On an early grave.

Last night Reed and I were riding along in the car and I said, "Hey, guess who's coming tomorrow? Kane and Jude!"

He said, "Ahhhhhhh, yay! That makes my life feel happy."

I honestly had to turn away and shed a little tear because it was just so sweet.

In other news, THAT CHILD MAKES ME WANT TO THROW MYSELF INTO A MEAT GRINDER SOME TIMES. For pete's sakes, I can't even relate to you how awful it can be trying to deal with a screaming, writhing, obstinate, raging MESS like he can be sometimes. I might as well be pinching him and stomping his toes, he has the same horrified reaction to my saying "Let's go to Whole Foods for dinner", and the best part is he loves Whole Foods, loves going there and eating there and hanging out there, but he wanted to hang out at Ma's for another FOR-FUCKING-EVER and then go to Whole Foods, while I wanted to go BEFORE THE END OF TIME AND EXISTENCE. So we proceeded to fight and slam and stomp and scream and cry, both of us, don't you for a second think I'm above acting like my almost-four-year-old son, because NO I am not.

I go through these (very short) periods in which I think THAT'S IT, I'm cured, the Prozac fixed everything, God bless it! But, people, there is not enough Prozac in the WORLD to make me capable of dealing with Reed "Bull In A Goddamned China Shop" Agan when he goes on a tear, starts throwing things and stomping and screaming and calling me a butthead.

Last night my mom tried to calm me by saying "Sometimes people just get too tired, and it makes them act like this." It occurs to me today that she might have been referring to me just as much as to Reed.

But at the time I just thought, "Yes, sometimes people get too tired, and sometimes people get locked in the trunk while people's moms try some of that new high-alcohol beer."

Hey, I said sometimes.

Uh-oh. We're old.

Wow. Just... wow.

I just have to tell you, in case you didn't know, that this world is just a weird, weird place and just when you think "THAT'S IT, that's as weird as it's going to get!", it will proceed to get weirder.

First, I have discovered that my karaoke masterpiece is Hey Ya by Outkast. Also, if you shove enough liquor down Lindsey's throat, The Boys Are Back In Town by Thin Lizzy becomes OH MY GOD HER FAVORITE SONG EVER WE HAVE TO SIT IN THE CAR AND LISTEN TO IT EXCLAMATION EXCLAMATION !!!

Thirdly, the more things change, the more they stay the same. Or something. I hung out with one of the fellows on Saturday who I mentioned here not too long ago. It's funny, because I've recently run into another one of those fellows several times and it's been nice, friendly, refreshingly bygones-are-bygones, and I've been able to put to rest some residual guilt and anger that had been hanging around for a while. So Saturday we went out for Lindsey's birthday and this other one came, and I literally haven't seen him in many years, at least 8 or 9 years, and it was sort of nice and weird and uncomfortable and normal all at once. He seemed uncomfortable at first, but as the drinks continued to flow he loosened up considerably and by the end of the night we were having conversations and giving each other high-fives and everything was fine.

The most interesting part of all of that was that at some point he leaned over to me and said, "Hey, I'm really sorry." I asked what he was sorry about, and he replied, "How I was back then." I smiled and said thank you, and then asked if we could not talk about that stuff. He said sure, and dropped it. I just figured that what Lindsey wanted for her thirtieth birthday was NOT for me to sit at the table and have some kind of come-to-Jesus with some guy I broke up with ten years ago. Besides that, I'm not really sure what could be said.

Now I'm hoping that he meant it, and wishing I had said a quick "I'm sorry too" before I put the matter to rest. I'm pretty sure that it was wrong of me not to have accepted some responsibility too, even if it was a ten-second conversation.

I can't even express how surprising it was for him to acknowledge that he had ever done anything wrong at all, ever, as it was always just generally accepted as fact that I had totally screwed the poor little guy over, that he was wonderful and sweet and I was the most horrible person in the world for having done him so wrong. The reality was that the majority of our relationship was spent fighting, having these terrible, volatile screaming matches during which we called each other the most horrible names we could think of. If I ever wanted to leave his side for any reason whatsoever, he was sure that I was cheating, that there was someone else, that I was out to make him look like a chump and he wasn't having any of it. Actually, I just had a couple of girlfriends who sometimes wanted to do something besides sitting around in the dirtiest bachelor pad ever drinking beer and sniffing dog shit. Occasionally they'd invite me to go places with them, and I wanted to go. Clearly I am just EVIL, right?

Anyways, point is, I'm sorry too, and if I thought hey, if I see him again, I'll tell him. BUT, but, at the end of the night I leaned over to him and said, "Hey, thank you for saying that." He said, "Saying what?" "Apologizing. That was nice." "Apologizing for what?" "Uh, for how you were back then?" He replied, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

So, yeah. NICE. I have absolutely no idea if he's just that forgetful, or if he was just that drunk, or if I embarrassed him somehow and he wanted to pretend that he hadn't said it. All I know is that, surprise!, it somehow negates it that he suddenly was like "wah?" about the whole thing. So, you know, anger and resentment back on!

So the busiest month is finally drawing to a close, and somehow we made it.

Our birthday party last weekend was a success, i.e., we danced barefoot to George Michael and screamed along with some Jodeci and R. Kelly.

We photographed another wedding last Friday night, and it was lovely. We got really good photos and probably scored another wedding, so you know, awesome.

I am so very tired, as we stayed out just a little to late last night covering the Starlight Mints for al.com. I'm glad we went; their music is really good.

So now I am thirty. