Kelly @ Dare to be Domestic has given me the Happy 101 award!

I love Kelly and her blog because I feel like her life seems kinda what my life would be if I didn't have Jake.  Well, except for that whole living in Northern Alabama thing.  I don't know if I could make it down there.

You know that song New York, New York?  And how if you can make it there, you can supposedly make it anywhere?
I beg to differ.  Anyone can make it in the big city.  There is a little something for everyone and everyone can contribute a little something.  Jobs and apartments and houses and rec centers and social programs and services and big hospitals and a million people to pick your friends from and colleges and public trans and taxicabs and people whose job it is to sweep the streets and point you in the direction of whatever it is you're trying to find and free admission Sundays at the museums and 1000 different kinds of places to search your soul or worship or just catch a free tai chi class in the park and a billion stores and a million restaurants and thousands of vendors and and and and lots of stuff.  Once you leave the City Proper, you've gotta have mad skillz to keep afloat.  You need a car and bug spray and you need to figure out how to fit in with the locals and you have to go to Sears and pick out a lawn mower.  Do you know I've never mowed a lawn or shoveled a driveway?

I'm a princess like that.

One time I kicked the snow off my front steps so the mailman wouldn't slip.

I'm a gem like that.

I have a hard time making resolutions that are listable, so I think I'll list 10 things that made me Happy in 2009.

1  Of course Jake.  Everyone says that their kid makes them happy.  But now he really makes me truly thrilled and joyous, before I just loved him and that sort of made me happy.  He is finally at an age where it is a pleasure to hang out with him.  I hate the baby years, but now he's my best little buddy.  He's wildly hilarious and witty.  Seriously.  He keeps me in stitches.  He's also very sweet, and thinks that I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen and the best mommy ever and he tells me that I make his heart happy when I hug him.  That makes a girl feel good.  Plus he's so damned beautiful that he makes my heart melt.  I know that shouldn't really matter and I'd love him even if he was an ugly little creepster, but looking at him takes my breath away.

Usually.
Sometimes he looks like a filthy little Wal*mart brat.  Sticky fingers and juice stains down the front of him and a rotten old milk mustache and snots in his hair.

2  Dave makes me happy too.  He doesn't get a lot of press on here, mostly because I don't really want to write the story of his life for him.  He's on Facebook.  I'm on Blogger.  Nary the two shall meet.  We got married ten years ago and it feels like those ten years have gone by in ten minutes.  That's gotta say something.

3  My birthday.  I had an excellent birthday this year.  I turned 33.  I like being 33.  I have faith that 34 will be even better.  Then maybe 35 will be the best yet.  I like getting older because it means that I'm accomplishing life.  That's no small feat.

4  My health.  I didn't have any surgeries in 2009.  I haven't been able to say that for quite some time.  You know it's bad when your anesthesiologists give you track marks that you have to hide from your boss and you lie and say you are taking a vacation day when really you are spending all day long at four different doctors in two different hospital systems.  Maybe three.  Is Hahnemann part of Pennsy or Jefferson?  I'm not sure.  While I was going through all that crap with my eye and my face and my nose and my vagina I didn't think it was such a big deal.  Turns out I was just coping by blocking everything out and swimming through the deep end of life with my eyes closed.  I realize that now.  I didn't then.  We are all lucky we all got out of that alive.  I could've ended up in a very different place than I am right now.  I sort of lost it for awhile.

5  My family.  I grew up in a laid back WASPY environment.  That's not a winning combination in most cases, but I turned out okay despite a pretty fair amount of total shit that was thrown my way.  I wouldn't say I'm over it, but I can definitely say that I'm a better person for it.

I'm a better mother for it.

6  Blue Moons.  The lunar phenomenon.  Not the beer.  I'm not so much a fan of the beer.
Blue Moon:Allagash White::
RC Cola:Coca Cola
There's one tonight.  When you step outside to see the fireworks, look up.
I don't know what it is about a blue moon that makes me all electric inside.  If the moon can hurry up and get big things started and done in a month's time, I should be able to too.  It's like a firecracker under my ass or something.

7  The left side of the country.  Geographically.  And politically.
I've been to California twice in the last five years, Colorado once, Nevada twice.  I'm thinking Red Rocks for 2010.  I think that would be a good followup to the Tahoe trip.
I don't know if I could ever live out there, but I sure do like to visit.

8  The right side of the country.  Geographically to the far right.  Politically to the leftish right.
It's a great place to live and breathe and raise your kid, here in the Cradle of Liberty.  When I first started blogging and I was a totally Mommy Blogger because the only people who read were people who wanted news about Baby Jake, my tagline was "Rocking the Cradle of Liberty".  It's a fun thing to do, run around this town with the boy.  I like that my City is part of the cast of characters in my life.

When you hang out here, you hang out with Sally, Jane, Billy, Joe, and Philadelphia.  It's somewhat awesome.

9  My job.  It's frustrating, but at the end of the day, I don't have to look very far to see measurable change in people's lives.  That's really something.  It gives me a reason to get up and hit the desk running.

10  This dumb old blog.  At the beginning of last year, I promised myself that if X amount of people followed me on Google Reader, I'd shut it down and write a book because even if half the people subscribed to my blog bought my book I wouldn't feel like a total failure.  Now I'm 2 subscribers away from that number and I think I'm taking back that promise.  I like it here.  I like this medium.  I like the feedback.  I like the outpouring.  I like that there is no rules.  No red tape.  No deadlines.  I don't like that Blogger took away spellcheck.  But I like everything else.

I like you guys.
You guys make me happy just by being you and being here.

I just don't have it in me to sit down and type My Christmas Story, but I promise I will, for anyone who cares.  It was a good one, and I'm typing this on my awesome new notebook that Dave put under the tree for me.

Samantha and I exchanged gifts when she stopped by yesterday.  I gave her a candle and an ornament and a rosemary plant that surely won't die because I've kept it alive for quite some time now and she gave me a hobnail milkglass decanter and a half a bottle of rum.

Both fit snugly right behind my sink, which is one of my favorite spots in the house.
The decanter goes perfectly with my planter, and Mary bellied up to the rum as soon as she saw it.

She's funny like that.  I don't know if you know this about her, but Mary is a drinker.

Sure, she's all like "I swear to my son that I've never had a drop".  Something about how she never lets sinful liquid pass her lips (then she makes a horrid joke about "either set" and I just ignore her because I think that's SO gross and immature.)  But she gets so boozy all the time and when you call her out on it she's all "God musta made me miraculously intoxicated by putting the blood of my son in my veins via divine angelic intervention.  The only "spirit" I know of is the Holy Spirit".

Mary is a lot of things. 
Unfortunately, billshutting boozehound is one of them.

Whatever.

Anyway, if you like dark spiced rum (I do, I usually drink Black Seal) you should try the Kracken.  The bottle is so awesome that I want to buy taper candles and let them burn down all around the label and save it forever and ever.  I just might. 
Sam and I tried it with Diet Coke and Ginger Ale.  Both were good.   I picked up some Reed's Ginger Beer (which actually has ginger listed on the lable, unlike Canada Dry or Seagrams, which just list "natural flavors", FYI) at Trader Joe's, and maybe I'll mix that up for New Year's tomorrow.  Champagne and I aren't friends.

What are you doing for New Years? 
We are headed down the street to Kat Kat's (Jake's favorite great-aunt) and spending it with the fam and then going to bed shortly after the ball drops. 
I'm not really a fan of the holiday.  Maybe if I lived somewhere warmer I would be.  And if it all happened at about 8.30 rather than midnite.  I keep saying that I'm going to spend a New Year's Eve on a boat somewhere in the Caribbean but so far it's been all talk.  Wouldn't that be great?  A huge dome of starry sky and fireworks all along the coast?  Wearing something breezy and drinking something freezy and tasting strawberries and limes and salt on everyone's lips when you kiss them for luck?  The cold drips off the glasses would soothe your sunburned back when when people wrapped their cocktail-laden arms around you to give you a big old hug while remembering auld lang syne?

Maybe 2011.
Let me know if you're in.  We're gonna have to start planning now.

I'm hoping to do a post tomorrow, but if not, I wish you a safe and happy tomorrow night!

planes to catch and bills to pay

(photos and rubberband courtesy of jacob)
me and 'mantha gots skills

It's my turn to stay at home with Jake today. 
Dave stayed home yesterday, and I can't ask him to miss work two days in a row, but man oh man, work is SO much easier than putting on PBS and blogging staying at home.

The house is kinda picked up.  There's a load of laundry done.  I'm showered.  If I was at work I'd just be sitting there and catching up on my feeds and drinking gross officecoffee because it's too cold and windy outside to go buy some overpriced stuff from Last Drop, my coffeehouse of choice near the office.

Holy crap Barney just came on and Jake begged me to leave it on when I tried to change it. 
Jake has terrible taste in television.
I'm dying here.

I just put on SpongeBob.  I love SpongeBob.  I don't love Barney and his "friends" romping around a pretend park asking "why why why do I keep asking why why why because there is so much things that I want to know why why why so I ask why why why all the time".

Did you ever see Death to Smoochy? 
If not, you should.  It's awesome.

Luckily Samantha is on her way over.  I love that I have so many teacher-friends.  They come in handy during the Christmas break and summers when I feel like playing hooky mommy.

She said she has to stop at two stores before she gets here.  I'm secretly hoping one of them is run by the State.

Oh my brain.  I need a grownup.

Jake is doing so much better than he was yesterday.  I came home to take him to the doctor, and he puked there, but in a trash can.  Jake is a toilet puker.  That is the ultimate definition of potty training.  I'll take having to wipe his butt for the next two years if he keeps up the good work with running to the toilet every time he feels like he's gonna puke.

He puked when he woke up.  He woke up in my bed.  I'm SO glad he didn't puke on my bed, and it was almost adorable to see him hunched over the toilet, yacking his little morning guts out.

He has an ear infection, and is on the pink for ten days.  My child can drink Robitussin and Mucinex and all the other nasties with nary a shiver, but he thinks Amox is "a little bit sour and kind of gross".  That's my boy.  Pretty soon he'll be drinking gasoline, just like his mama.

Vodka and cranberry?  God no!  That is disgusting!  Do you have anything brown?  A nice Scotch?  A decent bourbon?  I'll take it warm.

What a mess.

Anyway.  So the doctor.  Let me preface by saying two things.

Thing 1) I hate when people don't follow doctor's orders, especially pediatric recommendations.  Now, I'll admit that I followed the UK standards of feeding the boy.  Late to start solids, by "American" Standards.  Everyone is in such a damned rush to feed their babies food over here.  I think it's appalling.  But I introduced things like eggs and nuts much younger than most people.  I find it wildly hilarious that the mom who doesn't allow their baby to have peanut butter until 2 years old is shoving pre-packaged pudding and ice cream down it's face at 5 months old.

And 2)  I'm going to put this as bluntly as I can.  Ready?  If you allow your child to have soda, I judge you.  I put you in the same catagory as a woman who smokes while she is pregnant.
I'm sorry. 
No I'm not.
I'm not sorry. 
Soda has absolutely zero redeeming qualities.  It's expensive, it's full of sugar (or chemicals to replace the sugars), artificial colors (or bleaches to make it clear), and it has no vitamins. 
I'm not the biggest fan of juice for kids either, but if you can't get your brat a glass of water or milk, do it a favor and at least give it 100% juice.
I am somewhat of a hypocrit, because sometimes I give Jake an iced tea or a lemonade for dessert, but there is something about a kid drinking soda that makes my skin crawl.
Jake has had more coffee and booze in his life than he has had soda.
If I'm having a gin and lemonade, I'll let him take a sip.  If I'm having a rum and coke, I'm all like "put that down!  there is soda in there!"

I'm an awesome mom.
You can totally judge me on that the way I judge you for giving your kid a Pepsi.  I'm okay with that.

You do have social services on speed dial, right?
Anyway.  So, the doctor suggested lots of fluids, like (and I quote) "Gatorade or flat Ginger Ale"
Oh no.
Oh gah.
The needle slid off the record as soon as the words were out.

I didn't argue.  I'm not that kind of person.
I nodded and smiled and my brain said "over my dead body".

First of all, ginger is great for an upset stomach.  Ginger Ale and Ginger beer were medicines in my house growing up.  In the 70s and 80s.  When they put ginger in it.
There is no ginger in ginger ale anymore.  There are carefully calibrated chemicals that taste like ginger in there.

Second of all, Gatorade?
The color alone is enough to make a girl wonder.
It's full of very long words with very few vowels.  It has the chemical make up of liquid plastic.
Or something.  I made that up.  That's not a proven fact, just one girl's opinion.
If Jake is a bit dried out, I make this concoction of citrus juice (OJ works, or lemon juice, even if it does come out of those plastic lemons) and honey and salt and water.  I know how to spell all those words.  I know what is going in my kid.
(Also, it is a great morning after remedy.  Not the kind of morning after remedy that gets rid of unwanted babies.  But the kind the helps you get over the headaches and shakes.  I wish there was a remedy that gets rid of babies when you have the headaches and shakes.  I think that I'm going to start a sobriety plan where I loan out babies- not yours or mine, but the ones lying around the City waiting for adoption and stuff- to drunks and make them deal with a hangover and a baby at the same.  I'm sure they will be cured of alcoholism in three days)

That said, I want to admit something here.  I'm totally addicted to Cherry Coke Zero and G2.  If I have one, I won't stop drinking them for a month.  If you are already in love with these products, you know what I mean.  If you haven't tried them, don't say I didn't warn you.

I'm also addicted to Fiber One Peanutbutter and Oats bars.  Don't want to eat too many of those in one day.
And I like to put sugar and so much parmesan cheese that it sops up the sauce on spaghetti.  And I ate all of the Reese Bells and Rolos from our stockings that were wrapped in green foil in one day.  And the other day, I saw a Cheeto on the 10 Trolley floor and I got off two stops early so I could buy a bag of Cheetos and I ate the whole thing in three minutes AND licked the orange off my fingers.  I like to crush up an entire row of Oreos in a big noodle bowl and pour milk over it and eat it like cereal.  When I have the house to myself, I put Jake to bed and run downstairs to make an entire box of vanilla pudding and I put it in the freezer because I can't wait the entire 5 minutes it takes for it to pudd (if Jello jels, then pudding pudds) in the fridge and then I eat it all, pouring Smucker caramel sauce on each bite.  Sometimes I make a bowl of hot fudge sauce and pour a bag of Reese Pieces in there and eat it like soup.  The Pieces melt, but they stay in the shell.  Try it.  I like mayo on my french fries.

My new year's resolution is to start taking care of myself the way I take care of my child.

I love my cat. 

I'm sad that she's getting older and sometimes she gets sick and pukes all over or poops right outside of her litter box.  I mean, she never pees outside of her litter box.  Pee is so gross and you can never totally clean it up.  It works its way into the floorboards and every time it rains the smell is reactivated and it permeates all through the house.  Everyone knows that.  When she is constipated (which is why she is pooping outside the box), it's all hard and never smears and you can pick it right up with a tissue.  And when she pukes, sometimes she is super nice about it and eats it so I don't have to clean it up.  The worst is when she pukes on my bed and leaves it there and I don't see it until my foot slides into a cold, lumpy, moist pile of half digested food and hair.

I love my cat.
She's my family.
So I deal with it.

O
M
G
That is so gross.  I can't believe I feel this way.

Can you imagine if there was a person in my house doing that?

And this post read:

I love my aunt/mother/sister/cousin.
I'm sad that she's getting older and sometimes she gets sick and pukes on the floor or poops right outside of the toilet. I mean, she never pees outside of the toilet. Pee is so gross and you can never totally clean it up. It works its way into the floorboards and every time it rains the smell is reactivated and it permeates all through the house. Everyone knows that. When she is constipated (which is why she is pooping outside the toilet), it's all hard and never smears and you can pick it right up with a tissue. And when she pukes, sometimes she is super nice about it and eats it so I don't have to clean it up.  The worst is when she pukes on my bed and leaves it there and I don't see it until my foot slides into a cold, lumpy, moist pile of half digested food and hair.


I love my aunt/mother/sister/cousin.
She's my family.
So I deal with it.

