Let me Practice my Happy Face...

Today was long. One of those long days full of temper tantrums and time-outs and tears, and uneaten meals, and fighting with tiny midgets. You know the ones. If you have kids you know. It was long, and tiring, and a bit painful, emotionally. I woke up late after only a few hours of sleep and many hours of tossing and turning. The twins were already awake. What time they woke up, I do not know. The boys are thankfully at their dad's, a sometimes good side-effect of divorce. I am thankful that I did not have to deal with their petty bickering over what cartoon we should all watch. I seriously need a play room. We attempted to have one in the unfinished basement, but for whatever reason the boys insist on playing WWE in the living room and Legos in their too tiny shared bedroom. Anyway... needless to say... there was no shower today for me. I felt like I couldn't keep up. No amount of coffee seemed to suffice. Mini-man was full throttle, and the Princess seemed to be fairly oozing prissiness today. This meant a lot of fighting. It also meant time-outs... which means dragging a child up the stairs and then bringing them back down. I got my workout whether I wanted it or not.

I almost feel like I am suffocating tonight. Suffocating by my own hand holding me down. Granted I am a self-proclaimed pessimist to the nth degree... but the negative thoughts are bearing down on me with such force I feel like I can't shake them. I worry how my negativity will effect my mini-monsters. Will it bring them down into the depression that I fight every day. And I do fight it. I have for many years. When I was in my late teens it started, and through the loss of my first pregnancy, and the emotional abuse of my first husband, and my divorce, and even when I fell in love with my amazing husband... always... I have fought this demon. I have been on and off anti-depressants for a long time. Some worked, some didn't. Sometimes I thought I didn't need them because life was good and I should be happy. Apparently I was wrong. I need them. I take them every morning with my breakfast like a good girl. And still the demon lurks... waiting to pull me under. Today the demon was almost tangible. I can feel it's breath on my neck. I can feel it's arms reaching out towards me. But I'm pushing back desperately. I'm pushing back because my kids need me and I can't succumb to the vegetative state that demon wants to put me in. So suck it demon face. I'm about to punch it in the throat and pull up my big girl panties and put on my combat boots cuz it's on like donkey kong up in here and I am tired of feeling sorry for myself all. the. dang. time. Tomorrow will be a better day... one can hope anyway...

And now the storm is acomin... and we all know I have an unnatural fear of storms... so I shall bid you adieu and get the hell off this pc before the lightening comes thru the socket in the wall and into the computer to electrocute me to death. Nighty night folks!

The earthquake story.....

Yea, I don't know why, but I thought I would share with you.... 'The Earthquake Story'. If you are reading this and you live on the west coast and are used to earthquakes, feel free to laugh at this. I myself had never felt one, in my LIFE. Did I mention we had an aftershock last night? Yea, that was cool. And now if you are a stalker I'm sure you've figured out where I live. I will hurt you. Just sayin LOL

How to send a neurotic paranoid pessimist into a complete panic??

