he can't possibly do more to fuck up, Bush bends us over and gives it to us. Hard.

He's not an idiot. He is a manipulative elitist man-child bully in the schoolyard, pushing everyone around to see how much he can get away with. And goddammit, he is getting away with all of it. It isn't enough for him to send our troops into a meaningless war. It isn't enough that he is personally responsible for 4,000 American deaths; 100,000 dead Iraqi men, women and children; and 30,000 wounded and permanently maimed American soldiers. It isn't enough that he makes the people of our country weep and despair, hoping for a better time. It isn't enough that he cares for nothing but himself.

Now he is killing the very things that make our planet so awe-inspiring. The very things that he claims to believe God created. He is killing everything, and no one is doing anything about it.


By way of Chez, here is his latest disregard for anything not, well, him.

For the last time: Someone give him a blowjob so we can fucking IMPEACH. IMPEACH IMPEACH IMPEACH.


Breastfeeding: How Old is Too Old?

I'm starting to realize just how taboo this topic is, because I haven't been able to find a lot of reliable and accurate data on American mothers and their breastfeeding habits. But what I have found is generally this:

60-70% of American mothers breastfeed their children while still in the hospital

25-40% of American mothers breastfeed their children up to 6 months

less than 5% of American mothers breastfeed their children at 18 months

So what happens when mothers are breastfeeding past 2 years old? What about 3 years old? What about 8 years old??

Your thoughts?


Tickle My Ivories

Check out my post today on The Music is the Message.



Photo Love: Somewhat SFW

From my lovely husband....

Inaugurating our land.

I effing love this man.


Red Sea, Take II

Moses (me) dropped the ball (dropped a box) and his people drowned (and I sprained my foot) so he (I) is screwed (am screwed) for the rest of the journey (for the rest of the move).



The Promised Land: Parting the Red Sea

Way back in April of 2007, my hubs and I bought some property. We sold our condo for a "sweet little profit" as my realtor likes say, and started the process of building our own home.

As of today, we are moving for the third time since that April of 2007, and we are NOT moving into our new home. Yet.

It is so close; I can almost lick it. But we are only nearing the hardest part: Finishing the house ourselves. So, we are moving into the basement of the brand new house next door (that would be my mom's pad--story for another day). An unfinished basement. Our entire house. And we will be there for probably the next two months.

Can I tell you what it is like, living with most of your stuff in storage for a year and a half? It is actually pretty cool; I've realized how little I need all this "stuff" that I constantly collect. Now that we are packing up the things we brought to our rental (aka flea bag central, if you were a reader last summer), I just want to throw the boxes in the back of our truck, drive to goodwill, put the tailgate down, reverse into the parking lot really really fast, and hit the brakes. Thud. Boom. Gone.

Simplify simplify simplify. That is what screams through my mind at times like these. Times when I am once again rolling up some delicate little thing that someone gave us one time for the 5th time, putting it in the box, only to pull it out later and put it back on a fucking shelf. Ridiculous.

Anyway, we are moving this weekend. Again. AND! (and this is a very strange happening, especially in my family) every member of my immediate family is ALSO moving this weekend. Guess what that means? No help moving for any of us. It is actually kind of funny; my mom is moving into her brand new house (which totally rocks--I'll post pictures at some point, I think), my brother is moving into his first-time-owner home, and my baby sister might be moving to a different apartment. She doesn't know yet; she still doesn't technically have a place to move to.

Our house should be done by late September. Me and SuperHubs are doing all the painting, trimwork, floors, and putting in our own kitchen. The WHOLE kitchen-caboodle. (See what I did there? Yep.)

So it is like Moses, taking the peeps to the promised land, but now he's got to part the Red Sea. So we are getting geared up to part some sea.

I'm way to busy to be clever today.




Boo's Top Ten: Reasons I Should Not Have Left Bed Today

10. Nearly sprained my ankle getting out of bed.

9. Nearly breaking my dog's leg by almost spraining my ankle getting out of bed.

8. Late for work.

7. I might not have a place to live when I move out of my rental. Next week.

6. Fighting with the hubs is bad for sex life.

5. No breakfast due to being late for work.

4. Was awake past 2:30 am again. Couldn't sleep.

3. No clean socks. At least, no good clean socks. Everything is packed up to move.

2. Unusually expensive water bill. Like, as in, three times the normal water bill. Which might mean we have a leak, but you know what, fuck it, I'm moving out; my landlord can deal with it.