I was all prepared to spend a slow day in the office, filling in for my unit, fielding errant emails and rogue phone calls.  I was going to do some updated independent internet research on the dangers of petroleum based products because I know that Santa filled your stockings with travel sized lotions and soaps and cosmetics because Santa doesn't care about your well-being like I do.  See, it's easy for Santa to just pipe out the oil from his back yard and the elves put it in things like hand creams and chap sticks.

I've been (almost) petro-free in my routine for years now.  Slowly finding new products to replace the old standbys.  It's been a few months since I got on that soapbox.  Time to revisit.
Jake's skin is especially sensitive to petroleum based products (baby oil, diaper creams, Vaseline, Aquaphor, Cetaphil {which was especially hard for me to give up until I found Dr. Bronners}, etc) so it was a quick and easy decision for me when it came to what I use on him.  Most lotions contain petroleum, listed as mineral oil or paraffin.  Most products that contain petroleum are listed among people's favorites.  They make your skin feel less flaky and itchy and tight, sure.  But it's what they are doing under your skin that's total horrorshow.

Dudes, it's PETROLEUM.  Petroleum.   Ground up dinosaurs and plankton and stuff should be used to fuel our cars (not really, but that's a whole nother post, plus I can't afford an electric car so I will keep my mouth shut on that front) not our outermost dermal layers.  Would you dip your babies in kerosene?  Wash your face with asphalt?  Because that's basically what's been going on in the cosmetic industry.

I meant to get around to listing some sources, but it's not going to happen.  So, if  you are interested in what petroleum does to your body, Google it yourself.  Science is pretty much on the side of Petroleum-based Cosmetics are Evil, no matter how liberal or conservative the researchers are.  I'd gather arguments from both sides for you today, but I'm suffering from something larger today.

Jake is sick.  Really sick.  For the first time in his life, I have to take him to the pediatrician's office for a non-routine visit.
Either that makes him the healthiest kid around or makes me the worst mother in the world.
I vote for the healthiest kid option, though I know that normal some moms jump to the doc's for things that I can cure with a cuddle and a cup of warm chamomile tea with lots of honey in front of too many hours of television while I take the opportunity to get something done around the house.  I'm not a Going to the Doctor person.  I'm not a Going to the Doctor mother.  No little snots or coughs or aches or pains have ever lasted more than 24 hours in my house.  That's the benchmark for Jake.  72 for grownups.  96 for the cat.

Jake puked two days ago, but I chalked it up to rich holiday food and too many cookies and chocolates and late nights.  He was a little sluggish yesterday, but ran around for two hours at the playground with his buddy.  I knew we were in for a rough night when Jake started holding entire conversations with me that were not in English.  We have these little word games that we play, that we've played since before he could really talk, and I pretended for five minutes that he was playing one of those (it's basically sound and word association, and totally awesome if  you are me or Jake, but probably kinda creepy if you aren't) but I realized when he went on and on and on and didn't answer my questions with real words he wasn't doing so hot.
Last night he was in tears.  Giant tears, and his eyes were so big and scary and he kept saying to me over and over again things like "I don't know what to do, the pain is so bad" and "I just can't do it, mommy, I need to give up, how can I just give up?" and "my head feels like someone is inside there with tools" and "why are my ears trying to fall off my head?" and my heart broke a million ways and all I could say was that I was sorry and I wish there was something I could do.

Tylenol and Triaminic weren't cutting it, and those are my big guns. 

So I took him downstairs and let him stay up all night and watch Sprout.  Until yesterday, I never understood why the hell that was a 24 hour channel.  What kind of parent would let their brats watch Barney ever at 2am?
Ones who don't have a working DVD player, ones desperate for a little sleep, who know that the boy doesn't have the energy to get up and cause trouble, not that he is the Get up and Cause Trouble type anyway.

When I was little, I guess about Jake's age, I suffered from terrible ear infections and headaches.  My mom and dad would hold me and tell me stories interrupted a million times by them telling me that they wish they could take away the pain, that I should concentrate on breathing and pretend that I was blowing the pain out with every breath.  It didn't work for me, and it didn't work for Jake.

My mom and dad would also blow cigarette smoke in my ears and plug it with a cotton ball.  That helped.  But I don't smoke.
Of course that isn't recommended anymore, instead you are supposed to use your hairdryer.  The hot air (set on low, of course) supposedly melts the fluid build up.

I don't own a hairdryer.
I'm considering buying one so I can buy that film that you seal your drafty windows with, but then what would I do with it once the ear ache is gone and the windows are sealed?

So, I spent a half hour or so breathing into Jake's ear and telling him that I wish I was the one who was sick and I was so sorry.  He laid still for a bit, so I'm guessing it worked.

I know that most moms deal with earaches and the flu and all sorts of maladies from the time their babies are just a few weeks old but I never had to.  A snotty nose here, one or two pukes there, sure.  But nothing bigger than that.  I'm taking this a little harder than I should.  It's not my fault that Jake is sick.  It's not the end of the world.  It's an ear infection, most likely.

My mind is telling me that this is where it starts.  That he will have to have the same surgery I had to have to correct chronic ear infections when I was 5.  That this is the start of a lifelong pattern of migraine headaches.  That this is what I get because I don't allow anti-bacterial soaps or sprays or gels or lotions in my house or on our bodies, and this is what I get for not nursing my baby until he is in the fourth grade, and this is what I get because I never made anyone wash their hands before they held Jake as a baby and I don't make him wash his hands after playing at the park or riding the subway.  This is what I get for my "it only makes you stronger" approach at communal germ sharing.

I'm such an over-reactor.

My brain is telling me all those reasons up there is why it's taken 3.75 years for Jake to catch something that puts him out of commission like this, and that I'll drop by the pediatrician at 4, and leave with a script for the bubblegum medicine (the over use and under effectiveness of antibiotics, another thing I could take an hour long stand on...) and by this time tomorrow Jake will be playing with his new racetracks given to him by his grandparents and rocking out on the guitar that Santa brought.

keeping the Sabbath

Jake:  mommy, you know Jesus?
me: what about him?
Jake:  Well, when he was little he had to live in a box with donkeys until he grew up and then he decided to help people who didn't have anything to eat so he walked around and gave people crabs and fish and it all smelled really bad and tasted gross but it was nice to do anyways.
me: Yeah, Jesus probably smelled really bad.  There wasn't a lot of bath-taking back then and he was always messing with fish and wine and loved giving people crabs.
Jake: yeah, he sure stunk but he was an alright guy.

I am so grateful for the billions of years of creative forces and endless evolutions that have made it possible for Jacob to be mine and for me to be his in this time and this space where absolutely nothing is more significant to me than our tiny pinprick of existence which is larger than anything that I could ever know.

Lucy from Lucy's Life in Suburb World has awarded me with the Happy 101, which I've kinda been jealous about lately. I see it on other people's blogs and think "boy, I could really use an hour or so where I devote six minutes each to ten things that make me happy, then I scroll down to where the blogger awards this to other people and I get Sad101 because my name isn't down there. Then I go through this thing about "omg what if no one likes me anymore?" which turns into "holy crap maybe people don't think I'm happy about anything because I whine a lot" which goes into "no one likes me because I'm a whiner".

So thank you, Lucy, for giving me the chance to talk about what makes me happy because I'm actually pretty damned happy most of the time but I hate to sound like a Pollyanna or whatever.  I find that a general pissy attitude prevails here on the internets when people talk about things that make them happy.  Other people get all grumbly and angry and accuse the smiler of being braggy or fake or obnoxious.  So in turn, we all start whining and venting and bringing each other down in an abysmal spiral of despair.

That should probably stop.  It is so two thousand ought, and we are stepping into the two thousand tens in a few days.

Onward and upward my friends.
Onward and upward.

Happy 101: list 10 things that make you happy, try to do at least one of them today, and link back to the person that tagged you.

1) whiskers on kittens and bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens and brown paper packages tied up with strings and girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes.

the rest of it I can do without.

2) my $5 brown sweater, my giant orange cashmere scarf, and my Ugg boots that aren't those ubiquitous Paris Hilton Ugg boots but really nice Ugg boots that you would never look at and say 'ugh'.  I wear the sweater at least three days a week, the scarf five or six, and the boots six or seven.  Wearing all this stuff at once is just like rubbing mashed potatoes all over my body.

That's a good thing, by the way.

3) Christmas cards.  Every day in December I look forward to getting the mail.  Most of the ones I got this year are the photo cards, which are really awesome when the only time you see an old friend's kid is once a year.  I noticed the other day that among the regular cards, there is only one with Santa on it and none with Jesus.  Weird. 
As someone who grew up in a faith that considered pictures of Jesus to be idolatry (ever notice that Protestant crosses don't have Jesus on them?), I get totally schitzed when I see pictures of Jesus.

Divert thine eyes!  Divert thine eyes!
Graven alert! Graven alert!

So, I'm happy that there is a total lack of Baby Jesus Images in my house because nothing sends a girl to hell faster than resting her eyes on a false image of the Lord.

I joke, but my soul recognizes this as truth.  Please do not mock my upbringing nor my beliefs (asks the girl who may or may not have bought a kitschy rendition of The Last Supper to hang in her kitchen because she thinks it's wildly hilarious that 90% of all kitchens in her neighborhood contain some sort of Last Supper wallhanging, usually in the form of a clock, as if it is some sort of prerequisite to living in the 19148 zip code.  Whatever, now my house is totally up to local code.).

4) Having what I call a "Good SEPTA Day", when all the buses and trains are running according to my schedule.

5) The comic strips I have pinned up on my bulletin board.  They are both Brevity, one has four hippos sitting around and the one hippo says to the other ones "To tell you the truth, I'm not even that hungry... but when I see those marbles, I just lose it".
The other one is the top of the earth, and all sorts of ethnically stereotyped people are holding hands and smiling.  It's reminiscent of this corny thing that lots of social workers plaster all over the place.  So the French kid in a beret and striped shirt is holding hands with a Chinese dude in a silk outfit who is next to a Mexican guy in a poncho and sombrero who is looking worriedly at a Kenyan boy.
Hell... here's a bad picture of it all:

6) People who walk down the street smiling for no apparent reason.

7) Old ladies who smoke cigarettes.  I've already shared that here.

8) Dinors.  I'm never happy with the food, but I'm always happy to be there.
And no, that's not spelled wrong.  You were just born in the wrong place.

9) Warm humid grey days.  Sunshine is nice, I guess.  But it gives me headaches.

10)  Saltine crackers.  Crushed up in tomato soup.  Better yet, crushed up in milk and sprinkled with black pepper.  Oh, or topped with peanut butter and jelly.  So delicious.  I could eat them every day.  I usually do.

So I hear about this band. Wu Tang Clan? Apparently, they are not nothing to fuck with.

Ellen (aka Insomniac Ellen) over at .................this bittersweet symphony has awarded me the Honest Scrap Award, which is my favorite thing in all of the internets because it lets bloggers get all gritty on their blogs.

I started reading Ellen's blog because
1) she has fibromyalgia too, and
2) she is an insomniac too, and
3) she reads a lot of the same blogs I do, and that's how we network in these parts.

Can I get a shout from all my insomniatic fibromyalgic sisters out there?  Holler!
It's a rough way to live, and we need one another because it's a strange thing to explain to others.

But Ellen's blog isn't all about that, so don't shy away just in case you are a sleeper who doesn't have to plan your life around things like "flares" and "sulfites" and "tender points" and and and.  There actually isn't a lot of talk about that kind of stuff at all.  I love her because she lives her life despite all these things.  It's inspirational.

Also, she lives pretty close to me.  I like my locals, that's for sure.

1.  Why are my chocolate chip cookies so much better than yours, you ask?  Even though we both make Toll House cookies?

It's because I don't use light brown sugar.  Most people do.

Dark brown is where it's at, babies.

There is a higher concentration of molasses in dark brown sugar, which is how I get that caramely taste in my cookies.  It's especially good in chocolate chip cookies and oatmeal cookies, just so you know.

Also?  Those ones with nuts?  I don't use walnuts.  Walnuts are for punks and suckers.

Pecans : walnuts ::

Humans : gorillas.

Related, sure.  But not so much equals on a scale of humanity.

Just like I don't make sweet sweet mouth love to gorillas, I don't get within licking distance of a walnut either.

2.  I did okay on my SATs.  Especially the math part.  The scoring and evaluation was different back then in the olden days, and we weren't allowed to use calculators, but I did just fine.

I remember that I checked some weird box when it asked us to best describe our religious preferences because I thought it was weird that the SAT Board cared about that.  I got lots and lots of application packets from Bible Colleges and universities that were on the fringe of normal society.

Michigan Center for Mathematics and Militia Study kind of stuff.

Gabriel's Academy for Geometry and Godliness may have been one of them.

I'm making that up, I don't think that those exist, but there are some strange institutions of higher learning out there.

Lots and lots of unaccredited programs, for sure.

3.  I've been taking 3mg of melatonin each night for a week and a half now, and it has changed my life.  If you  have any troubles in the sleep department, give it a try.  I take it between 9 and 10 and am in bed by 11.  I still wake up in the middle of the night sometimes, but I can just roll over and go back to sleep.  Quality and quantity of sleep are way up.

I don't know why I thought that I would be special and melatonin wouldn't work for me.  I was so resistant for so many years.  I'm so stupid about some stuff.

4.  I have severe anxiety about cold weather.  I know it is supposed to be chilly today, so I'm wearing three shirts.  I can hardly put my arms down, but I'll be happy walking up to Chinatown in an hour and then traveling across to that weird neighborhood that isn't really Center City and isn't quite Fairmount and isn't West Philly because it is on the wrong side of the river and it's too far north to be considered University City.  That noman's-land stretch between Arch and Girard and 17th and 25th where buses hardly run, what is that called, anyway?

5.  I ran out of Christmas cards last night and all they have left at the stores are ones that don't really jive with my personal style.  What is a girl to do?  I'm only about a dozen short.

The last time this happened to me, I ended up getting picked up for shoplifting.

First let me tell you that I think stealing is the worst transgression you can commit, just short of murder (which is stealing life).  I was carrying a gift bag that contained one of those horrible $9.99 lotion sets that my boss gave to everyone.  I walked in the Rite Aid to pick up a pack of Christmas cards and walked out right away because they only had espanol ones left. 

Just as I opened the door to leave, I got yanked backwards by my hood and dragged back into the store.  My lotion was apparently bought from Rite-Aid, and despite not having the price sticker or security tag still on there and despite the presence of a stupid bow on it and despite the fact that it was in a super ugly, obviously re-used gift bag and despite the fact that I didn't even go down the lotion aisle, the meathead security guard (who "went through the tenth grade and knows a thing or two about girls in this neighborhood" {his words}) thought I stole it because I ran in and out of the store without buying anything.

You can imagine the ridiculousness that ensued.  I didn't yell.  Or fight.  But I did call the police myself and they laughed the guy off the phone so he let me go.

Luckily I worked at Rite Aid through college and knew a thing or eight about their security system, so I played back the tape and advised the guy to stop acting like an asshole and start paying attention.

He was the total rent-a-cop type who didn't have a shot in hell to be accepted in to the Army or Police Academy.  Or finish high school, apparently.  He was very proud to have gone up to the tenth grade.  There is something scary about someone who is very proud to have gone up to the tenth grade.  First of all, you shouldn't even be old enough to drop out in the tenth grade unless you repeated something.  Second of all, yeah.

Long story short, I'm a little jumpy about buying last minute Christmas cards.

6.  I despise scented lotions.  They never smell like what they are supposed to.  When I was in high school, the Bath and Body Raspberry lotion was popular.  It smells like skunked fruity beer.  I don't know how anyone can stand that, and people are still wearing it today, twenty years later.  I also don't understand why anyone would want to smell like fruit.  Exotic spice, yes.  Floral, okay.  Fruit?  Attracts bugs and creepy dudes.  Maybe it's just me.

Cinnamon and  vanilla stuff just smells like cheap waxy candles.  To me.

I used to like the smell of Palmer's Cocoa-butter, but now it smells metallic when I breathe it in.  I think it's because we used to use it when I worked in a parking lot, and everything we touched was made out of metal and dried our hands out.  It was a vulgar cycle of steal and moisturizer.

My favorite hand lotion is Neutrogena Hand Cream.  It's a miracle worker.

I usually just use olive oil or jojoba oil on my skin.

I'm into natural stuff, but I shave my armpits on the regular.