Simple... add an earthquake and sprinkle with hurricane possibilties all while the husband is on the other side of the world. Today has been rough. Everyone has their own stories on this day. Their own worries, thoughts, etc. I don't mean to come off whiney... and I don't want to bore you with my... whining. But wow... yea... panic was not even the word for the feeling that I had today. Living only maybe 20 miles (as the crow flies) from the epicenter of today's insane earthquake and being completely alone with 2 small children in the house asleep... panic is not the world at all. I am not a west-coaster. I know nothing about this ground-shaking business. It startled me. At first I thought perhaps I had something off-kilter in the washing machine... then realized there was nothing in the washing machine. The rumbling got louder. The dog cried and howled and ran to the door. Things fell off the walls... There was this loud bang in the midst of the rumbling... I jumped up and ran... I ran up the stairs and with some herculian strength I did not know I possessed I plucked the twins from their cribs and ran back down the stairs with them both in my arms, hurdling over the baby gate at the bottom like some possessed gold-medal seeking track star, and out the front door with the dog at my heels. Heart pounding... shaking like a leaf... watching trees sway... I tried to tell them it would be ok. Finally it ended after what seemed like an enternity, and I went back into my house and straight to the phone... which did not work. Most of the afternoon was spent in a panic. Answering phone calls, attempting to make phone calls. Texting. Trying to keep small ones happy and tantrum free. And while folks in California sit back and laugh at us... I, myslef, feel acutely aware of the responsibilties I currently have and that I am having to handle on my own. Which led me down another path of thought. God bless our soldiers and all that. But what about my husband and all the other folks like him supporting our soldiers. Where is their support? Where is the support for us... the families sitting here at home harboring the same fears as the soldiers families? Shouldering the responsibilities alone like a soldiers wife without the support of the military or the support of the public in general. It's almost as if people assume that because my husband is a contractor that he is making good money and good money replaces the need for emotional support. Wrong. I am still here being mom and dad, talking long distance to the man that I love on crappy phone connections, worrying about his safety, praying for him, taking the trash to the dump (his job, lol), dealing with vehicle breakdowns, and mother nature and natural disasters... on my own. I do not envy single parents. I do not want to be a single parent. I never intended to be one. And yet here I am. I have excellent friends and family who check on me often but ultimately... my children and my home... my responsibility and it ain't easy bein cheesy... being a grown up stinks. Not sure what my point was here, but I feel better anyway. Craptastic day... The aftershocks aren't helping either. Jeesh. Settle down already.

And that, is the Earthquake Story. *Applause* Thank you, thank you very much. Elvis has left the building....

He walks the line....

I wrote a blog about cake yesterday. Let me rephrase, I attempted to write a blog yesterday in which I began extolling the fantastic-ness of cake, and how I had made some and how half of it was gone already. I wrote one paragraph, came back to it last night and upon further review, deleted the whole thing. I love cake, that is all you need to know. And now that I've covered that let's move on. The wine is flowing freely tonight, as well it should. The music is playing and the cake has been eaten and today was long. My brain feels like mush. I can not seem to string coherent thought together and that was before the second 'glass' of wine. I use the term glass loosely. It is a large plastic cup. I have wine glasses, but why bother. I would just have to refill more often. I may slightly be an alcoholic; I blame my husband's job and my father's genetics.
Ironically I could drink my brother under the table because he is an epic lightweight. I love my father, I do. Truly. I grew up in a fairly normal home or so I thought.  It wasn't until I got much older that I realized how dysfunctional we were and still are. My parents are still married, been married for 42 years actually. That's pretty amazing, huh? Yea. I moved out when I was 19, got married at 21, separated and moved back in with mom and dad when I was 25. I lived with them for another year before I moved back out again. So all in all, twenty years with the parents, and as far back as I can recall, there was not much affection. There was a lot of holding in feelings, and keeping things to myself, and always there was walking on eggshells around my dad. To his credit, he was and always will be a working man. As an adult with a family of my own, I know now what he struggled with, the stress of having to provide for a family when he couldn't find a job. I remember riding down to the unemployment office with him and my brother. He would leave us in the old red F150 with the bondo trim, and go inside to get his check. Funny how times change; people can't leave their kids in the car for a minute anymore. He was stressed, I get that now. But to my mind, I can never remember a time he was affectionate. My mother claims that I was and always will be daddy's little girl. I find this hard to believe. Or maybe I just can't see it. He's always quiet, and reserved. And until recently he was a bit hard of hearing, thank GOD for hearing aids. Seriously. Odd how he pushed for them after I had my twins. Did I mention my twins will never have cousins? That makes me sad.
So yea, quiet, and reserved, and an epic temper that usually resulted in the breaking of glass. He never laid a finger on any of us. He didn't have to. The bellow alone was enough to put the fear of God into us. The threat- wait until your father gets home? It always worked.
It's funny to watch him with his only granddaughter. She smiles her charming little grin, and calls him Pap-pap, and he happily picks her up and she sits with him and kisses his fuzzy cheek- and I'm all wth? I'm jealous of my daughter for the little bit of affection she gets from him. I'm jealous of my oldest son when he sits and plays chess with grandpa. I'm envious of girls that can call their dads and talk about anything, because I was raised by a pissed of John Wayne, whose own father committed suicide when I was only 2. I am certain that affected his view of the world too. I can not fathom that. I'm not mad though. This is the hand I was dealt, this is the family that I was given to. This is my father who paints tiny miniatures, and listens to bagpipe music, and watches food network, and has hair longer than mine. I will always love him,  even though he will always be John Wayne to me. Did I mention he keeps telling me to buy chickens and start raising them on my 'farm'? I don't have a farm. I live next to a farm. Chickens smell and they are crazy mean. I know this for a fact. Ain't happenin Dad!

