Saturday Night Jollies Follies

The events I am about to relate really happened this past Saturday night.



I come home with my "friend". I have a backache from building a deck all day. I am in pain, but nothing serious. I am, however, in need of some serious, ahem, sexual healing.

"Friend" falls asleep. I am without relief. I begin to relieve myself, as was a habit during the last stages of my mostly sexless marriage.

Just as I'm reaching liftoff, "friend" wakes up (because apparently I was moaning), and asks me, "Are you ok? Do you need a doctor?"

I promptly lose my liftoff.

"What?" I ask.

"Do you need a doctor?"

...

"For my orgasm?"

"Oh. I thought you were in pain. Because of your back."

We laugh. Alot. And then we both relieve each other. Several times.

Weekendings

I'm feeling resolution. I'm feeling rebirth. I'm feeling discovery. I'm feeling awake.

Soon-to-be-ex Mister Boo came over on Saturday. We went through boxes that haven't seen the light of day in over two years—two years ago, we packed up our lives, moved out of my first home, and began the journey of trying to build one for ourselves.

It is strange to see a life in boxes. I could clearly see all the places he and I had been with one another; we built a quaint, happy little life in some ways. That was really nice to revisit. And it was also really nice to reclaim what was mine from that quaint little life. I tried. I tried to live a small life. I thought that I could be happy with what I had, and learn to live without what I didn't.

Oh, how sorely I underestimated the power of "Me." My drive and determination and my energy, and my need for...well, my need for speed, really.

I read through one of my old journals last night, with a glass of red wine in hand. It was from the period of time right before I got together with my S-T-B Ex. It was full of desperation and self-denial. It was full of problems about an old boyfriend. The same kind of problems that resurfaced in my marriage. I could see the patterns, finally. I could see how I once again jumped into a relationship without thoroughly examining what I wanted from it; rather, I just expected that because I felt "love" and "friendship" and was having a good time, that these things would magically work themselves out.

This is why I think that getting married was the second best decision of my life. I would never have grown as much as I have without it. I have perspective. I have insight into myself. I'm uncovering things within myself that I have hidden for many long years—far longer than my marriage, or any other relationship-based milestone. I have been hiding from myself for a very long time, and I think I have found the key to rediscovering that self. That "Me."

Going through the storage boxes was not painful in the least. In fact, he and I rather enjoyed it. We reminisced over odd and awkward wedding gifts that never left their packaging. We told stories about photos. We laughed over old jokes and personal moments. It was very healing. It was very good closure. (I found an old tattoo design that I've wanted for a long time, and it still speaks to me. I'm going to get it done as soon as I can figure out my finances.)

I have reclaimed my physical life, and my emotional life is following suit.

AAAAND We're Back...

My mom is getting married.
I'm happy for her happiness.
That is all I will ever say about her again.

Hi Guys! Gosh, I really missed you all. I know, it has been a ridiculously long time since I have even tried to write anything here, and as usual I've been stretching myself too thin, but that is neither here nor there.

Lots has been going on with me, but I'm not sure that I'm going to over-indulge as I have in the past. It is starting to seem...strange for me. I have no idea why, but there it is. (I promise, if I have a good story, or I have to beat down another punk on the street or something, you'll be in the know.)


I'm feeling a lot of fresh energy now that our house is somewhat completed (pics eventually/maybe) and I'm ramping up for the next few months that should be pretty exciting. I'm working on a film project--TOP SECRET--and getting together with some excellent musician friends from school to record some music. Yes. Finally. THAT I will certainly keep you updated on, because who knows, I might be touring at the end of the year and maybe we could meet up for a beer and you could bring all your friends to my gig, and that would rock. So yeah, I'll keep you updated. Maybe even sneak some peaks if I can figure out how to get music files to play on my profile. (Anyone know a good widget or something? I'm so out of the hip blogging movement.)

Is it just me, or does this year seem to be brimming with possibilities? I know that the world seems very strained right now, but I feel a lightness on the horizon that I haven't felt in a long, long time. I couldn't honestly say that last time I felt this way, but I would guess that I was around 10 years ago, and that is a deadfully depressing thought. I feel a buzzing in my center that portends good things for me, and I intend to channel it into the dreams and wishes that I've always harbored but for one reason or another never went after. I think it is the right time now. I think I am finally ready.

