Sunday Stream of Randomness

I would have titled this post 'Sunday Stream of Consciousness'  if it didn't cause such horrible flashbacks of the time I read American Psycho.  That was an awful read.  Shame.  I really like Huey Lewis. 

It is very challenging to respect your elders when your elders choose to take advantage of your respect so they can satisfy their own needs at your expense.  Case in point: I worked last night with one of my elder coworkers who basically had me running around like a circus monkey all night long and then left early.  His excuse was that he had worked a double.  So had I! 
It's a good thing I have manners.  Although, I'm working my second double in a row today, so my manners may be lacking when I work with him tonight. 
Circus monkey revenge! 

The mouse on this computer does not seem to like this page.  I keep having to use those arrow key thingys (thingies?) like an animal.  AN ANIMAL! 

My hounds have been waking me up at 4am for the past 3 days, wanting breakfast.  Normally, they get up to eat around 5:30 am which is when I get up for work. They often get up at 4am just to test me, but I make them wait for food until 5:30am because 4am is ridiculous.
However, the past 3 days, I have been too exhausted to argue with them and I fear I may have created a new pattern of deviant dog behavior.

The hounds have a system to alert me when they need me to wake up and tend to their needs. The fat one flops himself on top of me.  If I don't respond immediately, he repeatedly lifts himself up and flops down harder until I respond. 
It's awesome. 

I don't really care for hashtags, mainly because I don't understand them and their usefulness in our supposedly civilized society.  #suckitinternets

A local hospital sales rep just delivered a tub of sugar cookies and I have only eaten one so far.  I consider that a win for the day.

My coworker and I are applauding ourselves for not having killed our other coworker who apparently has no concept of social cues.  When someone is about to stab me with a paper clip that has been fashioned into a deadly weapon, I tend to pick up on it pretty quickly and leave them alone. 
Also, I've been sitting here fashioning a paper clip into a deadly weapon for the past four hours while she's been chatting away about whatever nonsense.  Really?  Not picking up on that, Sunshine? 
Perhaps a paper clip to the eye would be justified.

I despise when I'm reading a book that has been made into a movie and they put pictures of the actors on the cover.  If forces me to picture those particular actors instead of George Clooney and Myself, who are my standard love scene inserts.   

I'm feeling very full of randomness today.  #sleepdeprivation

I still have 11.25 hours to go on this marathon work day and I'm starting to lose what little sense of sanity and rational thought I may have had.  This does not bode well. 

There is a fat cat living in the courtyard of our office and I have named him Hal, which is short for hallucinations.  I feel that's an appropriate name for a cat living in the courtyard of a psychiatric facility. 

I have yet to figure out how Hal got into the courtyard and whether he has the ability to get out of the courtyard or not.  That damn cat is a complete mystery to me and I love him for it. 

Hal is staring at me through the window right now.  It's like he can sense that I'm talking about him.  That's not creepy at all. 

Only another sugar cookie can cure me of the sudden onset Hal paranoia. 

Thank you for participating in my stream of randomness.  I hope you are all having a lovely Sunday, free of creepy cats, annoying coworkers and sleep deprivation but full of sugar cookies.  And fuzzy pajamas.  That is my wish for you all. 

Fire.

I really don't feel like talking about myself today, so I'm going to just make something up.  Don't worry.  I have a topic, courtesy of The One Minute Writer.  Let's see if I can stick to the one minute time limit.  I am a pretty fast typist. 

Here we go...

Fire

The smoke began to fill the room as she sat on the couch, mesmerized at what she had done.  She had no idea why she held the lighter to the curtain.  She didn't want to hurt anyone.  She really didn't.  But, when the voices tell you do something, you just do it.  She had learned that lesson the hard way. 
The firefighter grabbed her arm one last time to pull her out, touching that old scar from the last time the voices took over.  As she gazed up at him, she decided it was time to end it.  There would be no more scars.  No more smoke.  No more harm.  She layed herself down on the floor, determined to stay and finish what she had started. 

Okay. 

I feel like that may have been slightly over 1 minute.  I only have my crappy office clock as a guide since The One Minute Writer's handy timer is blocked on my office computer.  Thank you, big brother. 

Giving

So, I've been thinking a lot about resolutions and changes and starting over and whatnot.  I suppose that's what most people think about at the beginning of a new year, especially if they've been in a rut like me. 

I've been feeling like I need a change for some time now.  Of course, I'd love to win the powerball and experience the change of not having to worry about money.  That would be awesome.  However, until that happens, I think I need to start making some changes for myself. 

I've seen a few people talking about a word that they choose to be the inspiration for their new year.  Seems like a good idea to me. 

If I were to choose one word to guide the changes in my life, I'd have to choose 'give'. 

I want to be a more giving person.  Give people a chance.  Give people a smile.  Give people the benefit of the doubt.  Give people joy.  Give people love. 

Sounds hokey.  I know.  But, I enjoy giving to others and doing things for others.  For some reason, I've gotten away from that.  I've been expecting things from others without giving anything in return.  When people let me down, I blame them.  I don't realize what I may have done or not done that warrants that person letting me down. 

I want to be that kind, giving person I used to be.  I want to do things because they are nice things to do.  I want to feel good about knowing that I am a good person, no matter what my jean size is. 

I also want to give to myself.  I want to give myself a chance.  I want to give myself the benefit of the doubt.  I want to give myself the gift of confidence and pride and peace. 

It's going to be a kindler, gentler Bitz.  Well, for the most part.  I still plan on giving myself the opportunity to be that same old smartass I've always been.  Laughter is the best medicine, after all. 

So, what are you going to give yourself this year?  Have you thought about resolutions or changes you want to make in your life? 

Do tell...

Meaty infections and the coining of new phrases.

It seems that one consequence of neglecting your blog is that you end up with all sorts of spam in your Bitz.  It's like a yeast infection, but with fake meat.  I would imagine it's much stinkier and would attract more wild animals to your loins. 

Since I have absolutely no idea how to stop these little assholes from infecting my bitz with their meat (giggity, but also ick...ickity!), I will just chuckle at their idiocy.  It does provide a nice little distraction from all the nonsense in my life currently. 

I find that I welcome that message alert on my phone during those times when people are trying to push me over the edge.  Want to share a chuckle with me as I show you some of my favorites?  Of course you do.  Don't be ridiculous. 

"Thanks for sharing such a fastidious opinion, post is good, thats why i have read it completely"

Why, you are welcome, sir or madam.  Nice use of the word fastidious, by the way.  Points for that. 

"Definitely believe that that you said.  Your favourite reason seemed to be at the web the easiest thing to understand of.  I say to you, I certainly get irked even as people consider worries that they just do no recognize about.  You controlled to hit the nail up on the top as well as defined out the whole thing without having side-effects, people could take a signal."

I say to you, sir or madam, I certainly get irked also.  Thank you for recognizing my ability to hit the nail up on the top (which I'm totally stealing).  I wish people would take a signal more often. 

"Very shortly this web site will be famous among all blog users, due to it's nice posts"  - Pretty Girl Next Door Gets The Cock She Needs

Aww.  That is so kind of you.  I do try to be nice.  What a sweet person you must be.  I sure do hope you get the cock you need, you little ray of sunshine. 

I can't even imagine what kind of rancid fake meat I'm going to end up with now. 

Thank God,  I keep getting messages from Bear Grylls Messer.  If anyone knows how to make a meal out of rancid meat, it's that guy.  I've seen him take a bite out of a zebra carcass, for crying out loud.  That guy is nuts. 

I just threw up a little.

So, I finally read Fifty Shades of Grey, because I am so current and all.

I hated it.  It may be the worst book I've ever read, even though I couldn't stop reading it.  It's like I had to finish it, just so it could be over and I could move on with my life.  Plus, I really wanted to see what all the hype was about since so many people are so madly in love with this book. 

I still don't get it.  Yeah, some of the sex was hot.  Mostly, it was just awful and borderline battering and I wanted to vomit.  Not in a good way.  Is there a good way?  I don't even know what's normal anymore after reading this book. 

Thanks to The Beast, MB can attest to the un-sexiness of vomiting.  He has had to endure my retching on many occasions.  Trust me, it never makes his palm twitch or his inner goddess swoon. 

If my husband had any interest in trying out some Fify Shades shenanigans, he would probably tie me up and blindfold me.  Then, he would release an army of spiders and giggle away while I screamed for my life. 

I'm pretty sure that would backfire on him because I would vomit.  Just the thought of all those spiders makes me a little nauseous now. 

Yeah.  We won't be acting out anything Fifty related anytime soon. 

Also, for any of you Fifty Fanatics out there who may come to my house someday, please take note that my bedroom has always been painted red.  It has absolutely nothing to do with these atrocious books. 

The balls on the floor?  Those are dog toys, assholes. 

Gross. 

Missing (possibly eaten): Fat puppy who doesn't come at all when you call so don't bother.

 So, I was in my bathroom this morning getting ready for work and I had an eerie feeling. 

It was like something was watching me. 

I shook it off and continued to tweeze, my face pressed up against the mirror because I am completely blind without my glasses on. 

There it was again, that feeling.  Something is definitely watching me. 

Where is the dog?  Usually, it's the dog. 

No dog. 

What the eff? 

Then, I happen to look up at the light.  What the hell is that?  Is something there? 

                                                                                                                         

 I put my glasses on to get a better gander. 

                                                                                                   

Holy shit!  A spider!  A BIG spider!!!

AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!! 

I flail myself backwards, tweezers flying into the toilet and mouthwash spitting onto the ceiling.

  Yes, I multitask in the bathroom. 

Especially when I overslept because I had a fat puppy sleeping on my head and now I'm running late for work. 