Spent many years listening to dad tune his guitar and play this song over and over and over....

The second summer of my discontent

I have been down this road before. Solitude. Loneliness. Overwhelmed by life and the basic responsibilities that I have. And they are basic. No rocket science here folks. Open the dishwasher, load it, turn it on, rinse and repeat. Wash the clothes. Dry the clothes. Vacuum the floor. The list goes on. I am tasked to feed, clothe, and clean children, keep a house clean(ish) and pay the bills. Seems simple. So why then does it feel like hellish drudgery? I should be able to finish these thing and put my feet up by noon and eat bon-bons a la Peg Bundy. btw- totally dug her hair back in the day. But that is neither here nor there. As I said, I have been down this road before. I have done this alone while Sgt. Dad is off in another country in another time zone in another century it seems. Last year was the same only with more angst for many undisclosed reasons. This go round has less angst (if you can believe it) but more sadness, more helplessness, more loneliness. I have received many suggestions and invitations throughout all of this, most suggestions unsolicited. I appreciate the invitations. But I am one awkward, socially inept, loner type bird. I don't know why I chose the word bird, but I did, cuz the bird is the word. Suggestions to join mommy groups make my skin crawl. I do not trust easily and I do not suffer fools. Women are catty, gossipy, judgmental bitches. I know this, because I am one. I have no desire to slap a plastic fake smile on my face and sit around and be judged by stepford moms who want to chat about little Johnny's amazingly fast potty-training abilities while they smile and nod apologetically at me. And their kids name prolly wouldn't be Johnny anyway... it would be something more like Diezel or Apple or Rider or Nevaeh or how bout suck it. I'm not a stepford anything. Most social situations make my skin crawl. That is just the way of it. I have a limited circle of peeps, very limited. Once you get stabbed in the back and kicked to the curb for life choices that have no bearing in other folks lives you tend to become wary. That is sad really. When we are young we trust so easy. (I read this recently on another blog- you know who you are- it's just so appropriate to add to my own ponderings.) Now I am leery of most and question all comments and intentions except for those of the blessed few I keep close to me.
Back to my point. I hate this summer, much like I hated last summer, only I hate this one more. The twins are at this strange age. One day they are sweet and kind and behave like angels. Today was one of those, and I was and am thankful for that. Tomorrow they might be evil little heathens. Who knows. I tend not to make plans for that reason. Any clue what it's like to haul 2 screaming toddlers around w/ all their gear and no help? Well, maybe you do. If you do, then you know, it sucks ass. Add up all this bitching and you know what you get? Another summer of discontent. And it's hotter than the devil's teet out there, and I get really rather bitch-tastic in the heat. And while we're talking about heat, let's talk about night sweats, and hot flashes too. Yea, that's happening. I was all wtf and how in the hell could this be happening. And the doc was all, oh it's your antidepressants. But no, it's not. And that sucks too. And I actually love and adore my husband, and I miss him more than I can express in words and that also makes me sad. Weird, right?
I'm out of pretzel M&Ms- this also makes me sad.
*Sad-Face*

This post is NOT funny. It's not.

