I've been feeling a lot better, been handling life and sadness and happiness and problems and failures and opportunities a lot better lately. I am better, and I decided that I'd like to talk about that some.

About two or three months ago I saw a new therapist, and it was nice and she was helpful and understanding and we seemed to mesh well, or something else equally mushy sounding. She recommended that I keep seeing her and that I have a psychiatric evaluation and consider a prescription drug "to get over the hump." So about a month-and-a-half ago I saw a psychiatrist. He recommended that I try some kind of prescription because "it seems like you're having some really dark, severe problems right now." So I took his advice.

He prescribed Prozac, and I've been taking it for just over six weeks. Right there in that article it says, Fluoxetine is approved for the treatment of major depression (including pediatric depression), obsessive-compulsive disorder (in both adult and pediatric populations), bulimia nervosa, anorexia nervosa, panic disorder and premenstrual dysphoric disorder. I can tell you that four of those six apply to me. I have frequently thought that I might have premenstrual dysphoric disorder; the main symptoms include feelings of deep sadness or despair, possible suicide ideation, feelings of tension or anxiety, panic attacks, diarrhea, mood swings, crying, lasting irritability or anger, increased interpersonal conflicts, apathy or disinterest in daily activities and relationships, difficulty concentrating, fatigue, food cravings or binge eating, insomnia or hypersomnia, feeling "out of control", increase or decrease in sex drive, increased need for emotional closeness, and physical symptoms such as bloating, heart palpitations, breast tenderness, headaches, and joint or muscle pain. If one has five or more of those symptoms it could indicate pmdd.

Um, hello? Hi there. My name is Buffy and I have all of those symptoms. ALL OF 'EM.

When I left the doctor that day I called Jason to sort of talk it out. I explained all the reasons that I thought I ought to give the medicine a shot- my emotions were out of control, I felt terrible most of the time, toughing it out wasn't working, things were getting worse and worse, and I know several people who I love and trust who say things like "prozac saved my life". After I said my piece I asked Jason, "So what do you think about all this? Honestly." He immediately said, very forcefully, "I think you should just take the medicine."

Jason? He's the dude who has watched me implode over the last three years, further and further, until I was just a tiny speck of myself. My condition was so bad that it was like my default setting was sad, just sad all the time, and when my body would tire of sitting around and being sad the CRAZY BITCH screen saver would pop up for a while.

And, you know, I'm still wrestling with some stuff. But the thing is now I am me, now I am ME wrestling with this stuff, instead of a tiny, wafty particle of my leftovers trying to wrestle with mountains of things that a wafty particle can't understand, can't even see all of. I FEEL LIKE MYSELF and that's something that I haven't been able to say for a very long time. I am BETTER, a better wife, a better mom, a better daughter, a better friend, a better employee, a better human. I still sometimes feel hurt, suspicious, mad, tired, useless, reclusive, heartbroken, weepy. But those feelings now reside in the minority of my time, while the majority of my time I am just me. When I was a tiny, wafty particle EVERYTHING was bigger than me. Now I am big enough to have some perspective, to get a grip on things. Sometimes things are still bigger than me, but now I have the ability to turn around and walk away from it instead of being blown towards it, closer and closer until it's all I can see.

Do I feel disappointed that I achieved this with a drug? A little. Do I worry that I'll have to take a drug forever to be me? A little. Do I worry that one day the drug won't affect me the same way, won't work any more? A little. But mostly I just don't care. Mostly I am trying to enjoy this time that I feel better. Mostly I am thankful that I still have a marriage to preserve, that I have a kid who loves me and who I can take care of, that I have friends who are still around to be glad that I'm feeling better. Mostly I am just grateful that I climbed out of the hole in time to see all this stuff, and I'm letting myself revel in it a little bit.

Because perhaps this feeling won't last forever. But that just seems like all the more reason to enjoy it right now.

I'm burnin' up, burnin' up for your love.