Once I regain my footing and my breath, I carefully move my bras, pajamas, flip flops, underwear and other valuables from under the beast. 

Yes, I keep all of these things on my bathroom sink.  Have you never had a puppy with a taste for unmentionables? 

I also carefully grab my wedding ring from the medicine cabinet.  Again, a puppy with a taste for...well, everything. 

Then, I decide to go in for a closer look.  I like to know what I'm up against before I begin battle. 

Not that I'm really going to do battle.  Running late and all. 

There's no time to attack. 

Plus, he's kinda blocking access to my hair spray, the only weapon at hand. 

What I'm going to do is get the hell out of the bathroom and let my husband handle this.  He'll probably come in and pick up the spider with his bare hands and take it outside to live a full, happy spider life. 

Then, he'll go on about how he's some kind of hero.

Then, I won't be able to touch my husband for an indeterminate amount of time. 

Sorry, MB's Mom. 

No grandchildren anytime soon. 

Irriational arachnophobia trumps intimacy everytime. 

'You wanna touch me where?  With that hand?  No way.  I know what's been in that hand!"

Ick. 

You can't see it in these pictures, but there is a very distinct red coloration on the mouth of the monster.  I believe it to be the blood of his last victim. 

Wait.  Where IS the dog? 

Life is meaningless without tickles and cupcakes.

This morning, my  dear husband informed me that I could not exit my neighborhood via the Rt 72 entrance. 

I nodded in his general direction and mumbled a 'yeah, why?' as I am generally not interested in the affairs of traffic.  Also, I may have been engrossed in something involving dog antics on the internet.  

You are just not allowed to exit the neighborhood that way if you go anywhere, he replied to my mumbling.  

Not allowed? My interest has been piqued.

What does that even mean?  Why wouldn't I be allowed?  I was hoping for some sort of explanation as I quickly googled 'how to booby trap a man cave'. 

You just aren't allowed. 

Hmm.  I never thought of using thumb tacks in such a  fashion.  Thank you, google. 

When I inquired about a possible accident or other road closing catastrophe, he again replied that I was not allowed to go that way.  He wasn't going to let me, for the good of our marriage. 

Sardines in the ceiling fan? Brilliant! Thank you again, google, you evil geniuses. 

My interest further piqued, I decided it might be an offer of either free puppies or free cupcakes (or both if my dreams were to come true).   Keys in hand and cupcake caddy at the ready, I proceeded to head for the door, a sudden spring in my step. 

My hand was on the doorknob when he stopped me and said it was neither free puppies or cupcakes.  

Fine.  Is it a yard sale, with puppies and cupcakes?  I'm willing to pay at this point.  But only yard sale prices.  I'll settle for budget puppies, for the good of our marriage.  Budget cupcakes?  A taste test will be required.   

He put his head in his hands, sighed and said that it was not such a yard sale. 

I had now lost that spring in my step.  The cupcake caddy was becoming heavy and cumbersome without the hope of glorious cupcakes to fill it's emptiness.   I sadly put away my keys as my husband took my place at the computer and began googling 'how to discreetly medicate your spouse'. 

I started to walk away but then turned back to my husband, now engrossed in his own googling.  So, if it doesn't involve puppies or cupcakes, why am I not allowed to exit the neighborhood via Rt 72? 

Looking up, he replied that it was free kittens. 

Smiling, I reached for my keys again.  In my head, I was already naming my two snuggly feline companions...Tickles and Cupcake (duh). 

Then, I remembered my husband's severe cat allergy.  Jerk.  Dejected, I again started to walk away. 

Hey, he yelled out.  Why don't I make dinner tonight? 

I'm totally not falling for it.  I know all about the evil genius of google.

That's so sweet, baby.  I was thinking I would pick up a pizza.  I need to go to Staples anyway.  We're out of thumb tacks.   

No title seems appropriate.

This morning, my coworker was reading stories of the tragedy in Aurora, particularly accounts from some of the victims.  Her focus was on how much of a coward someone was.  How this particular victim didn't respond in the way she felt he should have to protect his family.  She went on to bash him and his actions, without thinking twice. 

I was offended, but I kept my mouth shut.  I had no intention of arguing with her and diminishing the suffering of the vicitms in any way.  I was offended because I don't think we should be judging the actions of anyone who was a victim in this tragedy.  I don't know what I would've done in that situation.  I don't know how I would have reacted.  I am certainly not going to judge anyone else for how they reacted.   

I really have nothing else to say.  I think Travis has said it best and I encourage you to go read his post.  He has opened himself up to anyone who needs to talk about tragedy.  I would like to offer the same.  If you need to reach out and you aren't sure where to turn, please email me. 

My heart goes out to all the victims, their families and all the emergency responders.  I wish you all the courage, strength and hope you will need to make sense of this and go on. 

My funk is definitely lifting. I'm in much better spirits.

I mean, I still want to spend most days on the couch watching tv. That's because most of the time I have a sleepy puppy snuggling up on my lap though. I can't deny him. Also, if I get up and do stuff, it's going to entail me cleaning the house.

