you really can't go wrong with a mr. hankey christmas decoration

Simon's not quite right ... He was born with a peanut in his head.

Happy Christmas to all!

holiday interlude

The holiday spirit has finally pervaded the Haus of Eville. The tree is up and twinkling ... even though it has about 1/4 the ornaments it usually does, and all of them are plastic or paper or cloth so The Minion doesn't destroy them. No presents under the tree this year - for the same reason.

We went and had pictures with Santa today. The Minion threw an unholy fit and refused to sit by himself, so we ended up with a nice family picture. Doubly nice since POF had agreed to go with us. We have very few photos of all three of us together, so that was a nice bonus.

Then we went and got a pizza and The Minion sat in the booth with POF like a little adult and ate his "peetzee". So damn cute it's just ridiculous.

With a fire in the fireplace, and a weenie dog under the tree, life is good. (Jerry is scared of the evil fire in the fireplace and won't even be in the living room unless I am. Then he hides as far away from the fireplace as possible. Currently, that's on the other side of the room - under the tree - with the couch blocking any possible view of the crackling scariness. He's such a wittle girl sometimes)

And in totally unrelated news, I am waiting on pins and needles for the premiere of The Hasselhoffs this weekend on A&E. It's pretty much guaranteed to be a train wreck you can't look away from, and I can't wait!

Facebook - what's the line between okay and just creepy?

Most people have old friends and classmates coming out of the woodwork to friend them on Facebook. Not me. Which is actually okay, and a little bit funny.

I mean, I make no secret about the fact that I was a Super Bitch in high school. And well, I sorta still am. My general rule has been: I wasn't friends with you then, I don't care about you know. So yeah, no one really goes out of their way to friend me. And I don't really friend request either.

That doesn't mean I don't get curious. See, I have this memory that remembers all kinds of stuff. I can tell you the names and plots of books I read in 5th grade. All my teacher's names, back to pre-school. And a large number of classmates names from then too. And sometimes my brain kicks in and I wonder about that girl I was friends with in 3rd grade, or that guy in my history class from 8th grade. Sometimes I will search a name and see if I find them, just out of curiosity. Especially elementary school. I remember all those kids, but for the most part, after 6th grade, I never saw them again. We went to different junior high/high schools and that was that.

I've had a friend tell me that someone she had gone to school with in like 3rd grade had found her on Facebook and how cool it was that they reconnected, etc. And that got me thinking ... what's the line? When is that cool and when is it creepy?

I mean, what do you say to these people?

Hey there Jennifer? Remember me? We went to elementary school together. I spent a weekend at your house once. I remember passing out flyers at the strip mall with you and your siblings protesting Liquor By The Drink in our town. I didn't even know that that meant since I was only 11. You had a weenie dog named Pooh Bear and I thought he was super cool, and to this day I am a dachshund lover. I thought it was cool that your dad was famous but still answered the door in his bathrobe and cowboy boots. And that stuffed cougar or whatever it was in your den scared the crap out of my mom. So, what's new with you?

Or ...

Hi Chris! We went to school together. I remember that you were super smart and skipped at least one grade. You always used to wear that stupid t-shirt with a teddy bear on it - something from that show MASH. Radar maybe? Anyway, I figure you are either like an astrophysicist with a giant brain, or a dishwasher at a Denny's after your total mental breakdown. Which is it? I may have money on it. Hope you are doing well!

You probably don't remember me. We were in band together. Not that we were friends. Everyone pretty much tormented you. How could we not really. I mean, you went by Lenny. That's just asking for a beating in those formative junior high years. I hear you are like super rich now or something. Cool. Glad you turned that whole bullying thing around in your favor. Take care!

Hey there crazy back stabby frienemy from high school? I hear you've been married at least 3 times. Yeah, apparently you are just as batshit crazy as your psycho mom with her multiple personalities. I hope to God (and Buddha, and Allah ... hell, throw in Zeus and Athena too for good measure) that you haven't reproduced. So, what's new with you?



See ... that's just creepy. Why would these people want to be my friends? Why would I want to be friends with someone that I haven't seen since before puberty? It's just weird. Or maybe it's just me.

Then there are the people that you try to find, but they just aren't anywhere. Those really intrigue me. Are they alive? How can there just be no trace of them at all? What are they hiding? These thoughts run around in my head sometimes. Cause I am nuts like that.

It's no wonder people are afraid to friend me. I am a little scary.

It's possible my liberal roots are showing ...

I try not to get too political in general, but this whole mosque nonsense has just pushed me past my ability to ignore stupid shit.

I wasn't in NYC on 9/11. I don't know anyone who was. I didn't lose a friend or family member. So, that being said, I have no idea what those people may feel about the whole thing - when it happened, and everything that's gone on to do with it since.

I realize that people might not like the idea of a mosque being built, as they are saying, at Ground Zero.

But ...

It's not like it's smack dab in the middle of Ground Zero. It's like 2 blocks away, around the corner. Technically still in that area, but not right where one of the Towers stood or anything. And if you've ever been to NYC, you know that a city block there is big. It's not like a neighborhood block in your subdivision. This thing is quite a little jaunt from the actual Ground Zero location.

Besides that, it's not like the people that will be using this mosque are the people that engineered 9/11. Newsflash people, not every Muslim is a fanatical America hater bent on destroying us.

Just like we have those crazy fanatical evangelists. Every religion has them. They don't make up the majority.

Now, yes, a large section of the Middle Eastern people do chant "Death to America" on a regular basis, and most of them are probably Muslim. But that really isn't a religious thing so much as a political thing. They may hide it behind religion, but it's not really about that. And they are basically brainwashed into believing that by the political and religious leaders that control them. They hate America, but don't really know why.

I saw a documentary on North Korea. The reporter was a British lady and she went to a school. The kids she talked to were about 8-10. She asked them if they had a message for the President (Baby Bush at the time), what would it be. And one of the kids actually said that she would tell him to stop killing babies. WTF? I may lay blame for a lot of things in Bush's lap, but I don't recall a baby slaughter of any sort. They are misguided. Granted, it's probably these same misguided people that will blow us off the map one day, but still. They are a only going with what they've been indoctrinated with. It's sad actually.

It seems to me that America was founded on a few key principles. One of those was Freedom of Religion. History class was a long time ago, but I do seem to recall something about how the first settlers were eager to come over here to get away from the religious oppression of their homeland. They came here to start over and have a place where they could worship their way openly.

America is supposed to be "The Greatest Country In The World". And we try to perpetuate that myth. But let's be realistic here. We are not the melting pot we claim to be. We do not support all different cultures, races and religions. And heaven forbid you be gay. Gay and want to have a family - just not acceptable. We don't want people to be "different".

America is turning into a place that wants us to be white. Conservative Christians. Ban the Mosques. Build a wall to keep the illegals out, and send them back if they do get in. Don't think too differently, don't express radical opinions. Hate anyone or anything that isn't "normal".

That's not what America is supposed to be about. It amazes me that people seem to forget what this country was really created for ... especially while they are on their soapbox screaming about protecting the Constitution.

Fear breeds hate. And politicians love to incite fear in their followers. Pay attention people. Use your brains and think for yourselves. Don't just swallow what the talking heads tell you. Don't let political agendas shrouded in religious rhetoric take away things you may not even realize you have.

Enough of that. On a different note, The Minion smells, and has just informed me of "poop". I love being a mom.

Every girl has a list of the guys she lusts after. Her crushes. Some secret, some not. Rock stars, celebrities, etc. You know - The List.

Well, my list has been basically the same since high school. That makes me feel old just saying that. And also predictable and maybe a little bit boring. But why fix something that ain't broke?

In recent years, my list has taken a beating. Slowly but surely, my lust worthy men are being eliminated because, well, they just aren't aging well. Finally, The List is broke and needs fixing.

The first to go was Keanu.

Oh Keanu, how I did love you so. Through the adorable stupidness of Bill and Ted. The sudden actiony hotness of Point Break and Speed. The super Neo sexy that followed. I was even willing to overlook those few really bad attempts at foreign accents.

But then you started wandering around looking like a homeless person with that scraggly beard of yours. I know you are eccentric and a bit quirky. I can go with that. But that excessive creepy facial hair is just too much. You gotta go. Shave that shit off your face and I might reconsider.

Then it was Joe Elliott from Def Leppard. I have swooned over this man since I was 15. The accent doesn't hurt either. I am a total sucker for accents. But Joe isn't aging so well. He's gotten a bit paunchy. And suffered through some truly unfortunate haircuts recently. Apparently going through about 5 wives has not done a lot for his complexion. Sadly, he had to go.

(Luckily, his guitar player Phil Collen was happy to step into his slot. This man is just ripped. He's a tiny little guy - like 5'6" or so - but just gorgeous. And there's that accent again. But really, it's watching him play. He's got this total casual swagger thing that just oozes sexy.)

But the really sad one is Nikki Sixx. I mean, this is a man that has basically consumed more drugs that humanly possible and survived. And did it all looking really good. If you are into that whole trashy rock star glam thing. Yes, please! He was doing so well. He made it to 50 and he was still looking fit and healthy. Then he started dating Kat Von D.

I like Kat Von D. I mean, she's not even 30 and has totally built this tattoo empire. That's pretty damn cool. I can even deal with the excessive tattoos she has. I don't really like to look at her hands, but other than that, I can ignore the rest. Granted, I think she looks like she's been out all night, and probably smells like a stale ashtray. She sorta has that Axl Rose vibe for me. I always just felt like he needed a good bath. So, yeah, I like her, but I really want to see her have a nice long soak.

And so she's half his age. Shit, he's Nikki Sixx. He can do that. He's supposed to do that. But then, it started to happen. She just sucked the hot right out of him. He started getting pasty looking. And bloated. And well, old. What the hell happened?!?!? I hear they broke up, so maybe there's hope. But for now, he's definitely benched.

So that makes me wonder ... do I need a new list? And if I do, who the hell do I put on it?!?!?!

All I can think of is those creepy middle aged women whose thoughts alone about Taylor Lautner should get them arrested. Or the scary women that go to their kids' school football games and leer at the cute boys. Shudder. Obviously, younger is not an option for me. It makes me feel like a child molester.

So, if I can't go younger, then what? Older? That's almost more disturbing. It makes me think of that movie Big Daddy and the line about old balls. ick.

Truthfully, there's just not a lot that I dig in my age group. Well, there's Kiefer Sutherland. He's sorta crazy and appears to have some sort of drinking issue, but that's kinda cool. It's a Kiefer kind of thing to tackle a Christmas tree in a hotel lobby. On him, it's endearing. On someone I was dating or married to, it would be grounds for divorce.

Jason Statham is pretty hot too - again with the accent. And that's all that comes to mind.

When did I stop noticing hot guys? Is that a mom thing that just happens? If so, that is just sad. I am determined to find me some new hotness for The List. Age appropriate of course. And if that doesn't work, then I guess I will start slinging back a couple glasses of wine before leering cute boys that are not even old enough to drink yet.

This weekend I endured another round of Twilight mania. What the hell is wrong with people? No, really, I need to know.

First, no one in their right mind should ever, ever, EVER think a vampire is sexy when he friggin' sparkles. That's just wrong. Vampires do not SPARKLE. Not under any circumstances. (Well, maybe if you rolled one in glitter and put it under a disco ball, but I don't really see that happening.)

Point is, vampires are all scary and hidden in the shadows. They are maybe evil, but always sexy. If I saw a vampire and he was all, "We have to hide because we sparkle in the sunlight", I would totally laugh in his face and tell him what a douchebag he was. Then I would make it my life's mission to follow him around, making fun of his sparklyness at every opportunity. Sparkly vampires are just dumb.

Second, what the hell is wrong with all these 30 something women being practically orgasmic over Tayler Lautner? I agree that he is a very nice looking kid. But he is a kid!!! He lives with his parents. He isn't even old enough to drink. He's barely old enough to drive. These thoughts you are having are illegal. And also, a little bit icky. Maybe I am just a prude or whatever, but he is a teenager. Soccer moms should NOT lust after teenage boys.

Now, I admit, that there have been a few times in the past several years when I have gone to high school football games for one reason or another. And I have seen a few boys that were cute. And I have thought to myself, "Gee, he's cute". This was immediately followed by the clanging of WARNING! DANGER! bells in my head, followed by the urge to vomit as I think, "That thought could get me arrested".

What else irritates me? That damn oil spill. Here's a novel idea fellas. Why don't we stop bitching about who's fault it is, or who should have done what when, and actually get off our asses and do something about it? I know that sounds like crazy talk, but trust me - it might actually work. Beyond that, send Ty Pennington and Martha Stewart down there. They will have the mess all cleaned up, and a new oil rig built in like 3 days. And where the hell is Oprah? Couldn't she have financed the entire cleanup effort by now?

Also, is no one thinking about hurricane season? What the hell happens when a hurricane comes through the Gulf and picks up all that oil, then moves over the states dropping oily rain over everything? Isn't that like Level 3 Apocalypse or something? I mean, if everything is covered in rain laden with oil and chemicals, isn't that pretty dangerous? Food and water supplies all the way up the food chain are contaminated. Sounds pretty serious to me. Does no one feel the need to mention this scenario? Mention it to Nance Grace ... she'll rant about it for weeks.