1. I want to murder everyone that crosses my path with eye daggers. That is probably a good indicator that I should not leave the house. Much less come into contact with....people...


Peace, Love & Penitentiary

Not so nice, Mister Hippie.


The Red Bikini: Who Did it Better?

Helen or Claire?


Happy Birthday Dance!

If any of you have siblings, especially younger siblings, then this might ring true for you too, but today is a good day. Why?

Because my brother broke up with the dumbest girl I have ever met. Seriously. Happy dance! My exact words when he told me: "Oh, I am SO GLAD." He just laughed, and then said, "Yeah, that's why I never intended to introduce her to the family." He was smart. I accidentally met her at one of his shows, and it was pretty unfortunate. You see, my brother was raised by some pretty powerful and intelligent women (my mom, a few aunts and a grandma that could bite through nails), and then he has two very outspoken sisters. He knew the score.

He's our BROTHER; we can't have him with just anyone.

Thank god I don't have to sit through another hour of this poor, sweet dumb girl's explanation of why she hasn't worn a skirt in two years (um, who cares honey?) and the reason behind every single ringtone she has ever had on her cell. Gaaaahhhh.

And today is his birthday, so everyone wish my little brother a Happy Day (he's 25 today), and give him a high five for the upgrade in lifestyle.

High five Britt. I love you SO SO SO much, and I am so proud of the person you are! You are my hero, my protector, my advisor, and the best fucking metal guitarist I have ever heard!

Love from your big sis,



Ear Candy: Between the Buried and Me

A new metal post on the music blog, y'all.

Here is Between the Buried and Me, Prequel to the Sequel.

My Big Stupid Mouth

I have a feeling that I'm going to have to work pretty hard to make today a good day. Arg. I think I'm in the middle of a personal crisis. My big stupid mouth! It always gets me into trouble. But my big stupid mouth is usually able to get me out again. But I don't want to talk my way out of this one. I want to take the consequences that come with my actions.

If anyone has a great 'instant cheer' remedy for self-loathing, please let me know ASAP.


Ear Candy: Backyard Betty


I hope you all get a little backyard action this holiday weekend. Oh yeah, you know what I mean.

To kick off my first post at Music is the Message, here is Spank Rock's Backyard Betty.

NOT safe for work, y'all.


Pseudo Self Indulgent

Hi Peeps.

I wanted to throw a little love out there, and let you know that I have been part of a creative writing blog for the last couple of months, Blog Me a Tale, and I just posted another short. Please go check it out, and the other amazing writers that contribute to that blog. Feel free to comment! Writers (well, most writers, I guess) enjoy feedback.

I am also on the verge of another blogging community endeavor, The Music is the Message. It is a dedicated music-lover's blog, and I think as it progresses, you will discover amazing new music, find appreciation for the old stuff, and maybe even give another type of music a chance.

So y'all come on back, ya hear?




Ear Candy: Say My Name, Say My Name, Say My Stupid Name

Ah, The Bird & The Bee.

Enjoy Again and Again.


Ear Candy, Kinda

Grab your middle school make out partner and sway to this one, mugs.

Sorry. I couldn't help myself...


Photo Love: An Auspicious Evening

Yesterday evening, after coming home from a great dinner with some fantastic friends, me and the hubs had a little visitor: A fledgling great horned owl.

I can't tell you how spiritual and touching it was to be this close to such an amazing animal.

It still had its downy feathers.

We have no real idea about how it got in. There are only two viable options. It could have come through both cat doors (either with or without help from our cat--highly unlikely), or it came down the chimney. I'm guessing the latter.

Robb used my snowboarding gloves and caught it, took it to the edge of the woods, and watched it fly away under the full moon.

Simply breathtaking.


The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had...

I Know It's Not My Birthday...

but if you reeeeeeeaaaally love me, you will find this car for me.

Maybe in a nice jungle green color, with white interior. Yeah, if I had a dick....


Dear Fucking Diary

Dear Mawthrfucking Diary, *and yes, this is the Amish edit, apparently.

It could have been a stranger weekend, really. I keep telling my husband that, but he just laughs. But, really, it could have been stranger. For instance, my brother could have told me he was pregnant...and not been kidding. See? Now THAT would have been strange.

Or I might have awoken on Saturday morning to a blizzard. That would have been really weird. So all in all, what happened this weekend wasn't completely out of the realm of reality. Just partially, perhaps.