That snuggly puppy can wreak havoc on anything in his path. I just swept up three rooms worth of chewed up firewood and stuffed animal guts. He's a monster!

But, he is adorable.



When he's not eating my throw rugs.



Pretty handsome, right?

I know. I'm biased. Whatever.

So, I've been really busy lately but I haven't done anything all that exciting. My work schedule has been weird. Day shift, night shift, day shift...no consistency at all. I don't even know what day it is most of the time.

Then, I come home to my little monster and his path of destruction. I also usually come home to the same ginormous pile of laundry that has been threatening me for days now. It has become my nemesis.

It's cool though. I have enough clean underwear to get me through another 4 days. If I could fit into my 'skinny' underwear, I'd be set for another 3 months.

Laundry piles aside, I'm feeling pretty good about my life right now. I have goals and that's always nice. It's nice to have stuff to look forward to. For the better part of the year, that stuff had been my nuptials. Then those were over and real life set in. Cue the funk.

Now, spring is here and I have things to do. I've been working on some pretty fun baking projects and I have some more ahead. I'm trying to make a little extra money on the side by baking for people. Hopefully it'll work out.

I'm also feeling motivated again to get skinny. If I can get my fat ass on track again, I'll feel so much better. Hell, I might even want to tackle that pile of laundry. HA!

I'm off to watch The Walking Dead with my hubby now. It's our Sunday night thing. The pup is ready for snuggling too so I have to clear my lap. He's so demanding.

Night all.

Where the heck do I even begin anymore?

I mean, I've been away for so long now that it seems rude to just pop in and try to pick up where I left off. I feel like I owe my loyal readers more than that.

Maybe hugs would be more appropriate. Or five minutes of cuddling. Unfortunately, I don't know how to do those things online. If I did, I wouldn't be living in squalor as I do now.

So...I think I'm just going to jump right in. Hugs and cudding are assumed for all.

I've been in a sort of funk for the past several months. I've tried to post things but it seems like my brain doesn't work properly. Everything I try to post seems boring and stupid and I end up deleting it and playing Mahjong instead.

Or eating. There's been a lot of stress eating. My spanx have become a staple of my wardrobe.

This phenomenon of Failing Brain Syndrome is not isolated to the Bitz. It happens all the time in real life too. I feel like everything I say is boring and stupid and I end up in my pajamas playing Mahjong instead. Or eating. Did I mention there's been a lot of stress eating?

I'm sure my friends are fed up with my funk too. I try to go through the motions and whatnot, but it just fails. I end up letting the funk take over so I don't have to embarrass myself. Then, I end up at home playing Mahjong instead. Are you sensing the theme in my life?

It sucks.

I couldn't even enjoy myself at an 80's party last night. An 80's party! I heart the 80's! I even made dessert for the party. Super awesome dessert.



See? Awesome.

Also, super fun to make.

It's a shame baking is the one true joy in my life (after my dear husband, of course). Baking is not good for someone with a sweet tooth and no self control.

(sigh)

I'm finding it really hard to avoid ditching this post and go play Mahjong right now.

However, if I want to snap out of this funk, I have to do just that. No Mahjong! Well, not right now anyway. It's a really fun game.

I don't really have a plan to fight the funk. I just hope that I can slowly let it fade if I start to do those things that make me happy. Blogging, exercising, baking (for others), eating right. I have to remember that it's okay to let the laundry pile up sometimes. It's not okay to let the funk pile up.

Do you like that little bit of wisdom? Feel free to put that on a t-shirt if you like. Just send me a cut. I may need therapy money if my plan that's not really a plan doesn't work.

Blurry or not. It still stinks.

So, I recently went to the eye doctor and realized that I am, in fact, getting old way before my time.

It's a sad realization. One day, you are beebopping along to NKOTB. Then...WHAM!...you are in the doctor's office crying because you can't see the big E on the eye chart.



Yep. That big E.

(sigh)

I seriously could not see the big E. Hell, the words on the screen right now are pretty fuzzy. I;m playing thot the typas are it a minymom.

My eyes have been red and irritated for 2 weeks now. This has prompted such delightful questions as: "Do you have pink eye?", "Are you crying?" and "Whoa. How hungover are you?"

Fun stuff. When the doctor saw me, she said I have edema (swelling) in my eyes (barf) and that's making things fuzzy. She can't even examine me for a new preacription until it clears up.

This was my conversation with MB regarding the diagnosis:
Me: So, I have edema in my eyes.
MB: Edema? You know what that means, don't you?
Me: Yeah. Swelling.
MB: No. It means you have fat eyes.

I'm considering separate bedrooms for a punishment period of 30 days.

Anywho, I'm functioning in a fog right now and it's kinda scary. Especially with a puppy in the house. It makes that midnight trek to the fridge for...apples, yeah apples...a whole lot more dangerous. The question of is it poop or that stupid toy hedgehog becomes much more difficult to answer. I pretty much step over it and wait until MB wakes up. If he yells, it's poop.