Apparently someone has been replacing my regular corn flakes in the morning with new and improved angsty bitch flakes for the last few days. In fact, I'm not entirely certain that I should actually be blogging because this could end up just being a post full of obscenities and middle fingers. I seem to have excessive pent up amounts of... aggression. I am angry. Angry about so much. I'm angry that the economy is so shitty that Sgt. Dad felt he had no other option than to take this job that sent him into a war zone 8,000 miles from home. I'm angry that all these household responsibilities fall to me every day all the time. I'm angry about what happened in Colorado. I'm annoyed by political commercials, political comments, and people that are hellbent on blaming the president, or blaming whatever political official is available for the blame. If not this president then I'm sure the next because they do nothing right- at least according to a great majority. Shut up already. The economy sucks. Unemployment sucks. Gun control or not sucks. Abortion sucks or not. Shut up already. And really, if I have to sit through one more commercial of Mitt Romney singing off key I might stab myself in the foot. Shut up.
Did you know that 3 government contractors were killed this weekend in Afghanistan? Bet ya didn't. You know why? Because it was buried on the 10th page of most newspapers behind analyzing and dissecting what happened in Colorado, and the weather. You know what, that really pisses me off. What happened there hit really close to home for me and for my family. Closer than you can imagine. And if I had not talked to Sgt. Dad on Sunday- I would have been a complete basket-case (not that I am not already). I was pissed though. Why didn't those 3 guys get a mention? Did no one care? I care. Their families care. Just like the families in Colorado. I digress.
Where was I? Oh yes, the world is pissing me off. I'm pissed off at myself. I don't know how to swallow my pride and ask for help. And, I need help. I'm having difficulty admitting that I need someone to give a hand with these kids. I'm sorta angry that I quit my job to stay home with them, because now that I'm home, I seem to lack the motivation to get back and go back to work. I am afraid to leave the twins in someone else's care. My mother can't handle them, my MIL is starting to have difficulty handling them, and I feel utter complete guilt when I even think about asking someone else to help. They're my kids right? I mean, I brought them into this world, they're my responsibility. I don't work outside the home, they are my job and yes, right now they feel like a job. One 2yr old is a handful... two 2 yr olds is... several handfuls especially when one seems to be showing the early signs of ADHD. I don't want to 'put that' on anyone else. I don't want to be a burden. I don't want my kids to be a burden. I'm angry, and I'm on my second glass of wine in 20 minutes and I am apparently watching a 'Dead Like Me' marathon on some obscure horror channel that I never watch. But I like this show. If I were her, I would definitely be her. The commentary is great.
There are no funny pics for this post. No pics at all. I am angry. I want to punch a wall, or a douchebag, or my x-husband, or a politician. But instead, I blogged. And now I will paste a plastic smile on my face and refill my wine glass because I am getting redundant.
MORE WINNNNNNEEEEE!!!!!

P.S. I'm thoroughly pissed at E.L. James for writing a crappy book that I can't stop freakin reading! WTH?! It sucks! Are the pages made from crack?!

A smelly smelly that smells smelly

What the heck is that smell?? You know the one. The way your house smells. Take a whiff, what do you smell. I'll tell you what I smell, cuz I am sure you want to know and that is the whole point here. I smell stink, and frankly I am tired of smelling stink. Granted I am not the most fabulous housekeeper in all the land. I'm not even mediocre. In fact the term negligent comes to mind. Basically I do what has to be done- wash clothes when someone needs something washed, wash dishes when there are no more glasses, clean toilets when they start to look gross. Look, I hate cleaning. I do what I have to- to get by. I have never been a good at this. Once again... my parents didn't set a great example here.

Now people will tell me, oh it's ok, you have the twins, and yea, I do. But they nap and they sleep and while they are doing these things I have plenty of time to clean. I have time to clean right now while the TV is babysitting them. But, I'm not, because I loathe it. Don't get me wrong- my house is not an episode of 'Hoarders- Buried Alive'. And while we're on that subject, I secretly watch that show when no one is around and then pat myself on the back for not being those people. (You go girl!) I don't understand how these people let stuff get so dang bad. Like- hey check out these 400 pizza boxes on the kitchen floor and don't step on the cat feces in the hallway. And seriously, why do these people always, ALWAYS have cats. They do. Fact. And sometimes they're dead. The cats that is. Crap, I have a cat.....