Friday was truly a good day--not a bit of strangeness to be found. I got off work early, thanks to my company and its summer hours policy. I had a delicious margarita, went by a new blues/rock-a-billy club that will be opening soon, and walked around downtown. Gorgeous day, easy to be peaceful. Good.

Me and hubs went to an art opening, met up with some friends for sushi, went back to the opening for free beer, and came home early. No hangover! Good.

Saturday morning, we woke up early (well, early for me not him, that freak), decided to go to the housesite that is finally (FINALLY!!) being built, after which we would go to one of the best swimming holes in the South, and then on to another art opening for a friend, and then a party for three newly engaged couples. Good.

Well, on our way to our new house, we saw this great stuff by the side of the road: Two sets of old movie-type chairs. You know, four chairs connected by heavy metal framing, fold down seats, the whole she-bang. "Free!!!!" we screamed simultaneously, and whipped the car around. Unfortunately, we were in our little gas-efficient vehicle, which I love, but it had no room to fit one set of these lovely chairs, which I didn't love. As we stood by the back of our car, debating our course of action, a gentleman approached us and said he had two more sets of these things if we wanted them.

Score! In a matter of minutes we had doubled our booty. Sixteen cool old chairs! With so much awesome-potential! We asked him if, pretty please, we could hide these things in the bushes on the side of the road, take off the free sign, and later claim them when we had our truck. No problem, he says. Yay we say. So off we zoom to our housesite, see the progress (squeeee), and with the pooch in tow, head toward the swimming hole, aptly named Skinny Dip Falls.

It was a beautiful drive down the Blue Ridge Parkway. There were no tourists on the road--highly unusual for this time of year--so we sped along and were at the spot in record time. It rained off and on the whole drive, and it was fabulous. Living in a temperate rain forest really has its perks. Yes, there was one moment of blinding--and I'm mean literally blinding--downpour in which I coached my sweet hubs to just stay calm, don't brake suddenly, and follow the lines on the road. (Now listen, that shit is scary when there is no guard rail between your little car and a long, long plummet down a mountain that would surely end in serious brusing if not death.) We made it through, phew! and got to the swimming hole. There was a chill in the air, a sprinkle in the breeze, and a spring in our step as we made our way down the trail to the falls.

It was freakin' cold. I mean, gasp for breath fucking cold. And I loved every minute. I jumped in fully clothed as soon as we crossed the rocks, and my dog followed suit (she is so awesome). We swam for as long as we could stand it, hiked down the trail a bit more where the dog rolled in scat and proceeded to completely gross me and hubs out--that shit STINKS, people--and we came back to the falls to wash her off. And then I gave her a bath when we got home. And then another bath. (Cute aside: My doggie-love LOVES the hairdryer. She would lay there for hours as long as I was blowing her fur with a nice warm stream of air. But she hates the vacuum. Go figure--everyone likes to get blown.)

Hubs and I took a shower, and got ready for the friend's art opening. His photographs were amazing--beautiful images full of character, flawlessly exposed, and gorgeous subjects. Great show. I met a friend there, Tom, and his friend, Shane. I say his friend, because I Do Not Like This Woman. There are very few people that, after only two meetings, I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I would not tell them if their hair was on fire. This woman is one of them. She is fucking unbelievable. She is whiny, demanding, negative, and just has a sucky attitude in general, and what was about to transpire would not help my attitude towards her whatsoever.

Here is where things get really strange.

Tom, the hubs, the bitch, and I were sitting outside of the gallery space so Tom and Bitch could smoke a cig. As we sat there in the wonderfully pleasant evening, a streetpunk came walking by. He was clearly fucked up on something, probably meth, and was out of it. He asked us collectively if we had a cell phone he could use, and Tom, hubs and I all rightly ignored him. Clueless bitch, however, hands over her cell phone. Now, this kid didn't look like he could remember his own name, much less a 10-digit phone number. And yet, he stood there for almost 25 minutes having the strangest one-sided conversation I have ever heard. I could make very little sense of it, as there was a lot of cursing and huffing, but one thing was clear: No one was on the other side of that conversation. The entire thing was an act for our benefit, a desperate attempt for some type of attention. Red flag.

Finally, after what seemed like forever (especially considering Clueless Bitch's constant complaining that she was hungry) Tom asked the guy politely if she could have her phone back, as we had to go. Tweaker freak slams the phone shut (without saying goodbye to anyone--another indication that he was crazy and having a conversation with no one), throws it at Tom, and screams, "FUCK YOU, YOU DON'T KNOW MY LIFE!!" and proceeds to verbally abuse the four of us. Now, I just sat there kind of laughing, because I have experienced this kind of shit before, and saying anything just eggs these idiots on. At one point, he even got on his knees in the street and bowed down to us, saying things like You Perfect People, and You Beautiful People.