Then, I pretend to be sound asleep while he cleans it up.

Trickery is fun. Love you, MB. Smooches.

I'm supposed to go back to the doctor on Tuesday to see if my stupid swelling (barf) has gone down enough for them to do an actual eye exam. Then, we'll see just how thick my glasses will be this year. Yay!

Of course, MB had an eye exam recently during his physical for the fire department. He was told that he has 20/8 vision or something ridiculous like that. It basically means that he has better than perfect vision. In his eyes, he is some sort of super hero who can see into the future.

It's super annoying.

I'm now considering 60 days.

While I await the swelling (barf) to go down and my eyesight to return to normal, I'm relying on Atticus to guide me. That's how desperate I am. The one who eats poop is the one I'm trusting to keep me from falling down the steps.

Wish me luck!

I'm not very good at this.

On December 30, I promised to return the next day to tell you all about a very important event in my life. I hope you haven't been holding your breath waiting for that to happen.

Yikes.

So, what was the big, important event that I have now waited two weeks to share with you? Well, I'll tell you. It's the Annual Bitz Birthday Bar Hop! Woohoo!

You see, MB and I share the same birthday. I know, it's sickening. We are both born on the same day, just 5 years apart. Yes, I'm the older one. No, that does not make me a deviant. I already looked it up.

Our birthday is a little weird. It's 3 days after Christmas. It's kinda cool because you're a Christmas baby. There are lots of pictures of yourself as a baby shoved under the Christmas tree with all the other presents.

Sometimes I wonder if my Mom planned ahead just for the photo ops. It is ridiculously cute.

MB never had such cute memories. According to him, his birthday never got acknowledged until around February. Someone would have one of those 'oh sh*t' moments and then out came the leftover Valentine's Day candy and gift wrapped socks from behind the dryer.

He paints a bleak picture of his childhood.

When I heard this, I was very sad for him. My mom always made an effort to have a separate birthday celebration. I always had a party with cake, silly hats and at least a few friends whose parents just wanted them the hell out of the house already so they could enjoy Christmas break too.

Good times.

I started the Birthday Bar Hop when MB turned 30. I decided it was time for him to have his very own birthday celebration (that he also shared with me). We got all of our friends together and hit Main Street to partake of all the local bars.

It was a huge hit and has since become an annual tradition. This year, we started the day with lunch at Fogo de Chao. It's an authentic Brazilian steakhouse where they continue to bring you meat as long as your coaster is turned to green. It's pretty much a meat paradise. If you ever get the chance to go, GO! Just remember to pace yourself. And wear loose fitting pants.

I had already been warned not to wear my Spanx and I'm glad I didn't. Containment would not have been a good idea. Bacon wrapped filet mignon vs very tight spandex? Hmmm. I'm pretty sure my Spanx would've met their demise that day.

After a very uncomfortable drive home, we began the night with a few friends and a very hyper puppy at our house. Drinks were consumed. The floor was peed on. It was all very high class.

We continued on to our first stop where we met the rest of our friends for drinks and some food. Well, they ate. MB and I were still on a meat high from lunch. At this point, I had managed to stuff myself into my Spanx, but it wasn't pretty. No nachos for me, thank you very much.

Then a homeless man wandered into the bar for a beer and they tried to kick him out. He still had over half a beer left. That's a party fowl that can not be overlooked. So, MB did the honorable thing and gave him $10. I'm not sure how that helped his situation. It was really more of a 'screw you for your party fowl behavior' to the bartender. The same bartender who happened to be ignoring us all night.

I think we showed him. Or something.

Most of our friends abandoned us after that bar. Apparently they don't support the homeless. Whatever. Our party became a party of four, but we soldiered on anyway. We were good and drunk by that time and wanted some food. The meat high had worn off and our bellies were ready for seconds.

IHOP was closed. The diner was closed. The guy selling pretzels from a cart was nowhere to be found.

We found ourselves wandering the street, tripping over tumbleweed, until we stumbled into a pub that looked open. It was an oasis. The bartender welcomed us with open arms and offered us sanctuary in the form of cheese fries, cold beer and the dessert tray.

It was a Birthday Bar Hop paradise!

As we began to dive into our chocolate bread pudding and peanut butter bombs (just as heavenly as it sounds), our paradise was invaded. By a gaggle of 21 year old sorority girls.

Nothing reminds you how old you are like a group of 21 year olds downing girly shots and screeching with drunken glee about how drunk they are as they prance around in their skinny jeans and glittery tops.

Holy crow's feet! They probably didn't even know what Spanx were. Those little hussies. How I longed for those days again. Sigh.

Then, the gaggle got kicked out because one of them decided to go behind the bar and help herself to another shot. My longing went away.

I decided to just enjoy my Spanx contained beer belly, my Dark Golden Brown #47 graying hair and the ability to hold my liquor. That's what really matters, right?