Just one cat though, and then we have this dog. I really think he is probably 95.89% of the problem. He smells. It's horrid. You can bathe him six ways to Sunday, and he still smells like he rolled in his own poop. Which he probably did. He was abused as a pup, and he has some serious anxiety issues, and my mother-in-law claims that I should take him to the vet and get his gland expressed. Ew. I should do this, but he's impossible to get in the car, and did I mention, he smells. He's a good dog though, loyal, but needy. Protective, but clingy. He also sheds. A lot. And that hair... it gets everywhere. It is unreal the places dog hair turns up. Hey look, there's a dog hair in my bra. Looky here in the fridge, under the milk, there some more dog hair. I feel like I'm going to hoark a hairball just thinking about it. As much hair as he loses, one would think he was bald. He's not. I think my vacuum cleaner just groaned at me. I could knit you a dog hair sweater, if I knew how to knit. He just farted as I wrote that. Not lyin'.
So this morning, on my way down the stairs to the coffee-maker this odor assails my nostrils, and I think to myself... oh gosh (actually it was more damn, WTF), does my house really smell like this, because dang it, it stinks. It smells like dog, and store bought room deodorizer, and last night's dinner (which had garlic in it- which no one ate but me), and dog, and something else that I'm not sure of... I shall just call it stale-ness. And then I think, I really, really don't want to clean today, in fact, I'd rather be back in bed. I stagger into the kitchen and start making coffee and when I open the dishwasher to pull out a clean mug... I think dammit man... why does the dishwasher full of clean dishes smell like crap too. And then I smelled coffee... and I didn't care anymore. I filled my mug and added my delicious creamer and stared into it's beautiful brown depths and inhaled it's amazing aroma... and the rest of the smells just fell away like someone blowing the white stuff off a dead dandelion.

You know how those white things on dandelions are like seeds or whatever, and they get in the soil and make new dandelions and dandelions are actually weeds? Well I drank my coffee and got the twins up (the older 2 are away with their dad and step-mom this week- not that that is relevant here, but still)... and then the twins simultaneously filled their diapers with poop and tried to blame one another for the stink that they each created. Yay!! More stink! How awesome!!! One would think my nose hairs would have been singed off at this point. I wish they would actually, would save me from having to tame them with tweezers and scissors and nose hair trimmers and stuff. Srsly. Why do I have scary nose hairs? I'm not a 70 year old man. C'mon already!! Jeesh! Annoying.

I cleaned their butts, refilled my coffee cup, and lit my Yankee Candle and pretended that I didn't smell the smelly smells that were smelling smelly, because frankly I'm just lazy and I don't want to scrub crap, and that is that.

By the way.... when potatoes rot in the pantry, they can make the whole house stink. So if you smell a smelly smell and are not sure where it's coming from, check your tatties people cuz holy hell that stank!

This product contains no yucky ingredients....

Martha Stewart does not live in my house. I mean, that's what this blog is called right, so there should be no question. There is a plaque above my stove that affirms this very fact. I do not spew 'good things'. I do not make bows out of discarded newspaper funnies. I don't sift my flour, salt, and baking soda together. And I certainly don't grow baby salad greens or other exotic vegetables, hell, I can't even grow tomatoes. I do however... cook. I cook A LOT. Mostly because I have to, ok... all the time because I have to. And perhaps if it wasn't for the clean up, or the itty bitty size of my tiny kitchen, or the critiques of an amazingly picky 10 year old I venture to guess that I would actually enjoy cooking. Almost like a hobby. (Hence my expanding waistline- or maybe that was caused by the Funions. A moot point really- although I do like funions.)