Um, ok. Crazy fuck.

We gather ourselves, say goodbye to the fabulous artist, and start walking down the block so Clueless Bitch could get some food (she had not stopped complaining through Tweaker Freak's entire tirade), and attempt to leave this freak-fest behind, but of course, he followed us. He harrassed us for three fucking blocks. At one point he screamed at me two inches from my face (I moved away out of fear of catching something nasty) and that was all it took. Something snapped in my sweet-hearted hubby, and my hubs smacked the crackhead with his umbrella. The crackhead tried to come at him, and my hubs smacked him a few more times over the head. He ran back, cowering and screaming, and came at him AGAIN. At this point, I was not going to watch this freak go after my husband, so I employed my square-toe boots and kicked the shit out of that bitch. Luckily, a restaurant owner that I am friends with (and consequently owns one of the most fabulous Southern French 'rants in the South) came out with the cops on the phone, gave them a description of this douchebag, and the freak ran away. But not before my sweet hubs destroyed our umbrella. He had blood on his hands, and it was the tweaker's blood, so he went into the lovely French 'rant to wash up. (Big shout out to Michel, the best Frenchman in the South!)

So what was Clueless Bitch doing this whole time, as my hubs defended me and I defended him? BITCHING ABOUT HOW HUNGRY SHE WAS.

Seriously, what????

That kind of shit doesn't always happen, but when it does, it is kind of strange, isn't it?

Eye Candy: Installation Art

Here is a slide show of one of my favorite installation artist's work. She is based out of Charlotte, NC, and explores the nature of women, mothers, home, and violence in a way that is gorgeous and heavily layered.

Find more photos like this on Professional Development Program Alumni


Injuries, Part A Million

Two busted lips.


How, you may ask?
I am a dedicated, overly-motivated softball player, that's how!

The funny part: Yesterday after work, I grabbed a drink with my boss. During our meandering conversation, I mentioned I was going to softball practice later that evening, and laughed about having a beer beforehand, thinking it might not be such a good idea. But it was a joke, really, because I've gone to softball games toasted out of my mind. (Hmm, can one truly be 'toasted' out of their mind? The 'toasted' implies a lesser degree of drunkenness, so how could I be out of my mind with it? Anyway, moving on.)

So needless to say, my boss had a good laugh at my expense this morning when I walked in with TWO FAT LIPS. Yeah.

Note: This injury has nothing to do with my ability or inability to play softball. It was pure chance. But man, that wet crunching sound it made when the speeding ball caught me square on my mouth was really fucking disgusting. Because my entire face went numb, I had to feel my teeth with my finger to make sure they were all there. One tooth is a bit more crooked than it should be, but no casualties, I'm happy to report. At least this injury will not prohibit me from playing on Sunday. Beans!

Also on the plus side: I had the most amazing pineapple-habanero ribs today for lunch. Yes, ribs for lunch. I know, I am pure awesome.

Update: Thanks so much to BRAD for the get well ecard!!! You rock, brotha!

At Least My Job Doesn't Suck This Badly

Although, I've always wondered what it would feel like to just go fucking crazy like this in my office... heh...


Watch and Weep

It never fails: As soon as someone types a liberal-leaning comment on a website, the haters come out.

"You terrorist loving rag head!"
"Go to the middle east if you hate the US government so much!"

And other comments in that vein. (Yes, these example comments are not direct quotes. I couldn't handle the misspellings and misplaced modifiers. Sue me.)

Well, never call ME a terrorist-loving liberal again.

Talk to these people.

Photo Love: Living History

Head over to the Huffington Post for this great graphic of papers across the world recording and witnessing history.

Fuck yes.


Photo Love: Ode to TK

Hee hee!!


On This Day...

I can't say it has been easy.

These last two years have been pretty unforgiving for both of us, babe, and when I look back now, I can only think, "What would I have done without him?"

You have become such an integral part of my life, that I literally cannot imagine a life without you. And you know how active my imagination is.

We have had some pretty rough patches. There was one day, not all that long ago, that I tried to imagine a life without you, and the furthest I got was a scenario where it wasn't my life at all--it was a stranger's life. I was so angry and hurt that day, and I truly thought that we would not get through it.

But we did. And here we are, celebrating our second anniversary. On this day, two years ago, I was what I like to call, in my Britney mode: chaotic. It is not easy, to say that least, to plan, arrange, pay for, and completely organize a homemade wedding. For 150 people. At my mom's house.

It is also not easy to lose a father two months before he is supposed to walk you down the aisle, holding your manicured hand in his calloused one, tears in his eyes as he escorts you away from childhood and into a world that only you can navigate. It is not easy to stand there, in front of everyone you love--and some you don't--and with all those eyes on you, only notice the pair that aren't there. It isn't easy to acknowledge that I won't have a father-daughter dance, that I won't see my mom and dad there next to us on the dance floor, that he won't get a little too tipsy and maybe fall in the living room again. It isn't easy to watch your mother's face. To watch her miss him in every little moment as well. To watch her living out her own personal hell in front of my family, your family, and all of our friends.

It isn't easy to know that you are the only person I've ever brought home that my dad didn't want to immediately strangle. But at the same time, it is easy.

You were the one, all along. We knew it from the moment we embraced on the street corner. We knew it, and we didn't shy away from the power of it. Thank fucking god we didn't run away from it. It would have been easy to run.

It was easy to stand in front of our world of people and have my brother marry us. It was easy to have my sister there beside me, and your brother beside you--the most important people in our worlds, supporting this huge and scary step. It is easy to remember the vows we wrote for each other, the tree we planted together as a symbol of our union, the wish ribbons hanging from the arbor under which we were married. It is easy to remember dancing with our friends and family, laughing, spinning, watching the night fly away like sands through the hourglass, but on fast forward. It is very easy to remember exchanging rings, seeing your eyes fill with tears as I walked myself down the aisle, hearing everyone--especially my grandfather--belly laugh at my brother's declaration of his vested power.

On this day, two years ago, I was as excited, anxious, happy and as sad as I have ever been. I know we were both exhausted, because we both collapsed in bed that night, without even trying to get into each other's pants. Funny that we didn't even have sex on our wedding night. (I mean, not that we needed to; our sex life has been nothing short of fucking amazing, and continues to blow my mind.)

I look back over these last two years, and I have to say that I am impressed by us, honey. We have grown in ways that I never imagined possible. We have taught each other so much about love and commitment. We have made it through some very tough times.

It would be a gross understatement for me to say that I love you more now than I ever have. Robb, I have never known a love like this. I never imagined that I would be so lucky to have a love like this. You were always out there, waiting, and I was always here, waiting. We were waiting for each other, and every step we have taken in our lives has brought us to where we are today.

Marriage is strange; it is both constricting and freeing. It is rigid, but flexible. It is strange but familiar. It is a perfect balance of selfishness and selflessness.

The words that were spoken as Ginger's wedding, just two weeks ago, still ring true for me: This marriage is completely unique. There has never been, and never will be, a union like ours, for we are both individuals, and we have created something that never existed before. We are moving the world forward just by simply being together.

I want to say how proud I am of you, Robb. You are fearless. You are creative. You are vulnerable. You are chasing your dream and succeeding. You are strong, everyday, for me. You are exploring yourself in ways that you never previously imagined, and you are becoming more You every day. You, Robb; you are my heart.



Marry me.


Ear Candy: The Raconteurs

I feel exactly like this today. Video and all.

The Raconteurs -- Salute Your Solution

And just because I totally love this song and this video, and I was reminded by G. Michael on American Idol last night, here's Freedom, and a never hotter Linda Evangelista.


Oh Shit Moments

Our house is WAAAAAAAAY over budget.



The Best Things to Do on a Weekend

In no particular order:

-Abita Strawberry Lager. Their seasonal spring beer. Not sweet, not too hoppy, just right.

-Make up sex. Enough said.

-Twin Peaks marathon with a virgin. Much thanks to TK and his spectacular review that prompted me to immediately buy the box set with the remainder of my money and not eat fish tacos for TWO DAYS because I was broke in the pocket. And it is so worth it.

-Wake up sex. Also enough said.

-Beautiful weather, mountains, lakes, dogs swimming, and sunshine.

-Lovely concert and dinner with my mom and her admittedly awesome boyfriend. He rocks. Mainly because he said I looked beautiful (I did) and that he loved my hair (as I do). So, clearly his tastes are impeccable. But that could have been declared for the mere fact that he is dating my mom. She is a piece, y'all. A serious piece.