7.  I know I'm not supposed to re-use bottled water bottles, but I run them into the ground.  I'll carry one around for two weeks.  Science says it's dangerous because of the bacteria that gets in there, but I am the healthiest person I know.

I'm not a germaphobe at all.

I will lick a homeless person right now.

It doesn't kill you, it only makes you stronger.

I'm not a frequent handwasher.

Just after I go to the bathroom is plenty for me.

I'm a nosepicker and an eye digger.

I bite my nails.

I take public trans every day.

I've never been sick with an infection for more than a day or two.

I also avoid antibiotics and vaccinations.  Jake has all his necessary shots, but that's as far as I go.

I think antibiotics should be packaged with yeast infection treatments.

Like the last pill of every Z-Pak should be a Diflucan.

Am I right ladies?

Am I right?

Ladies?

Ahem...

8.  Dr Bronner's Magic Soaps own my heart.  I love the peppermint one and the unscented one.  The peppermint one gives you a chill, so it isn't really great for me in the winter, but I love the way it makes me feel cold on a summer morning.  It's great for all types of skin.  Like Cetaphil, but I like it better.

I recently bought a couple things at  Duross and Langle.

A pump bottle of Coffee Mint soap for the kitchen.  It's amazing and fresh and lively.

And a bar of Bay Rum (described as: "a modern moisturizing shea bar reminiscent of grand dad's traditional bay rum shaving soap. great for those cold winter mornings to get you out of bed").  And it does.  I love it dearly.  But I'll tell you, if you put the words Bay and Rum together, you have me before you get the "buh" sound out of your mouth.

Bay Rum.

It sounds so wonderful, doesn't it?  Light and breezy and tipsy and carefree.

You could mix the essence of dozen dead fish drowned in boatmotor oil with a toilet full of Capt Morgan's hangover and call it Bay Rum and I'd still buy it from you.

9.  When I was a waitress-

Let's take it back even broader-  any time I see someone or meet someone that I may have seen/met before, I totally act like I know who they are, just in case I actually do and I just forgot.

When Mary is like "Lora, this is Sally, Sally, Lora" I am all "oh, hey Sal!  How are you feeling?" just in case Sally was at my cousin's brother in law's neighbor's office picnic that was held right next to Mary's mother's favorite knitting store.

So when I was a waitress, I treated every customer like a regular.

I treat everyone I see like we are second cousins once removed.

It's how I make people feel welcome and loved and safe.

There is nothing that knocks $2 off a tip (I'm overly generous with the tips, so those two bucks aren't going to make anyone suffer) faster than a waitress introducing herself to me and asking me if I've ever been to _____ before.

WTeff is up with that?

"Hi! I'm Jessie and welcome to (insert crappy chain here)!  Have you ever been here before?"

Jessie, I don't care about your name because I'm not going to scream it across the dining room if I need something.  And why does it matter if I've ever been to Crapplebugs before?  It's not like I'm with a group that arrived on a bus from the Special Needs Home because we collected enough tokens in our You Did It! jar to earn the chance to order all. by. ourselves!.

I'm quite familiar with the process.

I sit down and ask for a water while I decide, despite the fact that I don't intend to order a soda that pairs well with my meal choice.

Then you come back with my water and ask me if there are any questions about the menu that looks exactly like every other menu I've ever seen in a restaurant.

Then I say no and point to something that has a picture of itself right next to it just in case I can't read.

Then you say okay and that you are going to put that order right in and then between the time you put the order in and bring my food out you will put some extra napkins on the table.

Then you bring out my food and disappear for two hours.

Then you put the check on the table and say "no rush" and go back to doing your sidework so you can get out of there asap and make it to class in time

Then you come back in 45 minutes with married ketchup all over the bottoms of your forearms and say "just a sec".

Then you hover over me while I sign the bill so I don't steal your pen.

Then I take that last sip of water and leave.

Why does it matter if I've been there before.  It's the same in all these places.

I know for a fact there is no loyalty discount or anything.

So who cares?

10.  I have to work late tonight, but afterward I'm making cutout cookies.  Drop by if you feel like icing them.  If you can't make it, I think I'll just sprinkle them with colored sugar. 

10b.  I made Jake taste his earwax the other day so he would stop picking it out of his ears and wiping it on the couch.  I can't wait til his birthday when I can make him taste crepe paper.  Have you ever tasted it?  No?  Try it.  I dare you.  I can't keep it out of my mouth if I have a roll around.  It's unlike anything in the world.

10c.  I gave Jake a plastic drink sword and a paper drink umbrella the other day and  he gave them back saying, "no thanks, I'm not a Chinese girl"

me: what?

Jake: this is how Chinese ladies fight dragons (holding the umbrella above his head and making jabby motions with the sword)

Of course.

Because I can't stand one more nasty email from random disgruntled people with random flybynight emails (ie-23456qwerty at gmail dot com.  That's not a real email, but very much like the ones I get when people don't agree with something I'm saying) I guess I should add a little clarification to that last post, in which some people thought that I was likening Stay at Home Moms to Prostitutes and Indentured Servants.

No.

The girl I was talking about is in a, well- different kind of marriage than the ones I'm used to. 
She is not allowed to work, nor is she allowed to finish her PhD.
She is to have the house cleaned to her husbands specifications by 3 pm.
The children are not allowed to be in rooms other than their own and a designated play area.
She is to make sure that the children are scrubbed and fed and in bed by 7pm because he can't stand the noise.
She is to make an amazing dinner each night for four people, just in case someone from the office or church stop by.
She is to remain slender, but not so slender that she looks sick.
She is to remain pregnant or nursing.
She is not to shop, but at the same time she is not to dress sloppily.
She recieves presents for being good.  Clothes and shoes and bags and jewels.
"Good" is constantly redefined.
She is to "earn" her spending money, he handles the bills, he does the shopping.
She has sex to earn her spending money.
She says it's the only affection he will show her.
She is to follow his rules to keep her status as his wife.
She says she is "living biblically", but I think it's an excuse.

It's horrible.

To the outside, they look like June and Ward.
He is rich.  Handsome.  Powerful.  Esteemed.  Involved with the church.  The community.
The house is gorgeous.  The lawn is manicured, by hired hands.  The house is decorated, by hired help.

She stands at the door looking pretty when he comes in.
She waves hello to the neighbors, but doesn't have time to come out and chat.
She wears a 4 carat diamond ring.
She has a Jaguar which sits in the garage.
She has everything a girl could want, but freedom.

"But he's so handsome!
And rich!
And the house is so beautiful!
And it's a great school district!
And who knows why his last wife left him and gave up everything just to go to work!"
Is what she says in her defense.

But when those defenses are down, the truth comes out.
And it is horrifying.

I'm sad she lives like that.  Angry that she lives like that.
For what?
Money.  Status.
She'll tell you herself.
She has plenty of friends and family who want her to come back home.
She has a great education, a better resume than most, an unrivaled work ethic.

And I'm almost glad I don't see her anymore.  It's heartbreaking.  We used to work together and now I see her from time to time if she stops in the office or I might talk to her when she calls.
No emails.
She doesn't have internet access.
She always wanted to marry up and have a few kids and stay home with them.  She wanted to marry someone in the church, someone with a job, someone who wasn't like the men around her way.  Live out in the burbs.  Drive a nice car.  Have hired help.
She got it.

So no, I don't think that SaHMs are whores or slaves.
But it's sad when I see women treated that way.

I found myself with some time and a Metro paper this morning so I holed myself up at a coffee shop and took a look at what was going on in my town.

Sometimes I ignore the news for weeks on end.  I know that shows a tremendous amount of civic irresponsibility, but I can only take so much of the stuff.

So let's see...
Oh, that lady who may or may'nt  have offered some quality time with her vagina in exchange for World Series tickets is still in the news.
Such bull.
People have sex with strangers in return for the gracious settling of a beer tab or just because they think the other person looks cute.
It's only sex.  It (usually) doesn't hurt anyone.  This is ridiculous.

I have a friend who exchanges bi-weekly sex with her husband for $40 to go out with her friends every other Friday night.  She considers it her "reward".  He calls it her "allowance".  I call it "prostitution".
Legal prostitution and no one is doing anything to crack down on that heinous crime.
Men keeping their women down, women smiling about it until they have a few drinks, then they can't stop crying.