I haven't always loved hot foods. In fact, up until I was about 22 I never ate spicy stuff- no hot sauce, no jalapenos, only mild salsa, etc.

Then I was at my Aunt CJ's house in Pensacola and she was making nachos for everybody, and she said, "You want jalapenos?" My friend piped up and said, "No, she doesn't eat spicy stuff." I don't know why, I don't know what changed, but I immediately said, "YES, I DO WANT JALAPENOS. I LIKE THEM." And it wasn't a matter of proving anything to either of them. I just suddenly liked the jalapenos.

Since then my love of spicy things has grown exponentially. Some times I crave jalapenos so much that I try to think of something to eat them with. I like hot salsa, hot sauce, spicy foods, all kinds of peppers.

Point is, I just discovered this website, and I'm intrigued.

Kiss him, he's Irish!

Happy St. Patrick's Day! Know that we are on the beach right now trying to think of something green to drink. Jason is wearing a green speedo and thinking of you.

I do not kid.

Things purchased specifically for my trip to Costa Rica (for real):

- New bathing suit- my old bathing suit was purchased on clearance from Wal-Mart four years ago. It was time for a new one.

- Pepto Bismol tablets

- Sunscreen

- Lovely backpack

- Antibacterial hand wipes

- Tiny box of q-tips

- New undies

- Huge, floppy hat

- Haircut

- Two pairs cargo shorts for Jason, plus a pair of trunks

- Shirts, dresses, and shorts, oh my!

- Gallon-sized ziplock bags

- Aloe vera

- Two pairs large, ridiculous sunglasses

- Straw fedora

The result of an "isolated malicious act."

I was reading this blog and discovered that Tucson viewers of the Superbowl were treated to about 30 seconds of free porn. First, NO FAIR I didn't get any free porn. Second, the article is HILARIOUS if you have the right kind of sense of humor, meaning a wrong sense of humor.

In light of the incident, Comcast says it will issue a $10 credit to any customers who say they viewed the 30-second clip, which featured full male nudity. (SEE BOX) I don't know why I think "SEE BOX" in this context is so funny; I just do.

The Star newsroom was flooded with calls Sunday night from irate viewers who said that the porn cut into the game with less than three minutes left to play. The issue wasn't that there was porn, it was that it cut in to the MOST IMPORTANT PART OF THE GAME.

Callers said that the clip showed a woman unzipping a man’s pants, followed by a graphic act between the two...The Super Bowl was being shown locally on KVOA. The station sends its signals...to Cox Communications. Cox Communications. Perfect.

I don't know how I didn't know about this, but I missed it somehow, and I find it to be hilarious.

Whatever will be will be.

Oh and here's a blog I like to read, only I just don't read it super-often because she doesn't post nearly enough.

Anyway, I read this post here and it's pretty perplexing, so I clicked on the comments and read through several, and this one made me particularly happy. Good stuff.

Olive oil. Seriously, if it worked for Cleopatra, who are we to argue? This is how I do it:

Pick a night where you're going to stay in anyway. Plan on wearing a button-down flannel or pajama shirt and hanging out in front of some cheesy dvds.

Fill your palm with just about a teaspoon of olive oil, no more. Really you don't need much at all; it spreads like an oil slick (oddly enough). Massage this into your scalp. Don't worry so much about the ends of your hair, but go ahead and dig those fingers into your itchy, grouchy scalp till you start making noises like the lady in that risque Clairol Herbal Essences commercial where she somehow miraculously washes AND DRIES her hair in an airplane bathroom. (Who IS this woman? I can barely manage to wash and dry my HANDS in an airplane bathroom. You should take my advice anyway, though.)

Ok, now it gets weird: take a plastic grocery bag and pull it around your hair till you can knot the handles at the top of your forehead like Aunt Jemima. The heat from your head in that suffocating plastic pretty much melts the oil into your scalp and hair. At first you feel a little goofy, but after a while your head gets all warm and happy and you start grooving with it, especially if you thought ahead and opened a bottle of wine and popped in a movie before your hands got all greasy and now you're watching Roman Holiday through a chianti haze. You want to do this for at least 20 minutes.

Now head to the bathroom, carefully remove the plastic bag, and wash your hair. (This is where the button-down shirt comes in handy, because your hair is a mess and you don't want to try to pull anything over your head. You may also be wondering why on earth you trusted some internet lurker, but it's far too late now so just go with it.) Shampoo twice, thoroughly massaging the scalp again and rinsing the shampoo all the way from roots to ends, and condition once if it's the rinse-out kind. No leave-in stuff this time. (Ok, look, you can always put in tamer tomorrow if it gets out of hand.) DO NOT - I repeat: DO! NOT! use a hairdryer. Towel dry and make yourself a turban and go finish that movie and bottle of wine. Some cheesecake at this point is also nice.

You can go to bed with your hair still wet if you're not particularly prone to cowlicks. Tomorrow morning, after delightful dreams of Gregory Peck on a Vespa, you will wake up with some seriously bodacious cornsilk locks.

Seriously, I might just do this for fun one night this weekend. Anyone who wants to join me, grab a plastic grocery bag and head on over.

Mardi Gras, you slutty bitches.

Lindsey sent these to me last week and I deemed them appropriate for this day, Mardi Gras day:

EVERY SO OFTEN YOU SHOULD USE UP ONE OF YOUR SICK DAYS AT WORK TO GO ON A WILD AND CRAZY ADVENTURE WITH YOUR BEST FRIEND.

I stole- I STOLE- this from Dooce. It's a marriage/relationship meme. Leave your answers in the comments!

Also, in rereading this I realized that this whole post illustrates perfectly the manic, a.k.a. entire, side of my personality.

What are your middle names?
Andrew and Claire.

How long have you been together?
We've been married for a little over five years, and we were together for a year before we got married, for a total of six years.

How long did you know each other before you started dating?
I think we'd known each other for about six months, maybe a year, before we started "dating", a term I use loosely because we were horny and broke so there weren't a lot of "dates" there in the beginning- unless perpetual sex with a few cigarette breaks thrown in for good measure counts. Hi, mom!

Who asked whom out?
Hm, who did ask whom out? I can't seem to remember... I'm having these odd flashes of myself standing in a bar asking Jason to come home with me... But I don't think that has anything to do with it.

How old are each of you?
I am 29 and Jason is 14. I don't care, he's 14, with just a little bit of 18 thrown in for good measure with all this motorcycle stuff.

Oh, have I not mentioned that? Jason bought a motorcycle; consequently I've started drinking frequently again.

Whose siblings do you see the most?
I suppose we see my sister the most, on account of Reed's second home is my mom's house where India lives. My mom is Reed's Ma and India is his Da. Ma and Da: So Happy Together.

Which situation is the hardest on you as a couple?
Money, definitely. It sucks that we let it get to us, but it's all very hard, what with my frequent and painful unemployment flare-ups and habitual money-spending, and Jason's I Never Ever Spend Money Ever Except In Secret When You Least Expect It. I think we've magically found a place where we stress out a little less about it, though, and it's been good for our marriage. Our checking account hasn't fared quite as well.

Did you go to the same school?
No. Jason went to somewhat-ghetto, and then somewhat-ghetto-Christian, and I went to possibly-trashy-redneck-or-maybe-just-country. I'm a little bit country, he's a little bit rock and roll.

Are you from the same home town?
If we were out of town and someone asked us where we were from, I think we'd both say Birmingham, so in that way, yes. But really no.

Who is smarter?
It depends on how you're gauging it. Jason can remember hundreds of bread and pastry recipes he has used at past jobs. I can manage to wait until a shirt I really want is clearanced to about 10% of its original price and still get the size and color I want. When the Wonder Twins unite, we form an unstoppable force that will one day rule the world with all our bread and shirts.

Who is the most sensitive?
Well shit, anyone who is reading this who actually knows me knows exactly who it is. It starts with "ME" and ends with "WHAT OF IT, AND WHY DID YOU LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT IN YOUR SLEEP LAST NIGHT?".