I hope people that park in a handicapped spot without a sticker or plate go to a special area of Hell where they have to park a mile away from EVERYTHING and walk. This includes toilets.

My sweet precious angel pup is going to be 15 soon. She's starting to show her age and it scares me. She is my heart and soul and I don't know what I will do without her. I wish she was a tiny teacup size so I could carry her everywhere with me. I just can't imagine life without her, even though I know it will happen one day.

It's fitting that The Minion's first real understandable word is her name. He crouches down and wiggles his fingers and calls her. She is unimpressed and heads the opposite way. It's so cute.

The Minion is into everything. All. The. Time. He eats like a pig and is so long and skinny I call him my little stringbean. His new favorite thing is to climb up on the couch and throw himself around like he's having some sort of fit. He's actually wanting you to wrestle him. Thanks to his Daddy for teaching him that.

Speaking of POF ... he went the other day and got his hair cut. Brought the mohawk back. I have to say, he's one of the few people that can actually pull it off. He looks like a badass, and he knows it. I think it makes him look more like the wild Indian that he is. I like him today. Possibly because I haven't seen him since 8 AM. hee.

Minion's awake. Motherhood calls. It trills actually. Like a cross between a dove and Gizmo from Gremlins. Yes, my kid is "unique".

What's fun and educational, and possibly somewhat racist?

Well, it's this. The Passover Ten Plagues Finger Puppets.


I first came across these in a post last year by Steamy. I laughed so hard I cried, and decided then and there that this was quite possibly the most awesome thing ever ... and I had to have it.










So, I searched online and found a site that had them. I bought two - one for myself, and one for a friend of mine who is just as sick and twisted as I am. No one but her could really understand the truly amazingness of this item.

(They are fun AND educational - it says so
on the label)

So, I get them and I grab one randomly for my
friend's gift, and hang mine up from the mirror
on the dresser in our room. I feel the need to
look at it every time I come in or out of the room.
It's just so wrong, and funny, it never fails to make me laugh.







Now, in Steamy's original post, and in the set I gave to my friend, the Darkness plague was a little sad faced house, all black and pitiful. Cute. In fact, all of them are pretty darn cute. For signs of the apocalypse, these things are damn cheerful. Except one. And it seems a little off.

I noticed it a couple of months ago, and I've been just about giddy with it ever since. The fact that this is an actual Jewish educational toy, purchased from a Jewish educational site just makes it all the more delightful. See my Darkness isn't a house. It's ... well ... it's a little bit racist. Do you see it? Surely it's not just me.


See it here, right in the middle of the happy plague of locusts, and the death of the firstborn. Firstborn's not too happy either, but then, he's dead, so that probably explains it.
















Just to give you the total picture of awesomeness, here's some close-ups of the rest.

Note that Hail is apparently Bozo the Clown. Very, very interesting.

The Cattle Plague is looking a bit distressed, but in a comical and fun-loving sort of way.

And though Mr. Boils looks more than a little vexed at his dermatological condition, he still manages to pull of an air of whimsical charm.

I thought the Death of the Firstborn deserved an encore.

Don't Blood and Rain of Frogs look like happy little pals? And I think maybe Blood has a bit of indigestion, or possibly a case of IBS.

That lion (aka the fun-filled Rampage of the Wild and Deadly Animals) looks like he's just licking his chops in anticipation of some human snacks.

And the cheeky guy next to him ... that would be Lice. Who knew that Lice were so personable?

I've been thinking about the possibly "educational" uses for these finger puppets, and all it does is make me laugh. While I guess some high-minded religious types might be able to successfully incorporate these into a lesson that is entertaining and educational, all my scenarios land right smack in the middle of two categories: Blasphemy and Going Straight to Hell.

Well, hello there. It's been a while. Apparently I've been in sort of an anti-writing mood. Or rather an anti-computer mood. I hardly ever turn the thing on these days.

I was totally addicted to Mafia Wars and Farmville. Haven't touched either of them in over a month. Strange. POF is mad that I haven't been keeping up with his Facebook page for him. Oops. I just don't find it interesting at present.

Most people would call it a case of the blues. But blue is a happy color to me. For me, it's a case of the pinks. The Evil Pinks. It's made me blah and just not really interested in much of anything outside of The Minion.

But things have been busy here at the Haus of Evil. POF got his fancy blueprint type drawing software on the computer, so I fear I have lost him forever. It's called AutoCAD, and it is the Devil. Anything involving geometry usually is.

Also, this morning, he practically levitated off the couch when Robin Meade from HLN was reporting live from Nashville. He actually said the words "Robin's in Nashville, we need to stalk her". Cute, but a little scary. I had no idea he had such feelings for her. He will never ever live it down. heh.

The Minion fell out the back door yesterday and got his first concrete scrape on his big ole noggin. Luckily I was able to realize he was launching himself off the step in time to grab one arm and, with my cat-like reflexes and grace (snort), was able to prevent him from slamming down face first. Instead he barely even hit the concrete and just has a minor scrape on the side of his forehead. I however, have sore muscles and a knot in the middle of my back where the door handle tried to penetrate a lung. Fun times. It scared the crap out of me, and I was amazed that I managed to not fall and break something myself. Coordination is not something I have in abundance.

I have been lazy and horrible and stopped walking daily on the treadmill. Which makes me angry at myself cause I was really in a rhythm there and was noticing a difference in how my clothes fit. I lost my willpower for some reason and haven't found it again. Taking a nap when The Minion does has been much more to my liking. Or reading a book. Or watching TV. Basically, I am just lazy.

I don't even have anything funny to say. Or hateful. I am definitely not in top form. Maybe it's due to too much Yo Gabba Gabba.

We finally managed to schedule a family beach vacation for this year. We didn't get to go last year, and I could definitely use a break. Plus, seeing The Minion on the beach will be awesome. But now we have that whole oil spill / possible beginning of the apocalypse thing happening, so who knows if we'll get to go or not.

I blame the Queen Mother. She has an astounding track record at destruction. For years, she would just mention in passing an area she would like to visit, and the next thing we knew, it would be totally devastated by some sort of natural disaster. This is a record though, even for her.

Before I get even more boring, I must go and bathe. The Minion finally fell asleep, and I actually have a lunch date today. I am sure she would appreciate decent personal hygiene.

So, here we sit, at the Haus Of Eville, watching the flood waters rise around us. The wieners are not pleased. We have a no pee/poop ban until water goes away. Fun times. The Minion is oblivious.

We've had rain before, but never flooding like this. I am not into it at all. Partly because I just know our crawlspace is flooding ... and if we have a tornado, this is where we have to go.

See, POF has his Evacuation Plan for danger. And it involves crawling under the house. Cause we really don't have a safe place inside. Technically, the safe room would be the front bathroom. Except that it has a window and a giant ass mirror. Hello flying death shards. Not cool.

And my claustrophobia is not gonna be into climbing in a tiny ass closet with another adult, a small child and two weenie dogs. No thank you - I will be huddled under the flying death shards. Better yet, I will just go stand up on the hill with a big metal pole and wait for what comes.

So, the Plan. We are supposed to grab our prepacked supplies, leash the hounds (in their storm ready harnesses, of course), grab the Minion, and traipse outside, around the house, and to the door that goes under the house. Then, we are supposed to hop down into the space - which isn't really a crawl space, you can sorta stand bent over - bringing the dogs, supplies and kids with us. And it's dark down there. And dirty. With dirt. Or mud. And water. And did I mention the dark. Probably bugs. Crawly bugs. Shudder. I do not like this plan.

The Mother of Evil entered us in a local contest to win a storm shelter. Nice thought. Except that she made me watch the video about it. It goes under the floor of your garage, and it is approx. 6 feet wide and 12 feet long. It's basically a big metal coffin. It looked like crawling into the cockpit of a fighter jet. Or an Indy car. Uh, no thank you. Again, flying death shards for me, thanks.

My 80 year old grandfather, however, will not be deterred. I love him, don't get me wrong. But he thinks it's like 1950 or something. No concept of the present world dangers. He doesn't watch the news. Refuses to even discuss the fact that one block away is the crack riddled gang land of his area. Because his street is still the same. Mother of Evil and I get very frustrated.

We're in like Level 3 Apocalypse Watch here. Roads are flooded and closed. Trees and power lines down. Just craziness. The mayor of Nashvegas released a statement this morning telling everyone to stay home and not go out unless it was an emergency.

So what does my Granddaddy do ... he goes to church. Told Mother of Evil that there were "some logs in the road, so we had to go the long way around". Logs in the road. Mom sees footage of the area on TV, and the mall area is totally flooded and there are whole trees down. Whole entire trees and flooded parking lots. Scary. And my grandfather is all "La De Da, some logs in the road, La De Da".

Of course his church didn't cancel services, though most others did. But I won't get into that. He's home safe, and hopefully staying there. He's one that will go out and try to get across it, through it, etc. just to see if he can. Makes me nuts. He thinks I overreact.

I can't believe the idiots that are still out driving around, like it's no big deal. People, the interstates are FLOODED and closed in places. One local news station has 6 inches of water on their ground floor. The children's hospital has water in their lobby. This is serious. Stay the hell home. Duh.

Then again, go ahead and get out in it. Maybe your dumb ass will get swept away to a far away land. Sorta a survival of the fittest situation. And this Darwin fish is taking its little feet and running to higher ground.

Things have been busy here at the Manor of Evil. We've been doing some work out in the yard - the moat needed to be re-dug and those alligators needed a dental. Things are getting back into shape, and it's lovely to sit out back and look at the lovely view. Especially when the Venus Fly Traps are hard at work. Their little smacking sounds can be quite soothing in the twilight.

We have a bat house to put up, but I still haven't found a location that I really like for it. I do have bird houses up, and feed in the feeders. The alligators do need a snack.

I've also been doing my duty and getting on the treadmill every day. Well, almost every day. At least 5 days a week, which for an exercise hater is pretty good. We've even gone to the park a couple of days and walked there. And with some SPF 10,000, I managed not to fry to a crisp.

Thank goodness The Minion seems to have gotten his father's skin tone.

The Furry Minions have loved frolicking in the back yard since we've had such nice weather. Of course, that means we have to listen to Rhubie's incessant gnawing on her feet since she's allergic to grass. And Jerry just licks all the time anyway. It's enough to make my eye twitch sometimes. I've even threatened to put a muzzle on him. Or rip his little tongue out of his head. Which I would never ever ever do ... there's a Special Hell for people who mistreat animals. But still. Sometimes. That licking noise is just really annoying.

I'm not feeling funny today. Sorry. But the kid is still entranced by that Shake Weight commercial, so that's always good for a laugh.

The Minion is mesmerized by the Shake Weight commercial. It comes on, and he freezes, staring at the TV. Last night there was even some drool involved. I don't know what's going on with that commercial, but it's hypnotizing the toddler in this household. Which is actually quite hilarious.

Avocado Jesus


So, I must confess that I am somewhat addicted to guacamole. Not like my book addiction, but close.

See, for Christmas, The Queen Mother bought me one of those Ninja things. It's like a food processor type deal. I was sorta "meh" about it at first, but a couple of months ago, I had some smoothie stuff and decided to drag it out of the box and give it a whirl.

I made the smoothie and it was okay. But I started flipping through the little booklet and saw a recipe for guacamole. And I thought, "I could do that." So I went through my cookbooks and found a couple of other guac recipes. Then I cobbled together my own, based on the guidelines of the recipes I had found.

I threw the Minion in the car, drove to the store and bought the stuff I needed. I came home and made my first homemade guacamole. And it was so freaking good, ya'll. Like one step away from a religious experience good.

And from then on, I almost always had fresh guac in the fridge. Guacamole because my personal Saviour. I loooove it. And then I started calculating ...

I am making guac by the quart. Yes, POF does eat some. But for the most part, it's all me polishing off almost a quart of guacamole in 3-4 days. And I tabulated and figured I am eating about 3/4 cup of guac a day, on average.

And then I wondered ... how much is too much? Avocados are supposed to be really good for you. And all the produce I am using is fresh, half of it organic. Tomatoes are good for you, garlic is good for you. An entire race of people eat cilantro by the bushels, so it's got to be good for you too. I assume. They haven't died out or anything, so at the very least it isn't detrimental to your health. But is 3/4 cup of guacamole a day so much that it's bad for me?

I panicked. And I went cold turkey. For almost 3 weeks I have been guac free.

Then, today, as I pushed my cart through the produce aisle, there they were - whispering my name. So I bought the ingredients and came home to make some guacamole.

And Oh My God, How I Have Missed You, My Lovely Green Concoction.

POF was getting ready to head out the door to practice with one of his bands. And I was practically orgasmic licking the spoon. As he walked through the kitchen, I paused long enough to inform him that I was pretty sure I was emotionally cheating on him with guacamole.

His response, without missing a beat: That's okay, I've been doing the same to you with beer for years.

And that is why I love him oh so much.

Now I am counting down the minutes till dinnertime. Cause whatever I eat, it will be consumed with a side of guacamole. Oh yes it will.

Celebrating Returning From the Dead, now with a super high temperature!

Someone told me I needed to update more often. And I am trying, I swear. But lately I just don't seem to have much interesting to say. Which is distressing, trust me.

Our Easter was spent with a Minion that had a 102 temp. No church, no trip to Grandma's for lunch, nothing. Just home with some Motrin and Tylenol and a lot of rest. He was pretty pitiful and so very very hot.

