Photo Love: SNAKE in my muthrfukin' YARD

A copperhead, to be exact.

He dead.

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...

ugh.

Un-F#@KING-believable.

I came home today, after a very long and upsetting day, to find the following:

My dog had "buried" two bloody tampons under the pillows of our bed, after apparently chewing on them in various spots on the bed, leaving a bloody trail.

Unfortunately, that's not even the worst of it.



They were my mom's.

I guess it's a good thing that I wasn't already sleeping well at night. This saves me from the nightmares that would be sure to haunt me.


**Update: I just found the missing bloody pad on my beautiful wingback chair. Life is officially hell.**

Extroversion in Action

So, nervous as I am, and despite having not been on stage in a number of years, I have a gig tonight.

Once, in another life, I was a jazz singer. Apparently, I still am. So tonight, I go before the chilled citizens of my fair city of Asheville, the liberal oasis in the midst of the bible belt, and belt out the tunes from the 20s and 30s—the magical era of torch songs and jazz standards—and a few from recent history, as well. (Thank you Norah Jones, for not sucking.)

So if you're in the mood for lobster, jazz, and a negative wind chill, come join me. I'll be taking shots of Patron afterwards.

Cheers,

Boo

The Good, The Bad, and the Hideously Ugly

Let's get right to it:


The Good

Last night me and the hubs saw Queens of the Stone Age, with Dax Riggs opening. One word: SA-WEEEET!!! Dax Riggs=hot and very talented. Josh Homme=hot and very talented.
Great show at a cool club. My friend even got a hug out of Dax. (Oh, and if you haven't heard his latest album, RUN, DO NOT WALK, my friends, to get it: Dax Riggs, We Sing of Only Blood or Love.)

Bonus: Jack White showed up to our little mountain town with his supermodel wife to catch the show!

The Bad

I just received an email from my mom (I love how she always hits me with this crap when I'm at work) about how disappointed she is with me and how I've changed so much in the past couple of years.

Gah. I don't even know how to respond to it right now. I mean, fuck yeah I've changed in the last few years. Ergo: I graduated college, worked as a stockbroker, was a communications director (read: slave) for a museum, got married, bought and sold houses like baseball cards, lost my hero of a father, been on the edge of divorce twice, and acquired a new scar. Um, yeah, I think I've changed just a little bit.

The Ugly

I haven't spoken about this much, seeing as I started this blog after the most recent Superbowl, but I'm a rabid Chicago Bears fan. (Until very recently, I had a Bears tattoo on the back of my neck. Shut up! It was an hommage to my dad after he died. Anyway, it's covered by a black rose now.) They looked GREAT last year, with the exception of an inconsistent QB. But dammit, Sunday looked like my toilet bowl the morning after I tie one on. Shitty. Shitty shit shit shitty shit. Shitty.

Ear Candy to remove the shit:

Dax Riggs: Stop, I'm Already Dead






UPDATE: I had a great conversation with my mom over the phone on my lunch break. We're all good, and I'm a hero, and she should be kinder to herself. Which is all I could ever hope for. A happy mom. Yay.

Dislocations are Disgusting

Our softball team had a game last night (did I mention we suck? we suck) and as we were warming up ( I was slated to play first base) the shortstop (who throws really hard) threw to me and I dislocated my finger. I wish I had taken a picture of it while it was out, but I couldn't stand it and I immediately popped it back into place.

Let me tell you something: for those of you fortunate enough to never have experience a dislocated finger, it is completely disgusting. For example:



This is exactly what my finger looked like, except it was my ring finger. Gross, eh?

It was strange; I knew the ball had hit my hand pretty hard, and I was getting ready to throw it back when I looked down at my hand and saw it all mangled.

I immediately had to look away from it and pop it back into place. (My brother has played rugby for years, and I have seen him relocate fingers many times. I was confident I could do it.)


So here is what it looks like today:





















It is pretty swollen and starting to bruise, but I have some mobility and I don't think I need to see a doctor (contrary to what all my teammates and the Internet says I should do).

I mean, yeah, it is a bit painful, but I can take ibuprofen and it feels fine. The only thing I'm worried about is if I have a minor fracture or something that I can't see without an x-ray. Another issue: I HATE the doctor, hospitals, waiting rooms, etc. I would rather deal with it than go to a doctor, honestly.

Anyway, that's what is new in my world today, so of course I want to broadcast it. I love sharing injury stories, don't you? Tell me a good one.

I'm a Dirty Dirty Girl

HA HA HA! I love that pic. No, I'm not talking about that kind of dirty. (I just wanted to shock you.) I'm talking about being dirty, literally, on the inside.

So I've been thinking about doing a colon cleanse lately (I know, I know, it sounds SO retarded-socialite-with-nothing-to-do), but I'm not talking about the shoving a tube up my ass and having my shit sucked out version. I'm talking about the herbal fast and detox version, which, rumor has it, makes you poop like this. (WARNING! DO NOT VIEW WHILE EATING, OR WHILE THINKING OF EATING, OR GETTING READY TO EAT.) Gah. Gah gah gah gah gah! The only thing that horrifies me more than those images is the prospect that something like that could be inside of me. And I want it out!

I am a fairly healthy person; I try to eat as many veggies as possible, I usually go for the salad over the french fries, and I NEVER eat fast food. (Seriously, the last time I did was years ago, and it wasn't pretty.) So I figure I'm in good shape. But I haven't always been (read: college) and I do drink alcohol fairly regularly (read: almost daily), so I've been thinking about it.