Where do you eat out most as a couple?
The local Mexican restaurant, hands down. Jason's butt suffers as a result.

Where is the furthest you two have traveled together as a couple?
Savannah, Georgia, on our honeymoon. But that'll all change in about two weeks when we go to Costa Rica. Have I not mentioned that?

Who has the craziest exes?
Do you people READ this blog? Because the answer is JASON, JASON HAS THE CRAZIEST EX, NO PLURAL NEEDED BECAUSE SHE'S CRAZY ENOUGH FOR ALL HIS EXES PUT TOGETHER AND WHEN YOU THROW HER NEW HUSBAND WHO SHE MET IN THE NUTHOUSE INTO THE MIX THEY CRAZY ENOUGH FOR EVERYBODY'S EXES, EVERY EX I'VE EVER KNOWN, THEY CRAZY MILKSHAKE BRINGS ALL THE BOYS TO THE YARD AND THEY'RE LIKE, IT'S BIGGER THAN YOURS.

Who has the worst temper?
Jason has an Irish temper that explodes like a bomb when he gets mad, and I have a French and Indian temper that seethes and lurkes just under the surface sneering and smoking cigarettes and drinking a cocktail, ready to just SNAP, CRACKLE, and POP YO ASS. And you just shut your fucking mouth if you have anything to say about it.

Who does the cooking?
We both do, really. I never cooked much before Jason came along, and he always cooked, and cooked well, and isn't afraid to experiment and toss a little of this and a little of that, including my salad. BAH! Now I cook quite a bit, too.

But I don't toss salad.

Who is the neat-freak?
Oh, wow, have I ever written here about socks? The socks, here, there, and everywhere? How the socks whisper to me in the night, how I hear the voices of the socks inside my head, all the live-long day? How I live with FOUR BOYS and that's EIGHT SOCKS A DAY?!? Okay, I have to move on; my hives are coming back.

Who is more stubborn?
I am certain that Jason and I would both say that each of us is simultaneously THE MOST STUBBORN and THE LEAST STUBBORN, about ourselves and about each other, at exactly the same time just as loud as we could force our voices to go.

When Jason and I had been together for about two months I still lived in a teeny, tiny efficiency apartment with a little bitty bathroom, and Jason decided to tell me one day how every time you flush the toilet germs and particles and shit from the toilet spray as far as a six foot radius around the toilet. As six feet was the approximate size of the whole goddamn apartment I WIGGED OUT and decreed that from then on, we would both always ALWAYS put the lid down before we flushed NO MATTER WHAT. From that day forward, I have put the lid down every time, every single bleeding time, that I have flushed the toilet. Jason has not done it once, in spite of my constant nagging, my daily complaints, my frequent prophecies that one day we'll all die and it will be because Jason wouldn't put the lid down. NOT ONE TIME. What does that say about our stubborness?

Who hogs the bed?
Jason's favorite sleeping position is on top of me with 750,000 decibel snores screaming out of his nose. I don't want to talk about it.

Who wakes up earlier?
Jason does. He gets a good night's sleep, lying on top of me with his snore-nose screaming in my ear, and he leaps out of bed revived and refreshed at 6am most mornings to have a nice shit, shower, shave, and fresh cup o' joe, while I stay in bed, covered from the top of my head to the tips of my toes with three heavy blankets except for my lone, tiny fist escaping from the edge of the covers, shaking at him in protest.

Where was your first date?
I think I had a clever answer for this, but I'm just so tired after that last answer.


Who is more jealous?
That would be me, YOU STUPID BITCHES YOU BETTER STEP OFF BEFORE I WARP YOU WITH A TIRE IRON.

How long did it take to get serious?
In the first three months of our relationship, I lost 25 pounds because I was so in love with him, so uninterested in eating, so interested in getting into his panties and then having a cigarette, so consumed by everything about him. It sounds melodramatic, but I was absolutely love sick over Jason. It was very serious very fast.