-Sunday softball game in the rain. I caught two infield popflys, tagged a runner out at third, and had two singles! My hubs slid into home for a score, as well as killed at first base. We are the coolest couple ever.

-Taking a mental sick day on a Monday. Man, did my laundry ever need that one!

-Visiting the house site. I can't wait to start updating the blog with loads of house info that no one but me cares about. And that is the way I like it. Truly. (Although, I probably have some out-of-town friends that would appreciate an ACTUAL place to sleep when they come visit, rather than a beat down old air mattress and my dog licking them to wakefulness at 6am after a night of drunken mess and almost getting run over by a crazy old man in a red car. I'm watching you, crazy old red car driving man! I'm watching you....


Bush, Go Home.

So did someone tell Bush that he is up for re-election? Because his sentiments in his last three public appearances have been heavily manipulative, fear mongering, and really fucking remind me of 2001--a place in time that not many of us want to visit ever again.

And, are my ears deceiving me, or did he ACTUALLY say that if America elects a democratic president, then another major terrorist attack is inevitable??

He's just fucking with us now, right? Or is he testing to see how far the people of this country will really let him go???

AND MS. PELOSI: Impeachment should NEVER be off the table. EVER. We should always have the right to kick a fucking idiot to the curb. It would be the first move in a long line of decisions that should have been made, but deferred in the interest of politics.

I don't know about the rest of you, but I want someone to act in the interest of the American citizens, not in the interest of a fucking political race.


Panties: Fully Wadded

This clip...oh god...I can't stop laughing!

How many times has this man ended a show, eh? You would think he could do it without the little words on the teleprompter.

True colors, people.

See more funny videos at CollegeHumor


Brain Growls

My mother has officially made me and my brother less important than her boyfriend. I was concerned that this might happen, but didn't give it actual credence. I had planned a really nice Mother's Day outing for all of us--at her behest I invited the boyfriend.

We were going to take a picnic lunch to our local Arboretum for their annual dahlia show, take a nice, long walk, drink wine spritzers, etc. It was to be lovely.

But, her boyfriend is not feeling well, and has canceled his appearance. So my mom decided to go out of town for the weekend. Apparently it is not possible to still have a lovely outing without him.

Brain growl number one.

My grandmother is laying the guilt on really heavy. Me and the hubs have been married for almost two years, and she refuses to relent on her Boo Must Bear a Child Campaign, Now That She is Married. Clearly, what the fuck else should I do with my time?? Not progress my already fruitful career. Clearly, not create a deeper and more meaningful relationship with the man I have chosen to spend the rest of my life with. Clearly, not build a gorgeous house at the age of 28, be completely debt free, and financially prosperous. Clearly, not have a life that I want. I don't want children. I love children, but I don't want to have them. And she refuses to listen. I am getting an increasing number of voicemails and emails, and she never fails to bring it up. NEVER.

Brain growl number two.

Ok, I guess those are the only two brain growls. Everything else is fucking fantastic. The house is going along swimmingly, I'm involved in all kinds of creative ventures, me and the hubs are having THE BEST sex ever, and it is spring. It's not all growls.

Clearly, I use the word clearly too much, and I am spoiled.



Ear Candy: Hooverphonic

Big thanks to my super hip, super gorgeous friend N. McConville for turning me on to Hooverphonic.

This is 2 Wicky.


Fish Tacos

I probably haven't written a complete sentence in this place for over a month, but I don't really plan on changing that immediately. My brain is only working in spurts lately. But there are a few things of interest (to me) and so I will impart:

-I donated blood yesterday. (High fives self). I have O negative blood, the universal donor, and I'm not a carrier for this certain "thing" (the nurse was very vague), so that means my blood can go to newborn babies! How cool is that?! It kinda makes up for my lack of wanting children. I'm helping babies every time I stick a needle in my arm! And seriously, how many people can say that? Not many, is the answer.

-The Orange Peel, our lovely local music club with kickass sound, was named one of the top ten clubs in the country by Rolling Stone. I guess that is a double-edged sword, because now things like this are happening: last week, we had Lou Reed (awesome). Today, we have George Clinton (also awesome). Yesterday, we had Hanson. Yes, the Mmm Boppers that were bound to come up as one-hit wonders on "I love the 90s." Even more of a punch in the coot: There was a line around the fucking block, starting Sunday night--the night before the show--of people lining up for it. "People" also means young teenage girls, teenage boys trying to get with said girls, and even younger preteen girls with very miserable-looking fathers in tow. And some people that looked like they would be more at home at a Clay Aiken concert. I took pictures, but it is too painful to repost, so use your imagination.