Now way back when I was married to my first husband I really was lost in the kitchen. Growing up my mother fried steak in a skillet (ok, steak didn't happen often, but spam did) and followed the directions on the back of the rice-a-roni box. My dad cooked amazing things, but he did it so infrequently I really didn't glean much from it, only that he apparently took lessons from Julia Child- i.e. a little drinky for the dish, a lot of drinky for him... if ya know what I mean.

This all left me a little lacking in the cooking department, and my first husband was rather traditional and expected me to do the cooking mostly all the time. Not good folks, not good. Mushy meatloaves abounded, burnt spaghetti sauces, chilis, chicken; these were all common. And if I managed to get it right in my mind, he would inevitably make the comment- my mom doesn't make it like this. No, she didn't. She didn't use recipes, or processed food, that came in boxes. I was clearly inexperienced and out of my element and he seemed to delight in this. This caused a great resentment towards cooking... among other things.

Fast forward- I lost the zero- as we all know- and moved onto the hero (another blog for another day). I have amassed quite the collection of cook books and cooking magazines. Those magazines are evil. They would jump right off the rack at the check out line and end up in my bag, and be all like yea!! And I would be like Yea! I'm gonna cook this and that and that other thing on that page over there and shit! I cook and unicorns appear sliding down rainbows of glitter and landing on butterfly wings etc etc. Sgt. Dad loves my cooking. He raves about it. He whines about not having it in the 'sandbox'. (you get the point) Which brings me to my current problem.

Sgt. Dad is not here, and will not be here for quite a while. And before you start stalking me and my house in real life cuz I am (alone)- weirdos- please know that I have a shotgun and 100+ lb. monster hound/ rotty mix and we will hurt you so don't do it. Had to be said. Anyway- moving on. Like I said- he's not here, and so I have these children to cook for. The oldest- he pretty much devours any part of a cow, and not much else. My booger-butt... well he's the worst... pbj, microwaved cheese quesadillas,  and that mac 'n' cheese that comes in the blue box- you know the one. That's all. That's it. He's 10 and that's about all he puts in his body. I don't know how this kid grows. Everything is yucky to him. Now the twins have their hit and miss days. Some days they do like things and then a week later... they don't. That's the age they're at. I get it.
So what's the point you ask after all this rambling? Well let me tell you my esteemed reader.... I am sick and tired of trying to do right so to speak. The whole balanced meal thing. The more time I spend cooking the less inclined they are to eat it. Especially Booger Butt. I'm sick of blue box mac n cheese and peanut butter and jelly. And most of all I am sick of, 'I don't like this'. OMG- did you even try it?! Every single danged night. And it's not like I can take a night off and let someone else do the cooking and get the critiquing. Nope. All me. All the time. I don't like to take them out. It costs too much, and well the twins are 2. So I guess I am looking for ideas. Minimum effort meals for maximum rewards. I don't generally ask for advice from others. It usually irks me (again- another blog for another day). But if you have a fail-safe tried and true meal for picky folks please share it.... unless it has ground beef in it... Booger Butt won't eat that cuz it's mushy.

~sigh~ dang picky kids......

A nomination? For me? Na-ah!

Holy Mother of Pearl Batman! I received not one but two bloggey nominations from two fabulous fellow bloggers My Daily Jenn-ism and The Vintage Boomer! Thanks Mamas!! Really, it's quite shocking since I just burst onto this scene. I really think I am a bit in over my head with this bloggey stuff... oh... and did I mention... I started a FB page? (Yea, I'm pimpin myself... call it narcissism if you will) Yea, I did that. I must be crazy. Anyway, here's the dealio- There are certain rules that come with this nod so here goes:

The Rules:

1. Include the award logo in a post or on you blog page

2. Answer 10 questions about yourself

3. Nominate 10-12 other famous bloggers

4. Link your nominees to your post and comment on their blog, letting them know about the nomination

5. Share the love and link the person who nominated you

Now that I shared the rules, let me add that while I am honored to be nominated I kinda feel like I'm in a weird sort of chain mail thing... but ya know what, I kinda like it (narcissism aside of course) :P

Ten Questions and Answers:

1. What would you most like to change about yourself?
Well this is deep. Mostly I would like to change wanting to change, ya know. I wish I were more comfortable in my own skin. I am not. Anxiety abounds and that sucks. It affects ones perception of everything. I would also like to be fabulously gorgeous, skinny, and independently wealthy.