Tale as old as time
Tune as old as song
Bittersweet and strange
Finding you can change
Learning you were wrong
Certain as the sun
Rising in the east
Tale as old as time
Song as old as rhyme
Beauty and the Beast

She also exchanges household chores and child rearing for free room and board in his house (make no mistakes about it, it is HIS house.  Not THEIR house.  In case of a split, she moves out and takes the brats with her.)
She calls it "staying at home".  I call it "indentured servitude". 
Tomaytoes Tomahtoes

What else...
They caught that guy that escaped from CFCF.  Escaped prisoners are the least of my worries.  They tend to lie pretty low.  It's those released ones causing all the trouble.  Check the papers.
Released sex offender rapes/tortures/kills girl/girls/boy/boys.
Paroled murderer guns down/stabs/strangles man/men/woman/women.

Or worse, it's the ones never caught in the first place until it's too late.
Escapees make for nice quiet neighbors.

And next page...
So I guess one of the girls that was doing Tiger Woods didn't know he was married.
Yeah, um, me neither.
I thought he was gay.
This whole thing was a shocker to me.

Here's one I like...
Tea and coffee are shown to lower the risk of diabetes.  I'm down to one cup a day, and no one in my family has ever had The Sugar.
So I'm pretty much guaranteed to be Diabete Free for life.

And finally...
Joy Behar is still on her kick that only children are the best thing ever.  She was an only and she only has one.  She said that she was never lonely because of her huge Italian family that was all up in her face all the time.  Sounds like a little boy who lives in my house. 
One of the columnists was whining about how everyone keeps asking her when her #2 is going to come along but she is having such a great time with only having one child and doesn't want that to end anytime soon.

She goes the nice way about it and said something like "someday I'll have another little mouth to feed, but not today!"
I'm not usually that nice about it.

But wait...
My horoscope says:
you could find yourself far more aware of others' needs than usual

Great.  Just what I need.  As if Little Ms Hyperawareness needs more.
I'm not answering my phone today, because I'm not in a mood to get sucked into anyone else's needs.

***

I went to the new orthopaedist today.  Got poked and proded and pictured.  The x-rays show that it isn't a bone problem, thankfully.  So now on to get an MRI and see a neurologist (1/18).  Someone's gotta find out what's wrong and fix it, because I'm miserable between the top of my head and the nape of my neck.

The ortho is at 8th and Spruce.  Walking into the same building where I've been on the receiving end of  "it's not normal" and "it's worth running a few tests" and "it's cancer" and "it's not getting better" and "it looks like it's all cleared up" and "it's a boy!" brings mixed feelings.

I've sloughed off the bad, kept the good.

Through the front doors of 800 with my game face on, knowing that they can take care of me until I get better.

This small town life can run a girl in circles sometimes.
In through the out doors and out through the in.

Moving onwards, it's all we can do.

last year vs. this year

 

a strong hot drink after Santa paired with a sweater vest never goes out of style.

I'm always so proud of myself because I'm so righteous.
Not about everything, of course, but I'm one of those people who will preach to anyone who listens about how Christmas isn't about gifts and all this nonsensical debt-inducing shopping and gift one-upping has absolutely got to stop and I'm 100% right on this so no one can argue.

You don't know how self satisfying it is to me to say something that no one can argue with.

Seriously guys, put down the credit card and just give a little love and time to your friends and family this year.  It's totally WJWD (What Jesus Would Do)

Hurrying and scurrying and running yourself into the ground is totally WJW'ntD. 
Just keep that in mind.
I'm quite sure he isn't up there saying "no one is making a big enough deal about my birthday.  If they really loved me, they'd sell the house and cash in the 401K"

I know I'm old because when people ask me what I want for Christmas I'm all like,

just a hug

And I truly mean it.

I love long hugs at Christmastime.  Those ones that both hugger and huggee know should have ended on the count of three (I like the three second rule for personal contact) but it goes on until about 7 or 8.  

Most people need one of those hugs round about this time of year but it's awkward to ask so I just get in there and hold on tight so people have no choice but to give into the love.

Once I feel the tension go out of their shoulders I let go, knowing that my work is done.

I'm like an Advent Boa Constrictor.

Much better than those cheap cardboard crap chocolate 24-door things.

So, the same month that I paid off the Amex I had to put another 3.5K on it for this little bad girl:

helloooooo, nurse!
What a difference from the Beast, right?

Merry Christmas honey, I hope you enjoy your new furnace.  Wear it well and in good health.  All your friends will be jealous.

This new one can cook, let me tell you how hot it is in my house nowadays. 

Hot.

Almost too hot to bake cookies.
But not if you strip down into your underpants.
Warning to anyone who eats the cherry almond cookies this year: I made them in my underwear. 
The good news is that I used dried cherries instead of cherry flavored cranberries because I'm rich like that.
Or at least was rich like that, before the boiler went.

Now I join the millions who dread their January credit card statement.

Such is life, and things could be much worse.

Like if when I dyed my hair yesterday it could've come out like Mrs. Costanza's.  That's always my fear, now that I have the thin (and outright bald) spots, that the red dye won't take right and I'll have one of those see-through bare scalpy hairdos that is sparsely covered with pinkish orangish hair. 
But it didn't so I'm thrilled.

Although I'm not happy with the way that it really brings out my red nose, which has been rubbed raw with tissues because I've got a case of the snots.

Jake and I do this "silent screaming" thing sometimes and it's really fun and feels good to get it all out at one another.   Primal therapy has been debunked, by the way.  But it's still a quick way to get a release and can come in handy at bedtime.

Try it, and let me know how it works out for you.

Do you guys ever stop over to Yellaphant? 
If not, you should be.
Bridget is pretty.
And funny.
And runs marathons.
And has a tattoo and haircut that I think I might steal the idea of someday.
The haircut I sort of already have.  It looks almost the same but since I'm balding it's kinda hard to do without making me look like I'm doing a combover.  By the way?  I've found a way to give myself a combover without looking like I'm giving myself a combover.
The tattoo I don't have, but I am getting the urge.  The problem is that I'm running out of spots to get tattoos that won't make me look like a washed up old bag will ill-placed tattoos.  Spots that would've been good ten years ago are now covered with bermuda shorts, sensible skirts, 3/4 length sleeves, and spanx.  Such is life.
"is that a tattoo of an orange?
no, a tiger lily
but what are those dimples?
my fat."
And Bridget is moving away soon and I'm a little bummed because the 75 times we tried to make plans they fell through because she lives in the burbs and I live in the city and sometimes it's hard to orchestrate a get together.
Maybe it's for the best.  We might ruin the world if we ran the streets together.

So instead of giving me the gift of a hardened liver and motivation to get on the treadmill, Bridget gave me this:

There aren't any rules for this award, so I'll just tell you some stuff.

1.  I'm trying to read Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.  I bought it for myself for my birthday.  I hate it.  More than I hated Pride and Prejudice and that is my least favorite of all the classics.  Every time I read a page of either I sigh and my brain screams "I don't care!".  It's so juvenile.
I try to read and love all the classics, and I thought this would be a great way to get through P&P, but it's not.  Despite the presence of zombies.

2.  I hate trains.  I like riding them alright, but I hate train sets.  I think they are so horrible and unnecessary and I just hate them.  In my house.  In your house, I really love them.  I want to watch them go around and around and around and around and can you please stop talking to me because I didn't come here to visit with you I came here to drink myself into a vortex while watching your train go around and around and around and around and can you please put on some Christmas music? maybe Nat King Cole while I watch your train and I could use a little more to drink I think.
We had them when I was growing up.  Ones that circled the Christmas tree.
They.
Weren't.
Toys.
So don't try to touch them.
Trust me on that one.

3.  I'm finished with my improv class.  I'd be lying if I said that it didn't change my life.  Seriously?  It made me a better parent, even.  I play a lot of the improv games with Jake at bedtime, and he is way better at them than I'll ever be.  He loves it.  I love it.  $150 well spent.
I'm going to take the next Level, which I feel awkward about because by signing up for the next level what you are really saying is "I think I'm good enough to go on"
And I do.
And the other kids seemed to like me.
For the same reason that you do, I'm guessing.
Because they liked the random things I can come up with.
And because I can come up with random things, I think I'm good enough to go on.
So, I'll be going on.
And working on a few more issues and insecurities while I'm there.
Because that's what it's really about for me.  To bust out of the shell I keep myself in and shorten my filter a bit.

There is a lot in my brain that doesn't make it out of my mouth and fingers.

4.  I like to misspell Hanukkah.
Random C's and H's and N's and A's and U's and K's everywhere
Chaunakka
Hahnahkah
Chuanuakaua
Hunaka
Hunukah

5.  Mele kalikimaka is Hawaii's way, to say Merry Christmas, to you.

6.  One time at Quizzo I was the only person in the entire room who knew how to spell Mele Kalikimaka correctly.  No one else got it right, and I was the only one at our table who knew.  However, I can't spell
Hawiai
Hawiia.
Hawaii.
without the aid of spellcheck

7.  Remember how I'm afraid that my neck will fail me one day?  That day has come.  I see a new orthopaedist next Tuesday.  My old one only deals with the shoulders down.  Boo.
I'm hoping there is a cure for this:

Because it isn't cute.
Or large enough to support much:

Or short.
Long skinny necks are graceful and beautiful.
Bean poles that can barely hold up your head (quarter placed there for reference) aren't so much all that adorable.
It doesn't look that bad all the time, of course, but it tenses up and the bones get stiff and it all looks like something from a Tim Burton film creation when I look up at the ceiling.
What is your weirdest body part?

8. I took Jake to see Santa this week and it was magical.  He totally choked at Go Time, and asked Santa to guess what he wanted.  When Santa couldn't, Jake told him that he wasn't sure what the problem is, but everything he wants is right there in his head but his brain can't figure out how to get the words to come out of his mouth.  Then he closed his eyes and told Santa to look at his thought bubble, which is right above his head.  Naturally.  Because where else would it be?
It was then I stepped in to help: a guitar, a racetrack, and a trumpet.

A guitar and racetrack he will have.  A trumpet he will not.

9.  When I was a little kid, I remember someone telling me that in the big scheme of things, our lives are nothing but a flash in the pan. 
I always thought that to the universe, everything we do goes by as if in a flip book.  Remember those?  I loved those.  Like I was born and grown and died and gone all in a minute, all under a thumb.
I still think of it like that.
I like to think I have to hurry up and get things done because none of us have very much time but I also like to think that if I screw something up it doesn't make much of a difference on a universal level.
But it can make a huge impact globally.
That used to blow my mind.  Now it comforts it.
And scares me.
One person can make a difference.  Good or bad.
Martin Luther King, Jr or Adolph Hitler.
Mother Theresa or Osama Bin Laden.
Think of the lives saved and the lives lost under the hand of one person.

10.  I believe in life in other galaxies, on other planets, but I don't care if we ever make contact.  It's pretty silly and selfish to think that the whole entire universe was created for us.  I believe (hope) that we are, comparitively, a lower life form.  Take a walk or turn on the television if you need further proof.  Humans aren't all that developed, really.  Sometimes it's embarassing to be one of them and I wish I was born a cat instead.
What if People of Earth is the weird cousin? 
What if we are the proverbial bed wetters and fire starters and kitten drowners and nose pickers and classroom burpers and armpit sniffers?

If you are saying "no way", that means it's gotta be true. 
It's a scientific fact, you know: 
If you think you don't have a weird cousin, it's because you are the weird cousin.
That's the basis of antecedent/consequent reasoning.
Look it up. 

Thousands of years ago someone's weird cousin changed the entire course of human thought process.

And I stand here before you and dictate unto thee, fellow country men, if thoust think thou doth not haveth a strange relation, it's because thou art.
And half the congregation agreed:
I doth, therefore I am'nt.
And the other half said:
Bullshit, and walked away farting so hard that their robes were stained and giggling maniacly because they were all going to tie a bunch of tin cans to a dogs tail and shove a lit firecraker up its ass just to see what happens.

it's beginning to look a lot like Wednesday.

I originally posted this two years ago, but since most people here now weren't here then, it's totally brand new.

Anything that needs changing or editing or updating is in blue.


1. Wrapping paper or gift bags? I love to wrap presents more than anything because it is so conducive to my anal-retentive tendencies. But how nice is a gift bag when you use algorithms and geometric principals to meticulously fluff the tissue paper?  This year I bought three wrapping papers.  Red for Jake, Blue for Dave, Green for me.  They are all coordinated, kind of.  Not matchy or anything, but they look nice together.  All hail the Dollar Tree because they have the best wrapping paper selection ever.  Anyway, I thought it would be cooler than doing name tags.

2. Real tree or Artificial? Artificial. Real ones aren't guaranteed to be symmetrical and 99.9% perfect, and we can't have that. Oh no. We can't have that. It's Christmas after all, and we all know that the holiday has everything to do with the show that you are able to put on in your home.

3. When do you put up the tree? I used to put it up the day after Thanksgiving, but that changed this year. We just bought a new one and we threw it up before we hit the bars last Friday night. It was perfect since it is pre-lit, comes in three pieces, and Jake was on vacation that night. Speaking of just throwing it up, the tree was also a nice edition to my raging hangover the next day. Nothing says peace, love, and comfort like the view of your new cashmere-tipped, wonderfully-lit tree out of the corner of your eye while your face is jammed in the garbage can that you have dragged out and put next to the couch. Drinking is cool. You know what's even more cool? Washed up boozehounds who can't handle three drinks over six hours. I'm blaming the Chinese food lunch and the subsequent lack of dinner due to the nauseating effects of the MSG. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.  I still talk about that hangover.  It was one of the ones that really teach a girl like me a lesson.  The Chinese food came from an office Christmas party at the Pennsylvania Prison Society, and the same party will be held this Friday.  I asked the girl putting it together if they were doing Chinese food again (I didn't go last year, btw).  She said no, because so many people got sick two years ago.  It was one of the worst days of my life.

4. When do you take the tree down? I used to take it down New Year's Day while Dave was out Mummering, but we'll see now that Jake is around. It may have to wait until New Year's Night.  I forget when I did it last year, but Dave is going out for the parade this year again, and maybe I can dump the boy on a relative.  I love to do a huge clean out of the entire house on New Year's Day.

5. Do you like eggnog? More than anyone ever should. My arterial walls will be screaming by December 27th.  I like it with Butterscotch Schnapps in it.

6. Favorite gift received as a child? Wow, this is a hard one since I have successfully repressed most of my formative years. I'm sure there was something good in there somewhere, I'm just not sure what, where, or when.

7. Do you have a nativity scene? I have one of those Home Interiors ones but I don't put it out. I broke Joseph one year while I was cleaning out my basement and I don't want the Baby Jesus to look like a bastard child. That would be blasphemous and surely buy me a quick trip south in a handbasket. I guess I could put out what I have and just tell everyone that Old Joe is out back taking a leak.

8. Hardest person to buy for? Dave's dad.

9. Easiest person to buy for? My mom.

10. Worst Christmas gift ever received? People tend to think I'm a big girl, so I've gotten a lot of XL sweaters in my day. Turns out that they make great presents for homeless people, so everyone wins in the end. It's just my mouth and a few other choice parts that are big. The rest is pretty smallish.

11. Mail or e-mail Christmas card? I used to send about 100 Christmas cards, and they would all be addressed by Halloween and stamped by Thanksgiving. Now you're lucky if I wish you a Merry Christmas when you're at my big Holiday Extravaganza. If I was a better mom you'd all get photo cards, but I suck.  I have them all filled out and ready to go this year, but I don't have any stamps and the post office lines are always a mile long.  I promise to get them out soon (ish)

12. Favorite Christmas Movie? Oh, you know I can't sit through a movie. I like the classic tv specials. Charlie Brown, Rudolph, and the Grinch rock. Frosty is a bit queer. Not that there is anything wrong with that. I'm a Certified Professional Fag Hag but I can't stomach that frozen flamer. I think there is a message about AIDS in that show, I just can't pin it down. Something about melting being symbolic for some sort of Sarcoma or something.  Jake told me that he didn't like Frosty so much either.  Also?  He calls him Snotsy.  Well, called him until we told him it was actually Frosty.

13. When do you start shopping for Christmas? Labor Day. I'm a victim of the early marketing.  I'm also happy to have it finished well in advance.