-I have eaten fish tacos everyday for the past week. And yesterday, I had them TWICE. Yes, they are delicious, but I have no true understanding for my addiction. On the plus side, I am drinking less beer. So that's good. I guess.


Public Service Announcement

Dear Citizens of the US:

Fear not. Unbunch the panties. I have news:

The Rev. Wright is NOT running for President.

Thank you, that is all.

*Paid for by the Boo Group Against Political Pundits and Corporate Media


Hump Day Bullets

  • I want more ink. Like, now. (That would be the tattoo type ink. Not, like, quill ink.)
  • I usually love my job, but I have hit a huge motivation pothole, and it popped my fucking tires.
  • Our house is a-getting built! Woooo hooo! The kitchen is going to have that cool half door where you can open just the top or just the bottom or both. I heart options!
  • My friend Not-So-Modest Mouse is a baaaad blog updater, but an awesome fucking YouTube treasure hunter. Unicorn Planet HEYYY! And damn if I will ever NOT drink Guinness without a straw. Ever again.
  • I'm itching to grow a garden and start canning. And making fresh salsa. And drinking margaritas.
  • Me and hubs are going to Mexico HEYYY!
  • My mom (guh, I can't believe I'm about to say this) asked me for advice about sex toys. shakes head violently to prevent mental images. FUCK. Didn't work. AHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!
For your viewing pleasure: Planet Unicorn HEYYY!


North Carolina Represent!

I voted! Did you?And, I'm wearing my favorite earrings today.

All in all, a good day.


Haiku Friday!

Friday, you rock me
hard between the ears and eyes
with the need to drink

I can save money
on PBR and cheese fries
at Rosetta's Kitchen

Thank god for late-night
and springtime in the mountains
and good college buds


Open Letter to Kelly Ripa

Dear Kelly,

You've gone too far. You are undermining everything that I hold dear to my heart--as a woman--and I will not take it anymore.

I am only going to ask this once.

Please stop. Please stop propagating the idea that the American woman must fill every single second with something productive to be considered an accomplished adult. The fact that you can create a gala for Martha Stewart's birthday on a shoestring budget, make a wholesome, homemade meal for 20 needy children, design a better vacuum, memorize crappy lines, not make a stinky face while sitting next to Regis "I've been embalmed ten times to look this good" Philbin, take an advanced pilates class, volunteer for the Ziploc Foundation for Fresher Curtains brigade, donate all your blood, serve bottles of your own wine from handpicked grapes from your backyard vineyard, and not eat a single thing ever--all before you send your kids to school in the morning with a packed lunch, complete with healthy fruits and veggies--does not make you a Super Woman.

It just makes you crazy.

So, really. Just stop.





You Slut. (I Love You.)

My best friend is leaving.

The woman that I routinely hung with during my "last year" of college ("last year" meaning taking a bare scattering of classes to say I was still in school, working a mindless cashiering job at a hippie co-op, and getting blasted pretty much every waking hour) is moving away.

We haven't lived in the same place in 4 years, but with only a 4 hour (3.5 when I drive; 3 with the hubs) car ride between us, we still see one another regularly. And now she is moving to L.A., and won't be a car ride away. She is leaving for this amazing opportunity, a dream, and I couldn't be happier for her, her talented husband, and their beautiful son.

This is the kind of friend that I can have months of silence with, but never skip a beat. This is the kind of woman that has seen a dark, dark side of me, and I her. This is a woman that I would do just about any-damn-thing for.

We have watched each other brave extreme heartaches; we have celebrated (oh, have we celebrated) the successes. We have fought each other; we have fought those around us together. We have laughed so much, that I think you could combine all the other laughs I've ever had in my life and they still wouldn't equal how much laughter we have shared.

She has taught me how to be strong, taught me how to be a better friend. She has taught me what "commitment" really means in a marriage. She has shown me what it is like to want something so badly only to be disappointed over and over again, all the time never giving up, and finally watching the miracle of hope and possibility happen.

She has taught me to be fearless.

I can't imagine right now--because it is hard to think about--how much, and in what ways, I am going to miss her. Sure, a plane ride from East Coast to West is nothing, and I know I will be a frequent, if not welcome, visitor to LaLa Land—not welcome to L.A. in general; welcomed by her, of course. But there is something about being close enough to get to someone in a relatively short time that makes it ok.