2. What is your theme song?
I wrestled with this one for a while. I love music, and have several favorite artists, and I spent a while pondering several songs that I absolutely love and this what I settled on- 'What I Am'- Edie Brickell- cuz I'm not aware of too many things, but I know what I know, if ya know what I mean. That and someone once told me this song made them think of me. 

3. One part of your life, a memory or action, etc. that you wish you could surgically remove from your brain:
Oh gosh, well now this is tough. I would like to believe that I don't regret things, because truly they make us who we are, but I can think of several things here. My first pregnancy and the loss of it... that memory sort of rises to the top. But the experience of the pain has shaped me, and so no, I don't want to remove it. Perhaps a more realistic action to remove? Wearing a black mid-drift tank top w/ the word 'Crazy for You' to the amusement park as a kid. Other kids found it amusing, and I found it embarrassing, but it was the 80s, and we were poor, and it was a hand-me-down from my uber cool cousin... what'cha gonna do, ya know...

4. What generation do you wish you had been a part of?
I kind of wish I had been in my teens/ early 20s in the late 70s early 80s mostly because of the music, and I don't mean disco. I'm talking about Fleetwood Mac and The Rolling Stones, Rock N Roll n such. I believe I was born about a decade too late...

5. What was your favorite childhood toy?
We was poor when I was kid, just sos ya know. I can't name one specific thing. I loved my fashion plates, and my barbie dolls, and my homemade cabbage patch kid (Cindy-Lou) and various stuffed critters. I was not particularly partial to one. 

6. What is your favorite housecleaning chore? 
Seriously? I don't play favorites when it comes to housecleaning chores. I hate them all equally. There is not one redeeming factor about the lot. Laundry, dishes, vacuuming, cleaning toilets, mopping floors... doing any of these things sucks. I do not enjoy any of them. Perhaps the better question would be which is my least favorite... hmmm... Nope. Still, I hate them all equally. 

7. Do you Twitter?
I twitter-pated when I was young. But then most teenage girls do. They twitter-pate over this boy or that boy. Heck, sometimes my husband can still make me twitter-pate. I know that's not what was meant by twitter. I do not live under a rock. Twitter annoys me, and therefore I do not.

8. Any Goals?
Ask me again in November, because my sole purpose right now is to make it til then with my sanity intact. 

9. Do you really drink Margaritas all the time?
I do not. Which is sad. My husband bought an epic Margaritaville Margarita Machine last year for Mother's Day in an attempt to ease my anger about him taking a job in the 'sandbox'. It is epic. Huge in fact, and it's size in comparison to my kitchen... well... if it does not fit, you must acquit, and in this case Mr. Margarita Machine spends a lot of time in my basement atop the dryer. And this is why I do not drink them every day. Also, purchasing tequila etc in the liqueur store with 4 children hanging off you... well... let's just say it doesn't look good. 

10. What is the ugliest car you have ever driven and were embarrassed to be seen in?
There is something you must know before I answer this question. I used to have a beautiful white Ford Mustang- 5 speed manual transmission, big V-8 engine, all the bells and whistles. My standards are high. My x-husband once had a Plymouth Gran Fury, that was pretty hideous and brown. Like a big brown turd really. There were also several other less than stellar autos in my past- the x's Suzuki Samarai with it's top speed of snail, a Honda Prelude with fabulous bondo trim, and the Toyota Tercel... nothing really wrong with it... it was just embarrassing.

Ok, there it. My 10 get to know me questions. Time to pass this little nod off to some other great folks.