14. Have you ever recycled a Christmas present? Of course! My Christmas gift from you makes a great housewarming gift for my friend that you don't know and have no chance of meeting! Thank you for being my personal shopper. I owe you one!

15. Favorite thing to eat at Christmas? Cookies

16. Clear lights or colored on the tree? I like the coloreds but the one I have at home is white. I could totally work in a "just like I like my men" joke somewhere in here and we would all laugh but I can't get the wording just right so I'll pass.

17. Favorite Christmas song? I love the standards. If it is written or produced after 1976 I hate it. Especially the one about the little boy asking Jesus to kill his mommy now that she has pretty new shoes and he has to wear rags. That's an instant classic. One I really want Jake to listen to so he has visions of dead mother dancing (in spectacular shoes) in his head every Christmas Eve from here on in. Figures that it is by the same guy who sings the song about a daddy making out hardcore with his daughter because she looks just like her mother. Country music is so fun.  I like Santa Baby, Winter Wonderland, Baby It's Cold Outside, Elvis' Blue Christmas, and Santa Claus is Coming to Town, especially when Jake sings it.  I don't like the slow songs, I like the fun ones.  Auld Lang Syne is one of my absolute favorites of all time anytime of year.

18. Travel at Christmas or stay home? I always stay the elf home. You are more than welcome to come over, there will be movies and tons of Chinese food. It's a great place to hide out from your crazy family. I won't tell.

19. Can you name Santa's reindeer? Vixen is my favorite, naturally.

20. Do you have an Angel on top or a star? Nothing. I have yet to find a tree topper worthy of my tree. But angels with trees in their arse are weird. And sexy.  I did find a star.  It's a bear to put on though.

21. Open the presents Christmas Eve or morning? I like waiting for morning. More suspense that way.

22. Most annoying thing about this time of year? Traffic and jerks and the guilt I feel every time I pass a bell ringer for the Salvation Army.

23. Ugliest Christmas Decoration ever invented? Christmas tree angels are creepiest, but I'm not much into doll things anyway. I hate those Hallmark things that play Christmas music and dance. I'm big into kitchy elegance, and those are neither kitchy nor elegant.

25. Which looks best theme trees or homey trees? I like anything, as long as it is at your house. I hate a bunch of junk tossed onto my tree. I don't care if your brat made it for me or not, it's garbage and I'll put it on the fridge.

26. Gingerbread or sugar cookies? All sugar all the time.

27. Do you like Fruitcake? I skeered.  Jake used to say that all the time.  "I skeered",  it was so cute.  I read something the other day about how giftcards are the new fruitcake.  Sounds about right.

shiny

Amanda from Confessions from HouseholdSix awarded me the heartfelt blogger award.  You know what I like about Amanda? She's a spitfire.  I like spitfires.  She's got a big mouth and she isn't afraid to use it, and sometime when she's old and grey she is going to write a tell-all about what it's REALLY like to be a military family and I can't wait for that day. 
I'm interested in the lives of military families because it's so far removed from anything I've ever known.  Despite my grandfathers being military men and a couple uncles, only one of my cousins joined up.  The rest of us steered clear.  I'm so thankful that they did what they did so we have the freedom to steer clear.  I'm so thankful for everyone who is serving now so that I'm free to do pretty much whatever the hell I want.  And I'm certainly thankful for the men and women standing behind our servicemen so they have a warm bed and a loving home to keep up the good fight for.

I'm not thankful for the current world state of being that keeps those men and women away from those warm beds and loving homes, that's for damned sure.  If this push to Afganistan finally ends this crap (it won't, but I try to be optimistic) I'll be happy. 
I'm of the camp that feels that this should have happened years and years ago and the lives lost in the Middle East outside of Afganistan are senseless murders.  We shouldn't have been there.  The W carries a lot of souls with him, and I hope he suffers for it.

And done.

There aren't any rules that I care to follow for this so I'll just tell you ten things that I can't stop thinking about this morning.

1) I think it's wildly adorable that all the candy canes on the bottom third of the Christmas tree have gone missing.
I think it's even more so that Jake holds them upside down and calls them "Candy J's".

2) Jake is really into boy stuff lately, which is good because I'm sick of explaining why he can't wear makeup and nail polish until he's big enough to buy it and put it on himself.
What? 
You think I should say no?
I live in Philadelphia and schlep the boy downtown as often as possible. 
He sees boys in drag all the time.
"Because it's for girls" won't fly.

3) Jake is into boy stuff like guns and dying, which I'm not crazy about because he says things like "I'monna kill you".  He still doesn't really have a concept of death and dying, but he's constantly playing dead.  We don't have any toy guns, but who needs toy guns to play guns?

4) Jake is also into dinosaurs.  I'm really happy about that.  I love when little boys can spout facts about dinosaurs.  Have you seen the show Dinosaur Train?  All the cool kids love it.

5) Jake is also into bugs.  But he calls them insects.  But he can't say insects, he says "incest".  I spent about fifteen minutes trying to teach him that it's not okay to say "mommy, wanna play incest?" or "i really really love incest" or or or.

6) Jake may have a little bit of a lisp.  His tounge sticks out between his teeth way more than it should.  I know this is normal for early talkers, and I'm not going to address it until he goes to school.

7) I miss school.  But not enough to go back.  My brain is a mess lately.

8) Having a messy brain is fun sometimes.  Sometimes though?  Not so much.

9) Ladies with babies, you know how sometimes you forget you aren't pregnant anymore or your baby isn't very new anymore?  I do it all the time.  Like if I have really bad gas- the kind that rolls through your guts- and I get all happy and put my hand on my belly and smile because my baby is kicking.  Or I find myself in a panic because I'm standing too close to the microwave.  Or I browse a menu and get mad because everything that sounds good has raw fish or unpasteurized cheese.  Or I freak because Jake is on his belly when I check on him at night.  The list goes on and on. 
It's reached a new level.  A horrible level that is so incredibly inappropriate that I'm going to ask the gentleman readers and the true ladies to stop here and skip to number ten.  But I've been laughing about this for two days because this completely seals the deal that I'm pretty much entirely off my rocker.
First I should say that I still get taken aback whenever I start my period, because I'm sure it is a miscarriage.  But it's not.  Because I'm not pregnant.  It would take some serious divine intervention to get a baby all up in my guts.  Serious. 
Second, I bled all through my pregnancy, and it was so stressful that I think I have some sort of PTSD from it because more than three years later I still can't handle the sight of...   you know, I don't need to go on.  I'm digging myself in a hole.  Let's just say my brain scrambles every time I start my cycle and it's hard for me to breathe and see straight and thinking goes out the window.

So, I bought a new brand of tampons this time around. 

But first I have to say that you know how on miniblinds, the ones for your window, there were all those babies that died because the strings that you pull used to be joined together and all sorts of kamikazi babies were hanging themselves in the loop?

Well, the new brand of tampons have two strings hanging down and they are tied together at the end. 
Why the tampon industry hasn't decided on a standard for those sort of things I'll never know.  They are all so different.
Probably the same reason why the auto industry hasn't decided on a standard for which side of the car the gas tank hole goes on.
So I saw this string.  This loop of death.  And immediately grabbed the scissors and cut the knot out so a baby wouldn't get his head caught in there and die a slow and horrible asphyxic death.

I know!  I know!!
So wrong. 
So ridiculous.
Rest assured that no babyheads are anywhere near my chassis.  Ever.  Not even Jake when he was born.  He was yanked out of a manmade hole in my belly. 

This is how I know that having a child ruined me for life and I'll never be a normal functioning human being again.

10) I'm headed to Macy's today to take Jake to see the Big Guy.  I can't wait.  I'll probably cry.  I did last year.  Christmas makes me cry.  It always has.  But now instead of tears of how much I hate Christmas and how miserable it all is, they are tears of pure joy.  Magical gossamer crystalline tears made of sugar and love and wonderment and joyfulness to the extreme.
Every time a mommy cries in December a sugarplum fairy gets a new pair of pink toeshoes.

If Jake were a girl, I'd shell out mad duckets to get him a front row seat to The Nutcracker.  But he's not, so I won't.  Is that terrible?  Sexist?  If the Niece's Pieces lived closer, I'd take them.  But they don't, so I won't.