No new year resolution. No fad diet. Just a simple reaching out for the dream. Reaching out to where I want to be. It is all I can do lately: imagine where I want to be, and who I want to be when I get there. And I have a very strong feeling that it is where I am meant to be.

Sorry if this is all a little woowoo, but I'm in a brain-spill phase and I don't mind being odd.

Speaking of odd, where the HELL is Alex???

Love to you all in the New Year.


-Boo

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.

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.

-Boo

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!


Love,
Boo

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.

Laters.

Boo

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.

Photo Love: Ode to TK

Hee hee!!

What's Going On???

Just to give you a taste of my life in the past few days....



The Good:
My brother's band, Waiting to Bleed (heavy, heavy metal stuff) got signed to their first label. They are producing two albums and a DVD, so I'll keep you 'heads posted.

The Meh:
We fired the contractor that is building our house. More to follow on that later....(after I finish ripping out the remaining hair on my head). AND, I locked myself (accidentally) in our laundry room yesterday morning for, oh, about TWO Hours.

The Bad:
Our local recycling truck crashed into our truck (my baby!!!!), and now the engine resembles nothing more than a Geiger-esque accordian. Wahhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!

And tonight is a full moon/lunar eclipse, so I'm crazy as it is. I'm hoping I'll get through the rest of the week with minimal scarring.

How are y'all???

Back in the Saddle (or, Why My Mother is The Shit)

If you know me in person, and some of you do, then you know that my dad passed away almost two years ago. (Two years?!? Time heals not. It is simply the blessing of the fading memory of pain.) He and my mom were together for 20 years. Needless to say, she was more than devastated, as we all were, when he passed away at age 48. Too, too young.

I don't know if this is a saying, but I'm convinced that it is easier to let go of someone you loved tremendously, someone that you had a wonderful relationship with, than it is to get past a complicated and tumultuous relationship when the other person has died. My mom and dad had a really lovely relationship. It was filled with the small, romantic things that everyone says they want: hidden candies behind the coffee maker, just so she knows he's thinking about her; a bouquet of fresh flowers every Friday ("Friday Flowers"); washing and waxing her car on Sundays--all the good stuff. While the sudden way in which he died was traumatic and completely heartbreaking, we still have all of these small, sweet memories to invoke his presence anytime we choose. A tearful smile, remembering those thoughtful things that showed us every day how he loved us.

After my dad passed, my husband and I moved in with my mom for two months. She was less than a shell of a person, and we constantly worried for her well-being. But my mother comes from a line of women that are both strong, crazy, and crazystrong. And I really mean that. If you ever meet me, you will know what I'm talking about.

My mother is the strongest woman I have ever known. My father passing is one of the lesser traumas in her lifetime. She is my she-ro (thanks for the slang, Verm).

So my mom, now a sexy 50 year old, is single (she refuses to don "widow." She says, "I'm not some dried up old woman that is going to whither away until I die, dammit!") for the first time in a while, and is living alone for the first time in her entire LIFE. She is retired from being an incredibly successful business woman, she is building a new home, and is finally starting to ask herself this question: What do I really want?

I don't know what other people's experiences are, but from my observation, it is hard for single, middle-aged women to find decent dates. My mom, who had been dodging dates left and right, has complained for the past year that all the guys her age are bald, fat, and generally unattractive. And for the most part, I have to agree with her. Where do all the cute older guys go? Friends have been trying to set her up on dates, but with, like, 76 year old retired doctors.

Now, for reference, my mom is a very young 50 year old. She has gray hair, but her face doesn't look a day over 30 (good news for me! woo!). She has an amazing rack, she loves to play, she is learning how to drink (lightweight doesn't begin to describe her tolerance), and she is still in her sexual prime. She doesn't want to date someone that can't control their urine stream. Shit, she doesn't want to date someone with slightly thinning hair! (My dad had a full head of REALLY thick hair. What can I say, she's spoiled! In that regard.) I told her she was just gonna have to find a younger guy. She laughed that off, as she does most of my compliments because she doesn't think she deserves it. Wait, let me rephrase that: she used to laugh that off.