But, the fever finally broke this afternoon (YAY!), so things are looking up.

Since he's still so little, I didn't really do much - not like he's gonna remember. We were grocery shopping one day and the Easter stuff was out, so we went down that aisle. I showed him ducks and bunnies and all kinds of Easter themed stuff. The only thing that even remotely interested him was a frog. So, for Easter I got him the stuffed frog he had liked.

And one of POF's friends (a dear woman who is a fan of his country band and attends most shows) bought him a rocking horse. It is adorable. It makes galloping noises and horse type noises, and it's head and tail move. Very cute. He is cautious of it, but interested.

And all I could think was Gee, thanks so much for upstaging my first Easter lady!

heh.

On a humorous note, when I brought it inside, the first thing that both dogs did was smell it's butt. If only I had the camera ready, that would have been a priceless picture. It was possibly the highlight of the day.

And now the Minion is awake and it's time to go back to Mama Duty. I promise to come back soon with something totally inappropriate.

I'm a lefty. For the most part, I have learned to navigate the right-handed world with few difficulties. However, scissors elude me. Certain pairs just will NOT work for me.

Just tonight I was trying to cut open something and couldn't find my usual lime green handled scissors. So I grabbed the other pair from the drawer. Knowing they wouldn't work left-handed, I still tried. And tried. Feeling stupid for attempting, knowing that all I was gonna do was caress the paper softly.

Yet I switch awkwardly to my right hand and snip, snip, snip. WTF? How is that even possible.

Because we are valued cable customers, we have a free 4 day trial of Showtime. The only thing even remotely worth viewing at this point is Twilight. So I will watch it.

I admit, I read the books. I keep reading all these things about how AMAZING they were, so I figured, hey, I like a good vampire story as good as the next girl, what the heck.

I mean, once I commit to a series, I am compelled to see it through. I have stuck with Laurell K. Hamilton this whole time. And what started as a pretty cool series about a kick-ass chick vampire executioner slowly and painfully slid into a story about a former kick-ass chick who hops from one supernatural orgy to another. The last 4 books have had little plot and zero character development. Bloor Noir was pretty good, if you can get past the fact that the book starts with a multi-room threesome ... that's sole purpose was to make one of said threesome feel better. Yeah, skip the first hundred pages (she's already covered it before, trust me) and it's not bad. But the rest, well, I have basically skimmed through them and gotten the whole story in about an hour. Sad really.

So, keeping that little quirk of mine in mind, I embarked on Twilight. I will not go into what a horrid mess these books are. My one year old Minion could write better. Seriously. But I read them. I figure if the movie is half as bad as the books, then it will be a good laugh.

On what planet is a super strong, possessive, stalker boyfriend a good thing?

About the only good of that whole 4 book mess was the summary I found on Mimi Smartypants' site. Eclipse was described as "yet another 700 pages with no fucking". Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.

Not that any of this matters, since Hell has apparently frozen over with the passing of the healthcare bill, and an apocalypse is imminent. I know that there is no way to please everyone, but I can't help but wonder how different things would be if Obama was a Republican. I am almost certain that death threats against Republicans supporting his bill would be on every media outlet demanding justice, wire taps, arrests, life sentences, etc.

The fact that Republicans are basically telling the Dems to walk it off and suck it up is just disgusting. And their lack of action to quickly and loudly condemn those actions is basically a passive-agressive way of condoning it. It makes me sick. I am over politics for a while.

On a happy note, the Minion is walking now. He made it all the way across his bedroom yesterday and today without any help. And he also has a full on Spring Snotty Nose. This has required several snot sucking adventures with the aspirator thingy. Which he finds hilarous. Only my kid.

So, today's been a busy day here in the Land of QoE. First and foremost, it's The Queen Mother's birthday today. Her gift request - a container of my homemade guacamole. No, really. So that's what I gave her. (I am going to her house tomorrow to eat half of it. Shhhhh - don't tell)

[Flashback to this past Friday, as my mother and I are dusting in her computer room ... "I really like your blog, but I think if you write anything about me, you should call me The Queen Mother. But you know, that's just a suggestion."]

POF was finishing up a job and didn't get home till just a little bit ago. He came in, he was excited to see the Minion, and the feeling was mutual. He had given the furry minions a brief hello, but we were distracted. He was holding the boy, doing his best to work on some wings from Hooters that he'd brought home (no lie people, the Daytona sauce is AMAZING - and I don't even really like chicken wings). He's holding the Minion, telling us about his day, asking about ours. Well, apparently we weren't paying enough attention to the precious baby girl.

That's her and her crazy brother there at the top of this blog. She is my most precious angel, My Baby Goose, and she is e-v-i-l. Also hateful and demanding. Sometimes she smells like pancakes and we can't figure out why. She eats poop and if she deems you worthy of a cuddle, you will be asleep within minutes. She will be 15 in July and I love her more than I can even say.

So, in an effort to get her point across that Hey, Peasants, you are not paying attention to My Needs here, I have to go OUT, she pranced in and took a big shit, right in the middle of the kitchen floor. It was awesome, and totally hilarious. In a really disgusting kind of way. That's my girl.

That wasn't really how I planned to start this post, but it was too amusing not to share.

This past weekend, my Godmother was in town for a brief visit. (Hi Godmother! *waves*) She is in the military and has what one might call a commanding presence. She's also all of 5 foot nothing, so this makes her intimidation even more outstanding. She was always sorta bossy, but she has tolerated my horrible jokes about her lack of stature since I was like 10, so that's cool. Big manly military men quake in their manly military boots in her presence (or at least I like to think they do, cause it amuses me). She's also an Indian.

While POF's family is of the more laid back, Plains variety of Indian - you know, they own casinos and either wallow in their lust for the firewater, or go the other way and found churches, but either way pretty much a peaceful lot - Godmother is a Mean Indian. Of the We Will Scalp You In A Heartbeat variety. I think this has something to do with the fear factor mentioned above.

Cause really, what would be more awesome than a tiny Indian woman in a uniform scalping an insubordinate underling?

Besides all this, for some reason we can't quite fathom, she's also a conservative Republican. The Queen Mother ... is not. She's basically one Pro Choice petition away from being on some sort of government watch list for the Left. I was going to make some sort of joke about being a hairy legged, braless hippie, but well .... never mind [love you Mommie Dearest]. Politics is something they just cannot find a middle ground on. And boy, do they love to push each other's buttons. They've been friends longer than I've been alive, so they've had many years to perfect their skills.

And naturally, it was bound to happen. We were having a nice chat about New Orleans (Godmother considers it home, and I was discussing the trip POF and I made there several years ago). Which of course led to the whole Pre-Katrina and Post-Katrina comparison. Then came the Katrina stuff itself. And then, out of the blue, there it was. Politics. Buttons start being pushed, and they are off.