When my dad died, she came up that very day to see me, to take me away from the intense mourning of my family and friends, to release my heart from that vice-grip of agony, if only for a few hours. That is what I mean by a comfortable, easy distance.

When she went to the hospital, I was there the whole time, trying to keep a polite distance for her husband's benefit, ready to run the slightest little errand at a moment's notice.

I cried with her when her father passed, and celebrated with her when her son was born.

When my husband and I left her home last weekend, it was all I could do to not lose it. I didn't want to cry in front of her, because I could see she was treading the edge, and she hates crying in front of people. "Don't tell anyone I cried," she says.

And so I didn't. At least, I held it in until we drove out of sight.

I am really going to miss her.

Fuck This. I'm Ex-Pat-ing Myself.

I can't even talk about the crap-fest that was last night's "debate." So imagine my horror when I saw this little gem on Jezebel.


And just for the record, since when did "patriotism" come in the form of a cheap, plastic pin with a "Made in China" stamp on the back???


A Call to Arms

Sorry for my serious absence folks. I have been on my ass all week with a sickness, and today (Friday) is my first day back to work all week. So yeah.

But more importantly: a good friend has been diagnosed with acute leukemia. I have never met her in person, but have spent time over the last year getting to know her through the internet. I say this so that everyone reading it will, perhaps for one moment, turn their attention and energy to her. Please send your thoughts, meditations, and prayers to her and her family during this incredibly difficult time. And if you live in the Richmond, VA area, please get on the bone marrow donor registry. In fact, wherever you live, go out today and donate blood or sign up for the national bone marrow donor list. Consider it a gift to the world. But at the very least, send your good energy to my friend. She, her husband, and her 2 year old son will certainly appreciate it.

Thanks guys.


How to NOT Build a House

1. Hire a contractor.

2. Make sure said contractor is disguising a serious mental imbalance.

3. Make plans with contractor.

4. After he completes the foundation, make sure he waits at least 6 months before doing anything else to the house.

5. Try to call contractor repeatedly. Make sure he does not call you back.

6. Fire contractor.

7. Re-hire contractor after he has a breakdown, loses 40 pounds, tells you his wife has breast cancer, and that he has crews lined up and waiting to work on your house.

8. Hear nothing from contractor for another month.

9. Call contractor; leave him a message. Make sure he doesn't call you back. Ever.

10. Find out that contractor has a b12 imbalance, and was rushed to the hospital.

11. Hear from contractor's wife. Make sure she blames you for his health problems.

12. Discover the contractor has been committed to a mental institution and has no contact with his family.

13. Re-fire contractor.

14. Hire new contractor.


Ear Candy: Spank Rock

Dirty, sexual, electronic, bumpin'.....

I can't NOT dance when I hear this.

Featuring: Spank Rock
Song: Backyard Betty
Album: Yoyoyoyoyoyo


Boo's Top Ten: Heart Loves

I might as well ride this wave of good cheer while it lasts. (I'm notorious for extreme passion in whatever emotion I'm currently experiencing. You might have noticed. But probably not.)

So, here is my current Top Ten: Heart Loves

10. A warm sunny spot on the soft grass that is just begging for a thick blanket, a book, and a cold margarita.

9. On that note: cold margaritas with fresh lime juice and Patron. No sour mix, please!!

8. Days when you look good, feel good, and all the world knows it.

7. People who are polite in traffic. Thank you!

6. Bums that don't ask me for money, a kiss, or demand anything from me in general. Copper John, in Atlanta: I love you!!! And thank you for my amazing bracelet, the excellent conversation, and your infective energy.

5. Food service industry workers who are pleasant and thoughtful. (The exact opposite: people who think they are too good for their jobs, and basically make everyone else suffer for it. Boooooo!!!!--and not in the good way that is my name.)

4. People who dance like no one is watching. I love you ALL! Even if you can't dance. Maybe especially if you can't dance. You rock.

3. People who are open and aren't afraid to show it. Human emotion is beautiful, terrifying, and completely awesome. (And that is "awesome" used in the dictionarial sense, not the dude-sense.)

2. Moments of good surprise. (Like a smile from the co-worker that is a notorious grump, or a laugh from the groaner, etc. I live for dichotomy.)

and drum roll for the Number One Heart Love of March 2008 is.....

1. People who live their lives honestly and full of passion. My word for the month is passion. Yay for PASSION.