Lately, my mom has blossomed. And not just come out of mourning. She used this horrible experience (losing the love of your life, when your life was really just beginning) to grow herself, to become a better her, and to take life by the horns and really experience it. I guess the long and short of it is: my mom has a boyfriend.

Yes! She does! For the first time in 20 years! And he is HOT. He is 6'3", dark hair, a political writer and commentator (for which I will forgive him, and probably draw him into a lively debate at some point down the road), a singer, and best of all, he is totally infatuated with her.

And she is the happiest I have ever seen her. GO MOM! I love you.

Weekend Update, For Better Or Worse

What a beautiful time of year to live where I live. The drought has created some water issues here, but on the bright side, the gorgeous autumn leaves have hung on for weeks! I thought last weekend was the peak, but this weekend proved me wrong.

Anyway, had a crazy good and somewhat weird weekend. Friday I had dinner with some lovely lady-friends, and then we went to a good friend's incredible art show. Her pieces are exquisite, and in my opinion create the perfect blend between science and art. Thoughtful, technically fantastic, and so so so creative. I own two of her pieces already, the hubs and I are in negotiations (with each other) about acquiring a third.

After the art show, we went to a CD release party and heard some awesome punk/pop music. Watch for this name: Bullets and Lace. And come ask me about way back when, ok? Just file that away for future reference. Good beer, good people, good music: good times. And then, drunken pizza eating at 2am.

Saturday: what the hell did I do on Saturday? OH! I put finish on the fantastic shelves my bebe is building for a client. I can't WAIT until he starts building awesome furniture for our new house, which better happen in the near future. I should be getting, in no particular order: a dining table, a bedroom suite (bed, sidetables, and lamps--glee!), and possibly a concrete countertop island for the new kitchen. Ga-LEE! FYI: my husband is a fine woodworker. Fine in SO many ways, but in this case meaning he does everything by hand. He does gorgeous work, people, and we can deliver. (Not-so-subtle plug for my bebe.)
So, a couple hours in the studio with my bebe, and then we showered, ate dinner, and watched a movie at a friend's place, on his GIANT screen TV in his own, personal viewing room. With refreshments. Ah, life is good.

After that, things took a turn for the strange. My husband is not much of a night person, unlike me, so he opted to go home and relax while I opted to go to a bonfire play-along with some friends. I didn't realize that this would be a bonfire of a SHIT TON of people, so I was mentally prepared to walk into the dark backyard and have to fight for seating space. That, and a person that I call a friend put moves on me, in a not very attractive or respectful way, so that was awkward, to put it nicely. I mean, he grabbed me in a hug and pulled me onto his bed! What the eff?? He was totally, obliteratingly drunk, but that is never an excuse for me. The best I can hope for is that he doesn't remember doing it, so we can just pretend it didn't happen. That, and I will never let myself be in a room alone with him. Gah. That shit just stinks.
Needless to say, I fled the scene, back to my loving husband, where I reveled in his warm, sleepy arms and sweetness. It never fails to make me appreciate the man in my life when weird shit like that happens. I appreciate him on a daily basis, actually.

Ok, quick tangent and I'll get back to talking about me. Girls, tell me something: do you ever get tired of the wolf-whistles, the stares, and the general trashy things that men do to get your attention? In my town, a lot of that goes on. Even the damn homeless guys. It's weird, they ask for change, and then give you the undressing-eyes look. Creepy. So yeah, it's times like that when I appreciate my uber-thoughtful, sensitive, artistic, atypical man more than ever.

Another tangent: I think I'm more masculine that my husband. I don't mean in terms of physicality, AT ALL. He's a hairy, well-formed (VERY well-formed, I must say) man with no tendencies towards fancery. I mean, it's all I can do to get him to wear a shirt with a collar if we go out somewhere nice. I'm speaking of masculinity in terms of attitudes and interests. Por ejemplo: I love sports, and during football season, my Sundays are spent plugged in, either at a sports bar with my brother or with a beer on my couch. He would rather take a bath, drink some tea, and read. (I do that stuff too, but just not on Sundays.) Also, I am a dirty old man. He is not. Ok, well maybe it's just the sports thing, then. I'm addicted to pro football and college basketball. Gah, tangent over.

So yeah, going home to my bebe was really comforting. God, I love that man.