Who eats more?
That's a toughy; I think we eat similar amounts. Jason's metabolism is definitely higher. We can eat a dinner like pasta with alfredo sauce, broccoli, and grilled chicken, and one hour later Jason will pour himself a huge bowl of frosted mini-spooners for dessert.

Who does the laundry?
I do more laundry than Jason does. He can't seem to noodle the fact that I don't dry my work clothes and my nice shirts. I try to be specific and say things like, "You can wash and dry our socks, underwear, t-shirts, and pajamas, and all of Kane, Jude, and Reed's stuff." And, "The pants that I wear to work are not for the drier." Alas, it's still too confusing. The man can take apart a motorcycle and put it back together, he can clean rust out of the inside of a gas tank with naval jelly (ew!) and screws, but he can't train his brain to look at a shirt and decide if it's one that I wear to bed or one that I wear to work. Science. IT'S FUCK ALL.

Who's better with the computer?
Until about two years ago the answer was a resounding I AM. But now Jason has had all this training in all these programs like Photoshop and Microsoft Word and all that, so I think the playing field has been leveled. I can still type his ass into a corner, though.

Who drives when you are together?
It really doesn't matter. Either way the person in the passenger seat is going to be screaming profanities and clutching the arm rest and Reed will be in the back seat saying, "You not post to say that!"

4 weeks until Costa Rica. Jason told me the other night that he's going to wear a Superman Speedo.

I can't wait.

San Antonio, birth place of Robert Dyer.

So I have six days until I leave for San Antonio.

I figure this trip will be like dipping my toe in the water as far as being away from Reed for so many days in a row. I'll be gone for four days, and it will be the longest I have ever gone without seeing my baby. I told him last night that I was leaving with work for a few days next week, and he was like, "Yeah. But can I have TWO carters [quarters] for TWO gumballs?" So, you know, he's real sad.

It will also be the longest I've ever been away from Jason. He went on a work trip once, but as I recall he was gone for three days.

It will be weird, sleeping alone in a fancy hotel room (they're putting us up at the Hilton, for pete's sakes), no coughing or talking in sleep or snoring or pitter-patter of feet who have learned to climb out of their crib to wake me up. I hope it will be restful; we do have to work, but we only work eight hours a day which leaves plenty of time for sleeping. And drinking. My boss is about to turn into my drinking buddy, I believe, so this will be an interesting trip.

I just feel so fortunate to have a job at all, and even more fortunate to have one that I like and that is teaching me stuff, and EVEN MORE fortunate to have one that wants to fly me places, basically pay for a vacation for me. It's nice and incredibly different to work for a company that has interest in my life, in my having a life outside of work, that values me as an employee and as a human being. That might all sound like a load of melodramatic crap, but it's very true, and it's a big deal to me.

So, I've been looking at San Antonio weather, and it's been sunny and in the upper sixties and lower seventies for the past several days. Lordy, I hope that weather will hold out for me.

He'll cut you.

He'll cut you.
Originally uploaded by buffpuff

There's my baby.


Without further ado, a big huge pile o' new pictures on my flickr, and also on Cutting Room Floor.

W.C. Fields. Smart dude.

Today I bring you quotes from this article on Wikipedia.

I am free of all prejudice. I hate everyone equally.

If at first you don't succeed try, try again. Then quit. There's no use in being a damn fool about it.

When asked, late in life, if he believed that there was intelligent life on other planets, he remarked: "There better be, there's none on this one!"

When the Japanese struck Pearl Harbor, Fields brought a hand truck to a liquor store and bought 6 cases of gin. When a friend saw him returning, he asked why he bought 6 cases. Fields replied. "I think it's going to be a short war."

A man's got to believe in something. I believe I’ll have another drink.

Upon being asked "Do you like children?", he once replied: "I do if they're properly cooked."

Marriage is better than leprosy, because it's easier to get rid of.

See that girl, watch that scene, dig in the dancing queen.