That and getting to spend your birthday with your awesome hubby and your closest friends, who can also hold their liquor. That's what life is all about.
Holding your liquor so you don't get kicked out of the bar.

That's the wisdom of my 37 (gulp) years, right there. You're welcome.

Here's to a year of appreciating what I have and not doing dumb things that will get me kicked out of any establishment! Especially ones that serve peanut butter bombs. Oops, I'm drooling. I should probably wrap this up.

Later, peeps.

Giving thanks.

Well, hello there peeps! I hope you are all doing well. I've been trying to keep up with everyone during my little honeymoon hiatus.

Now, I'm back. Yay!

Life has been extremely chaotic for me over the past few months. I have so much to share with all of you.

For today, I'd like to just focus on giving thanks. I have recently found myself struggling to remember all the blessings in my life. Stress and frustration have taken over my brain and I need to gain a little perspective.

I have so many things to be thankful for. So, here we go...

First and foremost, I am thankful for MB. My rock. My partner. My love.
My husband.


I'm also thankful for my family. I was truly blessed with a wonderful, loving family and I will always be grateful for their love and support.

I've also been blessed with some pretty amazing friends. I'm so lucky to be surrounded by such smart, funny, kind and beautiful people.

I'm thankful for the newest addition to our little family.

He drives me nuts. He makes me laugh. He has filled our grieving hearts and shown us that we can move on.

There are many other things I'm thankful for in these difficult times. My job. My home. My sense of security, no matter how fragile it may be.

I'm also very thankful that it's my off year for the holidays. This means I get to be off tomorrow to enjoy a delicious turkey dinner with my hubby.

Yummy!

I wish you all a very Happy Thanksgiving! May your bellies and your hearts be full.

Butterflies and body odor.

So, I'm going to be a married woman tomorrow.

It's a weird feeling. I'm nervous, but not really. I'm anxious, but not really. I'm hungry, but not really.

I guess you could say I'm discombobulated.

I'm not nervous about getting hitched. I truly love MB and there is not a doubt in my mind about that part of this whole thing.

I'm more nervous about the ceremony of it all. I'm really more of a sideline type of girl. Being front and center all day long makes me very sweaty. Like butterflies in my stomach, why aren't there any cupcakes in the house but I can't even eat cupcakes because my stomach is in knots kind of sweaty.

Which I fear will then turn into oh my god, who let the skunk into the reception hall kind of sweaty.

You know?

No? No one else is a sweathog? Seriously?

Whatever. Just own it, people.

Anywho, this is officially my last night as a single woman. So, what the hell am I doing? Obviously, I'm sitting in bed, wired as hell, blogging about my sweat problem.

Classy, I know.

It's going to be an awesome day tomorrow and I need to quiet all of the butterflies in my belly so I can get some rest. I have to be ready for the poufy dress and open bar.

This soon to be hitched woman is going to try and get some sleep.

Pray that I get through the big day without tripping on the dance floor or spilling lobster bisque down the front of my dress.

Hello!

Holy matrimony! I have seriously been neglecting this blog!

I think I have a pretty decent excuse though. I am getting married in 2 days. My life has definitely been consumed by nuptial nonsense.

It's funny. I have so many stories to share with you all about the nuptial nonsense. I just haven't had any time to stop by and share them.

I've had Russian seamstresses who don't seem to understand the difference between 'up' and 'in'. I've had bridesmaids who force me to suck face with hunting decoys. I've had to rearrange man caves and spider cubbies in order to make room for a new roomate. I've also got a new furry face joining the family in a few weeks.

See? I've really got to catch you guys up on my life. Plus, I really need to catch up on all of yours.

I miss you guys.

I get hitched on Sunday and then I'll be doing absolutely nothing constructive for 5 days.

Be back to chat after that.

Hygiene products and serious seafood questions.

So, who knew that buying body wash and pistachios would change the way I feel about prostitutes?

Funny how things happen.

I'm working at my office location tonight, as opposed to the emergency room location. The sites differ greatly in volume and acuity of clients and general job duties.

When in the ER, there are many shifts where you barely have a moment to breathe. Forget taking a break or going outside for some fresh air or running to get a cup of coffee. It isn't going to happen. You're pretty much confined to your windowless hole.

When in the office, it's a lot more low key. You do have busy shifts, where you are out on crisis calls and don't have a moment to breathe. It's just a lot more laid back.

You get the chance to actually leave the building!

Tonight, I had to go gas up the Jeep for MB. I decided to stop at Walgreens on my way there because I needed body wash. I also wanted pistachios.

Who doesn't love pistachios?

Jerks. That's who.

Anywho, I'm in line behind some chic who is seductively asking the cashier to get her a single cigar.

Classy.

She's fully clothed and all. Jeans, tshirt. Nothing that would scream 'prostitute'.

She does have her ass all stuck out and her chest up on the counter, but sometimes I do that. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to get the good cigars.