Sunday, I was hung over. We met my mom and brother for brunch and the best bakery in the world, had delicious quiche, coffee, and soup, and talked about holiday plans (including the Green Mill Jazz Club in Chicago=HELLS YES). AND hubs and I saw our house plans. (We're building a house.) And they ROCK. I can't believe how lucky we are right now, to be able to do this. It is only the beginning. Me and hubs have SO many plans, and it is very fulfilling to see something come to fruition.

Ok, so brunch was great, and we went to the house site, and that was awesome (I found pink granite rocks all over the place! great energy), and then we went home and I crashed for what I thought was the rest of the evening. Oh, how wrong I was! The awesome, excellent, amazing hubs come home from the studio with two free tickets to see The Regina Carter Quintet, and we had less than an hour to eat dinner, get ready, and scoot. So we did. And DAYUM, that woman can play! Jazz violin is so rare these days, and she is single-handedly bringing it back. It was an amazing show. I commented to hubs that we have good damn luck when it comes to seeing great jazz music. The show was so fantastic, and it really made me want to start performing again (I used to sing jazz, back in the day), so if you live in my general area and you play jazz and are interested in getting a gig together, let's talk.

All in all, a good weekend. And now I need a weekend to rest from my weekend. Which happens to be my song and dance, as of late.

Cheers.

Bob's Big Boy turned into Dirty Old Man

Well, at first I was going to go as Bob's Big Boy, a suggestion courtesy of my friend Kate's cool boyfriend. But somehow, that didn't quite work out. So I asked myself, "Self?" says I, "what is a comfortable option for a costume, preferably one where I can hump people's legs and wear a diaper?" And thus, this picture:



The key to a successful costume: a good prop.
(See also, dirty old man balls.)

Horrible Accidents and Gnarly Scars: A Tour of My Body

I love a good scar story. For many reasons, but a) there is usually a visual aid, and b) the pride with which people tell these stories of pain, stupidity, or sheer dumb luck. Because, let's face it, no one tries to mutilate themselves (and when I say no one, I am not including those sycophantic leaders of tomorrow(i.e. unfortunate teenagers) that cut each other because they are so emo, and I also don't include anyone who gets off on pain. Because that is not in the realm of normalcy).

Anyhoo, love me a good scar story, so in order to get the ball rolling, I'll tell you my best.

• Middle finger, right hand, age 2.

So I'm two years old, and hanging at the mall with my mom. She is at the top of the escalator, probably fighting with bio-dad, and I have somehow wandered to the bottom of the escalators. I look between the moving stairs, and there is the awesome green light, that in my 2 year old brain I recognize as Jello. (Everyone loves J-E-L-L-O!) So I stick my little hand between the stairs, promptly almost ripping my entire finger apart. By the time my mom pries my little hand from the escalator, I have mercifully blacked out and my finger is dangling away from the bone, which luckily, wasn't broken. I just had to have my finger stitched back on, and now I have a Frankenstein-style scar. Rockin'.

• Upper left thigh, age 11.

I'm playing with our then-canine pal, Fluffy, (my brother named her) in the backyard of our quaint little home. I jump onto the wooden swing (you know the type; it's a bench with long woode slats) and Fluffy jumps up beside me. I jump off and turn around, expecting her to jump off after me, and she has somehow gotten her little back leg stuck between the wooden slats of the swing, and is hanging there, yelping in extreme pain. Horrified and scared, I run over to free her from the evil swing, and she reaches over and clamps her jaws around the top of my leg, causing me to start screaming at the same pitch of her yelping. My dad runs from the garage to free us both, take me to the doctor, and Fluffy to the vet. Sad ending: Fluffy never came near me again, and ran away about three weeks after that. I was so so so sad. :(

• Right ankle, age 16.

I played soccer through middle school and high school, and in high school, our team was damn good. (Won State Champ two years running.) During practice, a particularly nasty girl on my team (we were scrimmaging) slide-tackled me, and foot got stuck in a small hole on the field. My foot stayed there, and my body went forward. I ripped every tendon and ligament in my ankle, and was on crutches for the rest of the season. Stupid bitch. She's lucky that I didn't need surgery. I almost did, but I begged out of it. Fuck some damn surgery, you know?

• Left gluteus muscle, small scars on upper left thigh, age 20.