When I was in college, I worked at a co-op, and many of my co-workers swore by the Master Cleanse thingy, which basically consists of drinking nothing but a concoction of organic lemon juice, organic maple syrup, cayenne pepper, and water for 10 to 13 days. But, then again, I was in college, and the idea of intaking nothing but gourmet lemonade did not appeal in the least.

So now I'm older (certainly) and wiser (questionable, but I think so) and I want to take care of my body for the long haul. So I'm thinking about this cleansing idea.

Anyone ever tried it before?

I Love: My Mom. I Don't Love: Living with My Mom.

It was inevitable. Things were going too well. I don't know why I didn't see it coming.

I mean, I'm a married woman. I have run my own household for going on 10 years. I have been financially independent for going on the same decade. But I had to move in with Mom.

My mom is an amazing woman. Seriously. I could go on forever about how she was an opera singer, became an incredibly successful stockbroker with no college education (other than performing arts school, and we know how THAT goes), divorced an incredibly abusive mother and first husband, raised three children and pulled her second husband out of a mountain of debt due to a disastrous first marriage, is a painter, a quilter, a chef, a master gardener, etc. etc. etc., but you might not believe me. In short, she is fucking AMAZING.

HOWEVER! One of the main character issues that comes with the territory of an overachiever (and trust me on this, I AM my mother's daughter) is the control issue.

So, how I ended up living with my mother, again:

Me and my hubs R are building a house. It is on a beautiful piece of land that feels like it is in bum-fuck, but is only 20 minutes from our downtown area. This has been a slow process, starting in March (our land is only just now graded, for those of you to have built your own house, and this is very necessary as we live in the mountains). We put our condo on the market, and wonder of wonders, it sold in a little over a month. Yippee for us! Condo is sold! Bad for us, house is not built, nowhere to go.

My mom has a big ass house. 6 bedrooms, lots of living area, a bar in the basement (seriously, it's awesome), a hot tub, fenced in for the pups. So she offers to let us stay there while we save more money for the house building. R and I think, great! We can save money! But how long can we actually live with her??

Well, it takes about three months to get to the center of the fucking tootsie pop, my friends. Three. Long. Months.

Several Reasons Why The Last Three Months Have Been The Longest Three Months of My Life:

1. My mom's house is for sale. This makes my perfectionist mother an absolute nightmare to live with about house cleaning. And me and the hubs are pretty neat people. She is the Ghangis Kahn of clean.

2. My mom's bitter mood swings. She's working it out. And we are the chopping block.

3. My social life consists ONLY of going out. Rarely do I invite people over, because I will have to deal with the passive aggressive repercussions for weeks afterwards. (Mom: Boo, have you cleaned up the corners of the bathroom where your friend [insert cool, nice friend's name here] might have stepped in dog poo and then walked into the corner in the bathroom? Me: Ummm..... not so much. Mom: *BALLISTIC*)

4. I can't walk around naked. I mean, I could if I wanted to, but come on, that makes for the most embarrassing conversation about groceries I never want to have.

5. Everything strange that happens in the house is the direct fault of me or my hubs.

6. Me and hubs had to celebrate our first wedding anniversary there, with my mom watching some crap really loudly on the TV. We finally decided to scrap a home cooked meal and go out and get drunk.

7. My mom's new PDA has speakerphone. She uses it ALL THE TIME. It is really annoying.

8. Our bedroom is directly beneath the kitchen, and even on the weekends my mom is up around 6am. BOOO for sleeping in!!!

9. My mom has extended big cable package, and watches complete crap on it all day long. Example: you know that really fucking annoying Geico commercial with the cavemen, and how they are making an actual sitcom out of that shit? (I'm dead serious.) My mom is SO into that.

10. And lastly, the biggest reason why living with my mom is unbearable right now: she makes me call her if I'm going to be out late. I'M a 27 YEAR OLD MARRIED WOMAN, AND SHE ACTS LIKE I STILL HAVE A CURFEW.


So, I know all two of you are thinking, Well, Boo, why not just move out?

At the end of June, me and the hubs signed a lease to rent a little house until our new house is built (halleluiah). This little house is so cute. The yard is fenced in for the pup, it is only a 7 minute walk to my office, a 2 minute walk to the awesome organic foods store, and an 8 minute walk to the bars downtown. On the first day of July, we started bringing boxes from our storage unit into said house. After about 5 minutes, I look down at my feet, and they are covered, and I mean COVERED, in fleas. GAH!!! GAH GAH GAH!!!!

We bomb the house. Next day we go back, fleas are still there. We bomb it again. Next day we go back, fleas are still there. We call Terminix and they spray the shit out of it. Fleas ARE STILL THERE!!!!! To date, Terminix has sprayed the house 4 times, and I just heard from hubs today. He went by the house at lunch, and yep, fleas are still fucking there.

So, just when it seemed we were free and clear, going to be living our own lives again, the worst flea infestation our bug guy has ever seen (!) has happened in the house we rented.

I mean, it is almost unbelievable. OH! And get this: my mom, the one who has been the challenge to my mental stability for the past three months, is sad we are moving out, and of course taking it out on us.

At this point, I'm about ready to just live with the fucking fleas.