That's not why I do it. I mean, sometimes I just gotta rest the 'girls' up on the counter. It's hard carrying those things around all day. It's like carrying two big melons...well, you get the idea.

So, little miss 'shake it for the stogie' girl is finishing up and the guy behind me makes a comment to her about waiting outside for him.

This is right after some dingbat struggles to haul three cases of soda up on the counter. I'm not helping you, lady. You're too stupid to get a cart for all that crap, you're on your own.

Plus, I didn't really care for her grimace.

So, stogie girl leaves and then I put my stuff on the counter. That's when the cashier says starts chatting with the guy behind me.

Cashier: Yo. You trying to get some of that? You definitely want some of that. Trust me! You definitely want that. That's some good stuff.

Me (in my head thankfully): Are the pistachios that good?! I'm glad I got the big bag. I was kinda thinking I should get the small one...oh wait. What are we talking about?

Guy Behind Me: Yeah man. I gotta get me some of that. It's there for the taking. I gotta take advantage. You know what I mean?

Cashier: Yo. I know man. I might get me somma that when I get off.

Umm...eww. Also, wtf?!!?!?!?

I'm trying to buy body wash and pistachios and I have to hear reviews and recommendations for the local prostitutes?! Really?!

Plus, she's a prostitute??!?!?! They really are dressing better these days.

But still, wtf?!?!?

This is why I avoid the Wawa after 5pm. Now, I can't come to Walgreens?!??!

Is nothing sacred anymore?

Thankfully, I have pistachios to comfort me.

Someone take me back to my windowless hole.

Also, I put this out on the Twitter, but no one has responded yet. Are pistachios like oysters? If they aren't opened, do you chuck 'em? I'm just wondering.

Wait...I'm thinking of mussels, not oysters. I don't even eat oysters. Sorry.

Wait...do port-a-potties flush? Or is it just implied?

I'm still alive and I'm not anyone's bitch.

My teefers have been fixed so there was no need to maul my dentist. It's a shame, because I was readying myself for a little vacay in the slammer.

I hear they have better cable than I do.

Anywho, I had a fun weekend full of good ole hillbilly family time.

Yeehaw!

Yes, I am a hillbilly and I'm not ashamed.

My parents, my big brother, his wife and I all went to the local fair to see a little country star that you might be familiar with...Mr. Alan Jackson!



My Mom looooooooves Alan Jackson, so it was pretty much a given that we would be going to the fair to see him. There's no way she could miss this chance.

MB decided not to partake in the hillbilly happenings. He can tolerate bluegrass, but he just can't handle straight up country. It's like he's got something against rednecks.

Yes, there is a difference between hillbillies and rednecks.

It's difficult to explain, but it's kinda like a nature vs nurture thing. I'll get into it some other time. It's very complicated.

Anywho, I'm not sure where you were this weekend, but it was super hot in my neck of the woods this weekend.

Perfect weather to walk around a fair full of smelly farm animals and fried foods, right?

Yeah. Not so much.

My Mom must have been angry at us for some reason. She wanted us to meet at 3:00 for a 7:30 concert. That's 4 1/2 hours to spend walking around the hot, smelly fair.

I'm blaming my brother. There is nothing I could have done to piss her off that much. It has to be him.

So, after about an hour of sweating and being miserable, we decided to hit the casino that is conveniently right on the fairgrounds.

Air conditioning and the chance to win a fortune and retire from the crisis biz forever?

Yes please!

It turns out that penny slots aren't the dream makers I imagined them to be. $26.47 is not quite enough to get me out of the crisis biz.

(sigh)

It's okay. I got to see Alan Jackson.

I tried to take a picture of the lovely Mr. Jackson, but my blackberry was not having it.



I did get a picture of the lovely port-a-potty trailer that was directly in my line of vision.

I don't think all the occupants of said port-a-potty trailer realized that they were center stage.

I kept hoping someone would come out of the door and give us a proper stage exit but it didn't happen.

Is it too much to ask for a little post flush fanfare for the crowd?

Sheesh.

Wanna see Mr. Jackson performing one of my favorite songs?
Click here.

Are you an Alan Jackson fan? If so, what's your favorite song?

Not a country fan? Tell me how you would have provided a little post flush fanfare for the crowd.

Heat me up Scotty...or something.

It's still so freakin hot around here that I can't think straight.

I should've spent the day chillaxing in the ac with my feet up. Instead, MB and I went out to lunch and ran a couple errands.

The thermometer in the car said 109, but we went anyway.

We are so smart.

When we came home, I cleaned the house and then worked out. Now I'm dog tired and still freakin hot.

That's all I really have to say.

See how the heat is affecting my brain?

I tried to tell MB it's a real thing, but he didn't believe me.

I'm going to go soak in an ice bath and then lay naked in front of the ac. This should be interesting since we have window units and the bed is not positioned in such a way that I can lay in front of the ac.

Wish me luck.

Night, peeps. Hope you are staying cool wherever you are.