Happy birthday to Stephanie! Happy birthday to Barry!

Saturday night we celebrated Stephanie's birthday, as well as Kristi's Uncle Barry's birthday, at the Phoenix. I feel obligated to tell you that it's the most fun I've had in a long time. The bartender was probably the best bartender I've ever had in that he was sweet and nice and funny, brought fresh beers without even being asked, and put all my drinks on Chris' tab.

Chris, I owe you guys dinner.

The drag show started at 11 and lasted until about 1:30, and was RIGHTEOUS. Imagine my aunt CJ (if you know her) as a drag queen- that's what that was like. Well, that's what Libertee Belle was like. I drank entirely too much and stayed out entirely too late and don't regret a minute of it.

Well, it was regretable that I had to get felt up by some guy who, when I protested and told him to stop rubbing his hands all over my body, kept saying, "I'm GAY. I'm not STRAIGHT. God, loosen up." Keep in mind that I was seated at the bar, not dancing or even standing up, and he repeatedly rubbed his hands ALL OVER me, getting mighty close to the family jewels on more than one occasion. The first couple of times I smiled and kind of nudged him away- I've learned in these situations not to go straight for the righteous indignation- but he would not be deterred. Eventually I was saying, "I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE GAY, I DON'T WANT YOUR HANDS ON ME. You need to go and find someone who wants you to put your hands all over them, because IT IS NOT ME." He just thought the whole thing was hilarious. I was not amused. It went on for about five minutes and finally he sort of moved on to someone else.

In somewhat related news, I got a thumb drive and have 119 photos on it just waiting to be uploaded. I have stuff from Halloween, election night, our anniversary party, our Christmas party, Christmas time, New Year's Eve, Mexican Train dominos night, inauguration night, the drag show, and of course lots of various pictures of Reed. I'm hoping to get those uploaded onto my Flickr, some on my own and some on the Cutting Room Floor, in the next couple of days.

And if you don't know, now ya know.

Happy day, Martin Luther King, Jr.

This weekend was a really good one. It's not frequent that I have the urge to write, hey, things were good, so I felt like I ought to write it seeing as how I thought it. Mexican Train, rap music, and homemade pizza with some of my favorite people- good times.

I'm about to make a whole mess of new jewelry; I'm just waiting on a few slow arrivals, some new supplies, to get started. My Etsy is somewhere around a year old now. Considering the during the first ten months I made something like 8 sales, and then in the last two months I've made something like 14 more, I'd say things are looking up.

I'm about to get in touch with George at Speakeasy and talk to him about having another show like last year's. I'm hoping he'll be cool with it. We had such a great time and sold so much stuff.

It's all quiet on the shithead front right now. If I was stupid enough to think that meant that things were calming down, getting better, I might feel good about it. But I've lived this life long enough to know that it just means there's some scheming going on, and it makes me nervous.

I poop frequently these days.

HA! Snuck it in there on you. I haven't talked about my bowel movements in a while. Gotcha.

Reed has been using the potty most of the time. Once a couple of weeks ago he even went to the potty, used a chair to turn the light on, pooped, and came back and laid down on the futon at bedtime without even telling me about it. I discovered the poop in the potty and asked him and he was like, "Yeah." Like, "Of course I pooped in the potty, Philistine, where else would I have pooped?" I think all we have left to work on is peeing in the middle of the night. It must be hard to train your body not to pee in the night when it's so used to doing so. But we'll get there.

Well, I guess we also have to work on standing up and peeing instead of sitting down, because I have to tell you, more than once in the past couple of days we've had a pee arc that manages to soak everything in the room- Reed's clothes, the bathmat, anything in a three foot radius of the toilet. The child produces a lot of urine, just like his mama.

Finally if you haven't looked yet, you should check out Daily Doo and Talkies Are Dumb.

Better and better.