Now, left unchecked, this could escalate to shouting and go on for hours. It's like a sport for these two. But by golly, we were not going to have a family brawl on this day, during such a short visit. So I forcefully, but still nicely, told The Queen Mother to let it go. To stop. To leave it alone.

She didn't listen.

So I had no choice. I had to get her attention. I walloped her one on the shoulder blade/back area. After her exclamation of pain, she shut it. I didn't hit her THAT hard, I swear. She is convinced that she will have a big purple bruise to show for it. I am waiting to see it. I don't believe it.

But in the event that I did commit maternal abuse, I vow to post a photo of my crime, along with an apology. She didn't mention it today at dinner, so I think she has recovered nicely. Stay tuned for the results.

I am sure she's hoping for a photo to add to her collection. It will go right next to the hot tea burn over her boob that looked like a shark.

My little Minion is going to be a year old in a couple of days. I can't believe it's been a year already.

This mom thing is pretty cool. And I've made it almost a year with no visits from Child Services, and the kid hasn't packed his bags and run away yet. Not that he can run. But he can crawl pretty fast, so there is a small chance he could escape if he wanted to.

We've had a busy few days, and I am tired. Last night, the kid was actually wide awake, playing in the playpen, and I was on the couch fighting to stay awake. It was 9 PM. I lasted to approximately 9:15. POF finally got the boy to sleep at 10:30.

Obviously this whole time change business doesn't have an adverse effect on the toddler set. The Minion was wide awake and ready to go at 5:30 this morning. Crazy kid.

Hopefully I will find time to post something funny and somewhat improper later. But for now, I have two pitiful sets of weenie dog eyes begging for dinner, and one toddler patiently awaiting his. If I wait much longer the screeching will start, and we've had a good day so far (complete with massive poopy diaper that POF had to change. heh. that always amuses me).

I feel almost embarrassed that I threw POF out here and didn't actually make an introduction.

As mentioned, POF is my beloved husband. We've been together close to 20 years. He loves me, even the mean parts, and for that I am grateful.

POF stands for Pookie One Feather, and it is a cute but derogatory nickname I gave him some years ago. He is an Indian (casino not convenience store, feather not dot, etc), so I jokingly turned his nickname Pookie into his new Indian name. He's not exactly thrilled with it, but he can't really do anything about it. For me, it's a win-win.

Originally, once we because a couple and were proclaimed "cutesy", it was decided that we needed cutesy nicknames. Jokingly we tried out as many stupid ones as we could think of. One day I happened to think of Garfiend and his little teddy bear Pookie. So I tried that one out, so did he, and ultimately it stuck. We both became Pookie. We are both still Pookie to this day.

On occasion I will go with POF as a tribute to his ancestors. I am sure they are just as thrilled as he is. His great-great-grandfather was sort of a big deal in his tribe, so I am sure he's up there at the big Pow Wow in the Sky, getting blitzed on the old firewater, trying to erase Pookie One Feather from his memory. Sorry about that. But you might as well stay good and drunk, cause I am sure it doesn't get any better from here.

I rarely call POF by his actual name. I mean, I do when I am talking about him to someone else. But when I actually need to address him, it just sounds weird to say his name. And he rarely uses mine. I hate when he uses mine. It usually means I am in trouble.

So, there. Now you've met POF. The little Minion is just as much a wild Indian as his daddy. There will be lots of stories to share.

I must first warn you all that I have had one Mikes Hard Lemonade, so I am officially out of control. Or as out of control as I allow myself to be. Which isn't very.

So, I have a follower. And it isn't one of the people I would have expected to be the first one. It's a friend from the high school days. And she is a very Born Again, homeschooling type of chick.
Which makes me immediately think "Uh oh" and hope she decides not to read.

The thing is, we were sorta friends. We ran in a group that hung together. I never disliked her or had any problems with her, but we just never really clicked on a one-on-one basis. I always thought she was sort of an airhead and a little unruly. We saw each other at the 10 year reunion and then basically lost touch. In my head, she's still that same 17 year old dingbat.

I admit, I laughed when I heard she went all Born Again. I mean, I know some stories from back in the day that make that pretty amusing. And when I heard she was homeschooling her kids, I thought, "Oh dear Lord. Now that IS funny."

Then, a few months ago we sort of reconnected on Facebook. And I realized something. She grew up. She's not that flaky 17 year old. In fact she's a pretty cool chick. And her lesson plans and field trips for her kids schooling are creative and interesting, even to me. I admit, I still roll my eyes when I see she has bread baking (who does that?!?!), but it's with humor and affection now.

We have absolutely nothing in common except being moms. But I like her. Most importantly, she hasn't even tried to Save me yet. And she was the first to sign on as a follower to support this blogging endeavor. Which I figure is gonna go one of two ways ...

She read the first one, realized I am still EXACTLY the same, and has decided I am a lost cause, destined to roast eternally in Hellfire. But she can't really be rude and unfollow, so she will just act like she doesn't know this thing exists, and maybe one night if it's late and she's had too much Jesus Juice (heh - see, eternal Hellfire), she might pull this up and have a chuckle. Then immediately repent the next morning and vow never to look at it again.

Or, maybe she will hang in there and get this far. Regardless, she will add me to her daily prayer list and pray for my soul. Which is kinda cool I guess. It can't hurt at this point, that's for sure.

Maybe someday we'll even manage to be in the same place at the same time and get together. It will be awkward and weird cause we're both all grown up and parents and not at all teenagers anymore. And I will be so self-conscious of the bad words that will no doubt come out of my mouth. I hope that I don't make too big an ass of myself. And I hope she will keep me on her prayer list.

Two in one day - amazing.

Actually, I had to come back and say that in reference to my very first post, a friend informed me that her coworker told her that Man Stores like Lowe's and Home Depot do in fact have the capability of pulling up info by a credit card. I will not tell POF I know this.

(Though I will say - well played J.D. Robb. I will see you your futuristic cyber commerce capabilities, and raise you one AutoChef. Man, having one of those things would be so neat.)

It will no doubt lead to a heated discussion where he points out the Cletus the slack-jawed yokel at the Man Store register can pull up POF's entire shopping transaction history with the click of a button, while FiFi LeSweet at the Girly Store can barely ring up an order while smiling and smelling good.

At which point I will have to remind him that you can't swing a dead cat in a Home Depot around here without hitting at least a handful of lesbians. Granted, half of them will be sporting full on Achy Breaky mullets and wearing cut off flannel shirts with cargo shorts and Crocs, but technically they are women, so I still claim a victory for my gender.