If you own flippers, please do not read this post.

It's damn hot outside.

How hot is it?

It's so damn hot that I don't want to exert the energy to change the channel, resulting in my watching Toddlers and Tiaras for the past hour and a half.

Yeah. That's pretty damn hot.

I mean, this lady has a purple horse that she uses in her pageant daughter/future stripper's routine. She uses food coloring to dye her horse. Food coloring.

I have so many issues with this, I don't even know where to begin. Does anyone want to take a road trip to whatever bumblefrick town this little future stripper lives in? Bring a trailer and/or big truck because purple horses need lots of leg room.

Also, I'd like to take a detour to whatever bumblefrick town the other little future stripper lives in so we can have an intervention with her mom. If your hubby wears the tiaras in the family and enjoys getting pre-pageant pedicures, you have bigger issues than 'omg, my future stripper's flippers aren't in straight'.

Also again, spray tanning your future stripper in the local body shop?

I actually might use this one. After all, I need a little color before my wedding day and I happen to have a great body shop guy. I'm not sure how I feel about him seeing me naked, but I think we can work on that.

The whole point of this post was that it's damn hot.

I'm going to go get some more ice water and get naked in front of the fan.

Good night peeps.
I hope it's a lot cooler wherever you are. I'd hate for you to have to suffer through bad television too.

A Fourth to remember.

In honor of the Fourth of July, I decided to share some memories of Fourths past.

As most of you know, I grew up in a resort town. Every Fourth of July, when I was a kid, we would head to the beach (a full 10 miles from the house - what a voyage) for the night. This meant fighting traffic and hunting for a parking space.

We would usually go down early in the afternoon and hit the boardwalk. My brother and I would ride the rides and play games and buy souvenirs and just be tourists for the day. We would play skee ball and try to get prizes from the old claw machines. It was so much fun.

Eventually we would find our way to one of the pizza places and eat some greasy boardwalk pizza. When it got closer to dusk, we would head for the sand. We would lay on the sand and watch the fireworks over the ocean. It was always one of my favorite family times. My brother and I all snuggled up with Mom and Dad. Oohing and Aahing as the displays got louder and bigger.

It truly was a great place to grow up.

As I got older, I started working on the boardwalk. I pretty much worked every Fourth of July from then on. During the fireworks, we would take turns going out back or up on the roof to watch them. It was never the same, but it was still pretty cool.

One particular Fourth of July, I was working and it was especially hot and humid. There was just a very sticky feeling everywhere. We were all hot and miserable. The customers were grouchy. It was super busy. It was just an all around icky kind of night.

Just before the fireworks started, there was a mad rush for ice cream and then a bit of a lull while everyone headed for the beach. During this lull, we were all standing around behind the counter, stocking up and getting ready for the post fireworks rush.

I had my back turned to the counter, but I heard a woman calling out for help. I turned around and found a frantic woman, stroller in front of her and 4 or 5 kids around her. She is saying something about her baby and that she needs help. She's crying and hysterical.

My boss goes out to her and finds the baby in the stroller unconscious. Apparently, the lady had put a bunch of bags on top of the stroller. They had fallen on top of the baby, smothering him.

A coworker immediately called 911 and my boss tried desperately to calm the lady, who was now holding the lifeless tiny infant. We were all frozen, eyes glued to that tiny, still body.

Somewhere in the crowd, there was an EMT who had seen what was going on. He came over right away, grabbed the baby and told us to clear the counter. My coworker and I put the milkshake machines on the floor and stood, holding each other tightly while the EMT put that tiny lifeless body on the counter and began CPR.

I can't describe to you how quiet the air became in those moments. It was as if everything had stopped. Everything except the motion of his fingers on that tiny infant's chest. As he slowly breathed air into it's lungs, we were all breathless.

We were lost in the movement of his fingers on that tiny chest. Two fingers. Up and down. Up and down. His mouth on that tiny infant's mouth. A breath. Nothing. Another breath. Still nothing. Up and down. Another breath.

Then, suddenly...a cry. A tiny cry in the stillness.

That tiny, lifeless infant was crying! He was crying! I've never enjoyed the sound of a baby crying more than I have at that moment.

It was the most amazing sound. You can't imagine how beautiful it was to hear that tiny cry.

We were all crying. We were all now lost in the moment of pure joy at life being breathed into that tiny infant's once lifeless body. It was truly amazing.

That little infant was whisked away in the ambulance and we were all forced to return to the chaos of serving ice cream to disgruntled tourists. We were wiping tears from our eyes and trying to comprehend what we had just experienced as customers started lining up, demanding soft serve.

Of course, the EMT and his family got ice cream on us that night. It was the least we could do.

That Fourth of July will remain in my memory forever. It was the most emotional night of ice cream scooping ever.

I wonder what ever happened to that tiny infant. I hope he has never taken a moment for granted.

Happy Independence Day everyone!

What's your most memorable Fourth?
Have you ever been witness to such an event? Please share.