Here is my list of nominations for the Sunshine Blog Award. I nominated these folks because, to be honest, I haven't got a huge list of blogs that I'm reading. That said- I thoroughly enjoy the ones I do read. You all rock, even if I don't comment on every post! ;)

1. You Know It Happens At Your House Too

2. Food Good, Laundry Bad

3. Figuring it Out as we Grow

4. The Real Housewife of Santee

5. The Underachiever's Guide to Being a Domestic Goddess

6. Somewhat Sane Mom

7. Twins Happen

and yea... since I'm just getting started and I'm mostly self-absorbed I only made it up to 7 blogs before I was like... Uhhhhh... idk. So yea... I almost feel like it's one of those forward or God will kill kittens things... but it gives me a chance to talk about me, and and pimp myself... and what blogger doesn't want to do that?! I knew you would understand :P

All joking aside, thank you again The Vintage Boomer and My Daily Jenn-ism, I appreciate the face time!

Now back to your regularly scheduled blog posts... already in progress!

Cheers folks!

50 Shades of..... WTF am I reading??

~~~~~~****Spoiler Alerts Abound****~~~~~~~

There's been a lot of chatter lately about 'housewife porn' trilogy 'Fifty Shades of Grey'. Now let me start by saying- I am not usually one to jump on the proverbial bandwagon. Not my thing. For instance movies that get huge hype... not interested. Here a few specific examples: Titanic, Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Twilight (blech!), Magic Mike (altho the scenery looks nice in that one)... That said, I'm almost ashamed to admit it, but I bought it. I mean, I bought all 3 books at once. Okay- I am ashamed. I'm better than this, really. But loneliness does strange things to the psyche I suppose and so here they are in their fantastic gray glory.

Incidentally, I'm never sure if it's 'gray' or 'grey' because according to spellcheck they are both spelled correctly. Ironically the word spellcheck is showing up as incorrect. But I digress, I am getting off topic. If anyone can clear up the gray/grey thing, that would be great. Thanks.

Anywayyyy..... I understand the preface of this. Here is this dude, Mr. Grey, who has some seriously freakish control issues and he's got this thing for trussing woman up and smacking them with riding crops and such. And he insists on written contracts with all his trussed up woman to obey to play his little game. And now he's got this thing for this plain-Jane-clumsy-as-I-don't-know-what college chick. Now, this story sounded good in theory especially for a woman whose husband is 8,000 miles away for the next 5 months. Some straight up somewhat acceptable 'entertainment'. So I open book one, and it begins, and right away I'm thinking somewhat aloud... 'WTF is this shit?!' Much like Cookie Monster being served a plate of vegetables. What high school kid wrote this drivel? Let me tell you all, it is written in first person from Ms. Steele's point of view, and I find that utterly obnoxious. Just my opinion, but this is my blog so deal with it. And what do I care if Katherine wants Nyquil? And since you mentioned it why didn't Anastasia Steele give Katherine any damn Nyquil. I mean you asked if she wanted it, and then got busy fussing with your jacket and never gave it to her. Why bother asking her in the first place. This annoyed me, and I believe I was only on page 2 of the book. Already I am struggling with the inane b.s. of each paragraph. The blushing, the flushing, the biting of the lip, and Ms. Steele's ums, uhs, ers, and later on her arghhhhs when she gets smacked with a riding crop. I want to grab the damn riding crop and smack E.L. James across the knuckles for typing this. While I'm at it, I would like to beat the hell out of the little demon inside me that said- yea buy it- you'll like it. Idiot. Who says arghh anyway? I mean, is she a freakin pirate?? Arghhh matey! Thanks fer smackin me snatch with a riding crop? Perhaps she should have screamed 'Parlay' and asked for Cpt. Sparrow, Saavy?

Basically, so far, this is crap. Good preface, crappy writing. Really crappy. And yet I spent money on this crap, so now I feel obligated to finish it while I loathe and resent every lip bite this chick makes while kneeling in Mr. Grey's 'red room of pain'. Not only is Mr. Grey '50 shades of fucked up' but apparently so am I for reading this. Whatever. I'll keep you posted because I'm sure you're all keen to hear the outcome, and that way you won't have to waste your own time reading it yourself.

Saavy??