This is the one scar that I wish I didn't have, mainly because it affects how I look in a bikini (which isn't half bad). Me and my college buds (Craige Dorm effin' rules) went to a friend's evergreen tree farm in the mountains for Labor Day weekend. Lots of drinking and driving ATVs (of which I am a pro; I've been driving them since I was 10 on my grandparent's farm). The cabin is on top of a small mountain, with a long, winding gravel driveway that leads to the road. A few of my friends were leaving, and I was teaching my friend Ali how to drive the ATV. With me sitting on the back. Wearing flip-flops. With a beer in my hand. A combination that I have come to realize would not affect the outcome whatsoever (except for the flipflop part). So Ali and I decide it would be a grand time to chase our friends at top speed down this steep, rocky, cut-into-the-side-of-the-mountain driveway. Coming around the first turn, I can already tell that Ali isn't cutting sharply enough, and as I'm starting to tell him as much, he screams, "OH SHIRT!!! HOLD ON!!"
Our right front tire catches the edge of the road, and we flip off the drive and careen down the mountain. Luckily, after the second flip, I was thrown off, and after the third, Ali made it off. But when the ATV landed the first time, it landed directly on my ass, bounced, and kept going. Being that I can't move, Ali attempts to carry me up the mountain. We make is to a field, and I have to walk the rest of the way to the cabin. My flipflops, of course, flew off, and we have to trek through briars and brambles. My feet looked like I had run through razorblades. We get back to the cabin, where everyone else is blindly drunk, and for the first time I look down at my legs. I was wearing shorts. Protruding from my left leg was over 15 sticks. I pulled them all out, except one, which when I pulled it out it broke right beneath the skin and stayed inside my leg.*
Luckily, I had not damaged my pelvic gurdle (with the weight of the ATV crashing onto me, it should, by all rights, have crushed my bones to powder), however, it completely severed my left gluteus muscle, causing interal bleeding, etc.
But I made it out alive.

There have been other occasions of serious proportions, but after the ATV accident, everything pales in comparison. So give me your worst people. I love this "shirt".


*Oh, the stick was buried so deeply, the doctor thought I was lying. I insisted he cut the fucker out, or I would goddamn well do it myself, right there. After digging 4 inches into my leg, he found it. It was shaped like the barb on a fishhook. I still have it at home.
There was nothing, on the other hand, that he could do for my ass. So now I sport a highly fashionable and well-earned dent that goes entirely across my left ass cheek. Hot, I know. My husband calls it my handle.

Bullets.

• You want to know what is cooler than cool? Walking into the bedroom after a relaxing shower, loosening my softball-knotted muscles (I'm the starting pitcher! HELLS yeah) with some stretching, and finding my husband in bed, nekkid, and in a kinky mood. :)

• Also, these awesome SHUES that I've wanted forever, and they FINALLY went on sale!
  

• And then watching The Last King of Scotland. That is a DAMN good movie.It doesn't get much better than that.
  

• And I have another tattoo appointment today! Woo!

• And we are buying (because someone hit my husband and totalled his truck) a new car.
  

• Jucifer on Sunday night.

• Girls night tonight (after tattoo plezh-ah).

• Being forgiven!

• The weekend!!!

Have a great one, everyone. Even you, Vermillion.

Boo out.

I LOVE other people's bebes.

My dear friends created a dear bebe. And here are my first impressions of Isaac "Ike" Rose.
















Sweet eyes. A perfect mix of mom and dad.












Sweet soul. Barely a cry all weekend.












Curious with the world and ready to start discovering.





The best thing about my friends having bebes is that I can play with them, and buy cute bebe things for them, and then go home without them! I love kids, and I love having my free time, so being an aunt is the perfect in-between.

Isn't he precious?? Seven weeks old. And I can't wait to start teaching him all of the illegal and evil things I have collected during my life. MWUAH-HA-HA-Haaaaa....

A Quick and Easy Cheer Up Solution

Old pictures from friends, drunken parties, the dude that passes out, and the people that write all over him with a permanent marker.

(Click Image for Uber Enlargement!)




I, of course, drew a penis on his forehead. He was enormously pissed, but I had a good guffaw about it.

Thanks G. I totally needed that.

Oh, and do you remember him waking up and screaming in my face, even though I was NOT the instigator (for the first time in my life)?? Heee!