Now don't get me wrong. I love the gay people. It's just a fact that this area has a large amount of them, and most of them are apparel challenged. In fact, one of my best pals during my Music Row years was gay, and whoo boy! did we have us a mess of fun. So much fun one night that he ended up being defended in court by Sister PeeWee. Who was actually PeeWee's sister and a hell of a lawyer. So there.

And while I do live in a more, well, upper class, suburb of The Big City than some, not too far down the road is something called The Country. And The Country is very rural and sometimes scary and goes right on up to the state line.

Now, up there we have what might be called a serious Uncle Daddy type situation in some parts. So trust me when I stereotype here. These are the people in wife beaters, with no teeth, usually half drunk, who always end up representing our fine state on Cops or the local news. Usually it involves the description of what the tornado sounded like, while they stand in front of the twisted wreckage of their trailer park. These people are real, and they live down the road.

In fact, we have the special privilege of knowing a couple who appeared on Springer. The part that makes that so damn amazing is that their real true story is ten times more twisted and entertaining than the made up one they did for TV. Yeah, sorry ya'll - Springer and wrasslin are both fake. Bummer.

So, to avoid that whole inbred battle of the sexes, I am just keeping my mouth shut.

Now it's time to go eat some pork chops. I am Southern. Though I draw the line at turnip greens. That's just wrong.

All I can think of is Miss Doxie and how funny she is, and how I want to totally be her when I grow up (minus the sleep deprivation of all that lawyering), and how I have absolutely nothing to say now that I am here.

I mean, I have stuff, but it's just random bullshit. Does anyone really care about that?

I keep seeing that stupid My Baby Can Read commercial. That's great and all, but it is really a good thing? Do I really want a 6 month old baby reading? That just seems a little bit, I don't know, extreme. It seems like everyone wants their kid to be "gifted" these days. I decided I want my kid to be a kid. I have read the What to Expect books, and I keep milestones in the back of my head, but for the most part I don't worry about it. He's happy and healthy and growing. I really don't worry if he walks at exactly 12 months or not.

At this rate, I am debating giving him coffee in his sippy and teaching him to smoke in an effort to stunt his growth. The kid is gonna be a total freak of nature if he doesn't stop with the tallness. He needs 18 month pants for the length, but when I put 12 month pants on him, they just fall right back off. Apparently he was not blessed with my hips and butt. Or, as his goofy aunt that has some serious word confusion says, "he's a silicone". Meaning cylinder. She has issues.

We went to the park today and even took the dogs with us. It was 70 degrees and I felt the need to be out in Mother Nature. We spent an hour there. The dogs tried to chase the tree rats and kill the other dogs that stumbled across their path, and the Minion spent the whole time with a death grip on me, peeking around at the other chilren with an unsure look on his face, trying to eat handsfull of the bark mulch stuff they put on the playground.

His look of contempt didn't exactly have the same effect with bark hanging out the corner of his mouth. And the fact that he was clinging to me like a spider monkey. But the eyebrows, they totally said, "Bow to me, peasants, and worship my awesomeness."

I am feeling the urge to be outside and get myself into some form of shape. I have decided that while round is definitely a shape, it's not the best one. This means I will have to force myself to exercise. Which I loathe with the white hot hatred of a million suns. The treadmill is the worst. POF can jump on there and knock out 4 miles like it's no big deal. I get on there to walk and it's like the freaking Bataan Death March. It lasts forever and it totally sucks big hairy balls. I loathe it. But I have got to be a better role model for my kid, so I am gonna try.

I say this, knowing that today after we got home from the park and our nice walk, we rewarded ourselves with a piece of cake and some ice cream. The pieces were small, and the ice cream was only a scoop, but still. Not exactly what needs to be happening. Then we lay like broccoli on the couch for an hour while the Minion slept, watching Madhouse. Again, not really the goal we are working toward. The whole healthy thing should be interesting - and a constant struggle.

The dogs are comatose on the couch. The park was too much for them. POF is sleepy, the Minion is up and wanting dinner, and I just really want to lay in the bed alone and read a book. I don't see that happening. Time to get dinner started and play with my kid. Gotta make sure he can read the directions to me when we get ready to travel/build/cook. That's what minions are for after all. I will start my own program: My Minion Can Read. I'm rich.

So, who is The Queen of Evil? What lies at her core? (Spoiler: it is NOT strawberry nougat. I checked.)

Well, I've been called bitchy, cold, standoffish, and unapproachable. Coincidentally, this has been by people I didn't like. I can usually tell within 5-10 minutes if I am gonna like you or not. But once I decide that I like you, it might take me several days or weeks to actually open up and let you in - past that big wall of evil I build around myself sometimes. If I do consider you my friend, I'd do just about anything for you. I keep my list of friends very small. Piss me off, I will probably forgive you. Do it again, and I might not speak to you for weeks, months or years. Keep pissing me off, and I am liable to say very, very harsh things to you before filing you in the Dead to Me file.

I wouldn't say I am really religious, per se, but I do believe there is something bigger than me. If you want to label that God, that is fine. I think evolution is a scientific fact. I believe the events in the Bible happened, but I don't think that what is in the Bible is the end all, be all. Other religions have books, and their stories and points of view are just as valid. I don't think that any one religion or section of a religion is special or chosen or more worthy than another. We all worship the same thing, we just call it different things, whether you are saying Our Fathers or dancing naked under the moonlight.

I grew up in a denomination that I refer to as The Cult, and really don't have a lot of use for organized religion. My problem isn't church, it's the judgemental, two-faced hypocrites that attend it. But, I feel like my child does need to have a foundation in religion, so I have made an effort to take him to church. When he's old enough to make his own decisions, he can choose if he wants to attend or not. But at least he will know what the Bible is and what it says, etc. What he chooses to believe is his choice.

I think everyone should have the right to own a gun if they want, or feel the need to. I do not see why anyone needs to own a fully automatic machine gun. That's just not necessary.

I don't care if you are black, white, or purple ... or gay or straight. That really doesn't have anything to do with me. Every person should have the right to be who they are and live their life as they choose. To be a country that prides itself on its Godliness or Christianness, we sure are a judgemental, persecuting lot. Isn't there something in the Bible about not judging others? I think that judgement is God's job, and what he decides is between him and that person. It's not really my place to do it for him. And God doesn't really share his opinions with me, so it's not my place to decide what his opinions might be.

I think that there is a very Special Hell for people that abuse animals and children. There are times when I'd like to send those people there myself.

I have really bad language, though I am making an effort now that I have a kid - a kid that will no doubt start to mimic bad words in the very near future.

When I was 15, I said no marriage before 30 and no kids before 35. I stuck to that. POF and I have been together for 17 years and I made him wait 13 before actually marrying him. It took threat of divorce for me to get on board with the kid thing. But I agreed to it, and within a few months the Minion was on his way. He's the best thing I ever did. And now we have at least one person to threaten us with the nursing home when we get old and mean(er).