Work is going well. There were a lot of days over the holidays when we went home early, or were off altogether. It's nice, this whole your-boss-actually-gives-a-shit thing. I think maybe part of the difference is that my boss isn't the owner of the company. My boss now is a guy who works for the company, just like I am. I think that allows for a different dynamic.

We are going to Costa Rica this March. It's all pretty crazy; it will be the first decent vacation Jason and I have had in a very long time, and it will be the first time I've ever been out of the country. This trip is made possible by the insanity of my very best friend, by her ability to convince herself that not only might I survive a plane trip, however short, without shoving a plastic spork into my ear, but that I will continue to be good company in a country with cheap beer and food. Kristi, you actually won't see me that much; I will be eating juevos heaped with jalapenos at a bar somewhere the whole time we're there. You will have your choice of either sitting next to me at the bar and thereby nearly losing a finger, or watching Jason and Chris attempt surfing. GOOD LUCK WITH THOSE OPTIONS.

Seriously, though, I am really looking forward to spending so much time with three of the people I love the most, three of the closest people to me, people who understand what is happening in my life, head, heart.

Anyhow, I am excited, nervous, a little bit of everything about it. 2008 was a very long, hard, confusing year. I am thankful that people in my life want to give us opportunities like this. I don't know when we'd be able to take a trip like this if it depended on our planning it, getting plane tickets, and carrying it out. We are being FORCED to go, God bless our hearts. How terrible my life is.

And here is where I empty the contents of my brain onto the page:

I have been reflecting lately on my life, especially the past year or so, on mistakes and opportunities and luck and misfortune. These past eighteen or twenty months have been so hard, so excrutiating. So many bad things have happened over the past little while, both things that are my fault and things that are beyond my control. I am absolutely exhausted, tired of all of this, tired of life, and the only thing that keeps me going is the feeling like maybe we are over the proverbial hump, maybe things are about to get better.

I worry about Kane and Jude quite a bit, about their well-being, their grades, their ability to grow into functioning human beings. I went to drop off the child support check yesterday, and their step-dad kept narrowing his eyes at me and then looking at the check, narrowing his eyes and then looking at the check. Then light dawned on marble head and he laughed and said, "I didn't recognize you. Okay."

Their step-dad, who has been around for about five years and has been married to Kane and Jude's mom for a year-and-a-half and who has seen and spoken to me countless times, DIDN'T RECOGNIZE ME. I suppose maybe he was off his meds yesterday.

Kane and Jude are telling us that they might move to Montevallo, which is great because it's even further away, and we've already been assigned the task of doing all the driving, all the picking up and dropping off, and I am not feeling happy about it. Besides the driving, Kane and Jude are both doing well in school, making friends and good grades and enjoying themselves, and I'm wondering why they feel the need to jerk them up and send them yet another school. Those people move roughly once a year, and I'm not sure that that's healthy for the kids. I realize that plenty of people move around and the kids will survive, but I'm thinking if they're not moving for a job or the military or to be closer to their families, is it really necessary?

Jason and I have just celebrated our fifth anniversary, and I'm proud and grateful that we've made it. Marriage is hard when times are good; when times are tough it can be really very difficult to remember to work as a team, to think like a team. I'm sorry that I haven't always been a team player, Jason; I'm working on it. Happy anniversary. Thank you for being on my team.

Reed's godmother just got engaged to one of the sweetest boys I've ever known. The only advice that I would presume to offer you is to pray to God for patience and perseverence, both of you, because there are moments when those are the only things that will keep you from smacking each other in the head with a hammer. Also, hide the hammer from each other. That helps, too.

My job has really turned things around for me in at least a few ways. I mean, I suddenly find myself a salaried employee with a stable company that builds software. Here's to you, universe: you really know how to confuse the shit out of me. I was voted most tech-savvy on Facebook; I put that on my resume, and I'm sure that's why I got this job.

So I have just this morning accepted a job offer. I hesitate to feel totally comfortable about it because now they're starting a background check which "may include a credit check". I've missed job opportunities before because I have terrible credit, whichs is mostly due to my losing my job at the college and then losing my last job at the flower shop.