I love dachshunds. I am a voracious reader. I love Joss Whedon's brain. I love Heathers, Anchorman, Twister and Rosencrantz & Gildenstern Are Dead. I am quirky. I have a quick temper and not a lot of patience for bullshit. I tell it like it is and don't sugar coat much. Sometimes I am too blunt. If you don't want the truth, then don't ask my opinion ... you'd think people would learn this by now, but sometimes they just don't get it.

The best thing POF ever gave me was a Valentine's Day card. It had a picture of a candy heart on it with all the pieces of chocolate in it. And there were little arrows drawn to the pieces with labels like "your smile", "your laugh", mushy shit like that. And he drew an arrow of his own to a piece and labeled it "Your Evilness". That is why I love him.

Why am I here? People always tell me I that I should write. I've never really tried it, though I admit I am much better in print that in person. Do I have lots to say? You bet. Lots of shit pisses me off, and I have volumes to say about it. Does anyone care? I have no idea. But we're about to find out.

Hello Internets ...

So, here I am. And now I have no idea what to do. I am sorta terrified of throwing stuff out here. Especially if it involves my slightly crazy husband (referred to as POF). But here goes ...

I am taking this from an email I sent out this evening, featuring the story of my day. It finally inspired me to get off my butt and write something.

--------

Everyone always says I should write. I think about it, but never do. Today was one of those days that deserved to be documented though. So here it is. I call it Got Milk?



“Oh crap, I forgot to stop and get the milk“, I say.

He smiles at me and says, “I knew a long time ago that you forgot the milk.”

I glare. “When? When we drove by the grocery store and I didn’t say ‘Stop so I can get milk’?”

He is now smiling with nothing short of devilish glee.

This might just be the day I finally brain him with a heavy object. But let me back up.

It’s been a long day. We’ve been sniping at each other over something stupid - returning some items to Bath & Body Works.

It all started last weekend on my birthday. The big day happened to fall on a Sunday, so after church we were scheduled to meet my sister (half-sister actually, who also has the same birthday - but that is another story altogether), our dad and stepmother for lunch to celebrate. We ended up skipping church because we were doing some household projects that needed to be finished before company came over for cake and presents after lunch.

And then, at 11 AM, suddenly my husband needs to go to Home Depot and get a part to make the toilet stop running. Riiiiight. Like I don’t realize that what he really needs to do is go out and buy me a birthday present. Like I have not in seventeen years put two and two together - that he has to go run some random errand and then, upon his return, suddenly presents appear. It’s always the same for birthday, Christmas, Mother’s Day, Valentine’s Day. But bless his heart, at least he tries.

So, he meets us at the restaurant, with a bag full of Bath & Body Works stuff and no toilet part. I look, and while he made a great attempt, he picked several scents that were way too flowery. And of course when I told him that I appreciated the sentiment, but I needed to return the stuff, he got his feelings all hurt and went into a pout. Poor baby.

Almost a week later, such a beautiful day, and we get the kid (our Minion) all packed up and head out to the dreaded mall to make the return. I drive. He’s too busy with his mind on his gig tonight to concentrate on anything else. We get about halfway there and I ask if he has the receipt. No, of course not. Andsomehow it’s all my fault because I didn’t remind him to get it, or ask him if he had it before we left. Silly me, I just assumed that since we were leaving to go and specifically return the items, he would have gotten the receipt from wherever he hid it. What was I thinking(sarcastic eye roll)?

So we turn around, both irritable now and starting to snap at each other over everything and nothing. We go all the way back home. He can’t find it. So I say that is fine, let’s just go do our other errands and worry about it another day. He gets all mad. No, by golly, we are doing it now, today. Without the receipt. We don’t need it anyway, he says, they can pull it up in their computer with is credit card number.

(Now, I don’t know what futuristic universe he lives in, but I have yet to have a store that can do that. He swears that he returns stuff ALL THE TIME and they do it, no problem. Apparently we shop at very different stores...in totally different realities)

So, back we go to the mall. Still sniping at each other. Every little thing irritates us. No patience at all. Happy, happy family. As a side note, I should mention that our Minion is by nature a pretty happy kid, and he is just happy as a clam, riding in his stroller, checking out all the people in the mall. There's a lot to look at here people. This is the South, and our local mall has no shortage of rejects from Freebird Trailer Park and Gangstas R Us.

We get to the store and the lady at the door greets us. She is very nice and asks what she can do to help us today. He says we are here for a return. She asks if we have the receipt. He says no, but he has the credit card. She looks at him with a puzzled expression on her face. He tells her that she should just look it up in her system with his card number. She still looks a bit confused, and tells him that they don't have a computer system that does that kind of thing - the register is just a register. He gets angry and says yes they can, stores do it all the time. He has That Tone. Things are about to get ugly.

I step in and say what I really want to do is just exchange for some different scents. Fine, that can be done. He leaves the store, angry about the whole computer thing. I run around the store to make my exchanges, trying to hurry in the crowded store, and finally I am through.

We are still a bit grumbly on the way out to the car and he won’t let that poor lady off the hook about the receipt thing.

“I’ll drive from here,” he says as he puts the Minion into his car seat.

Of course he will. Now that we are heading to the music store so I can buy him a $50 bass drum head, his mood has much improved. We head in, let the Minion bang on some drums for a bit, buy what he needs, and leave, all without really saying much to each other at all. It’s time to head back home so he can get ready to leave for his gig tonight.

He still insists that they can pull up his info in their computer without the receipt.

"How do they do it with the receipt?", he asks with this sort of smug look on his face. "They can do it, they just don't want to, because it's not convenient."

The debate over this is what causes me to forget that we need to stop at the grocery store and get milk. And of course, his not stopping, when he did remember, is his way of paying me back for the receipt thing earlier. He gets mad when I don’t take his side. Especially in public.

I love him. I do. But he’s crazy sometimes with his left field logic. Lucky for him he has a gig tonight - cause it’s possible that there’s a heavy object with his name on it.

And this is part of the reason I don't write. Most of my stories involve him in some way. And he would be mortified (either embarrassed or mad or both) if he thought that the whole universe was reading about him.

When we are with our two best friends, who are married, and in fact got the two of us together, he gets all red in the face and leaves the room if my BFF and I even hint at the subject of sex. Like he doesn't want anyone to know that the two of us actually have it. Which, at this point, is pretty obvious - well, at least that we did it the one time.

He's still iffy on Facebook - he doesn't want pictures or anything up that people might be able to use against him. I swear we are one step away from digging a cave and building a militia on this hill sometimes.

(mental note: don't tell anyone about this that might tell him. and p.s. - don't ever let him read it)