There is so much drama in the world right now, and so much drama in my life. Besides the daily grind- being unemployed, begging for jobs, being in foreclosure, being in collection with most of our debts, having no money, etc.- there is a lot going on right now, enough that I have trouble keeping up with everything and everyone and how I'm supposed to handle all of it.

I don't get a lot of good rest these days. I'm usually thinking, worrying, calculating; my brain doesn't stop long enough to really be calm. Maybe soon. Maybe I'll get this job and we can all find a little peace.

187 on a motherfuckin'...

I am still attempting to get some photos uploaded. We brought our iMac to the library on Thursday but we couldn't get it to connect to the internet. Now I have them burned on a disc but the library computers have the disc drive disabled. THANKS, PUBLIC LIBRARIES OF AMERICA, FOR FUCKING UP MY DAY.

I attended a pretty wild party last night with old friends, new friends, and everything in between, and I have to say that we are still cool enough to have the cops called on our parties. Because that's how you measure cool: by how angry you can make your neighbors.

Can't you hear, can't you hear the thunder?

I just got done with a job interview. I'm feeling pretty good about it. This is the third job interview I've had since I left my last job, the third job interview I've had in three-and-a-half months of being unemployed, of actively seeking employment. It's certainly the best interview I've had in a while; I felt competent and the fellows who interviewed me were enthusiastic. At one point my interviewer said, "So you're not currently employed. So I guess you could start.." I interrupted, "TOMORROW." They got a laugh out of it. Little do they know that I've been eating cans of black beans for months. At least I like black beans, so it's not that bad.

I sold two items on my Etsy this morning. GOOD THINGS ARE HAPPENING, PEOPLE. Today I'm looking up, for a change.

Coming soon: wedding photos, positivity, and good news, let's hope.

"buffy agan blog leeds"

So it's been a while, but I thought I'd mention that I called Mark A. Dutton on August 1st (in reference to all of this). It was a very interesting conversation: turns out that he wasn't leaving those comments. He was, shall we say, nonplussed. We had a long talk about my blog and who might want to leave such bizarre comments. Did you know that it is a CRIME to sling around legal advice when you aren't a lawyer? Did you know that what so-and-so did there- not only pretending to be a lawyer but pretending to be a PARTICULAR lawyer- could constitute identity theft, and certainly constitutes fraud?

Anyways, Mr. Dutton was very happy that I brought it all to his attention. I have no idea if he intends to do anything about it, but I know that he can if he wants to.

In similar news, HELLO IP NUMBER 68.185.251.116! How are you out there in Pelham, Alabama? How is Charter Communications treating you? Do you enjoy using Internet Explorer on your Windows Vista system? Did you catch Lindsey's comment after all those comments that you left as Mark A. Dutton, specifically:

Every modem is assigned a unique number by their ISP. Blogger, in their infinite wisdom and foresight, God bless 'em, automatically and without fail logs each and every IP address associated with every single comment left on this or any other Blogger/Blogspot blog. Utilizing your IP address, which is freely provided to the blog owner by Blogger, the public at large is able to utilize the common knowledge reverse IP look up process in order to pinpoint just who, exactly, is leaving these comments, right down to something as minuscule and specific as their area code.

THE INTERNET IS NOT AN ANONYMOUS PLACE, PEOPLE. People seem to think they can do anything they want, such as impersonating a lawyer, and no one will ever know. People can see when you look at their web pages like you did this morning at 8:31 am right after you got the kids off to school, like you did at 10:03 pm last night right after you got the kids to bed. Does your wife know what you've been doing, or are y'all in on this together? Because you know, should we ever end up in court, this is like a freakin' GOLD MINE for our case.

To the rest of you, I love you guys and thank you for putting with up with all this crap. CRAP ON A BLOG. That's new, right?

To Pelham, enjoy searching "buffy agan blog leeds" and "buffy jason agan blog leeds" on Yahoo Search over and over again. Thank you so much for your support.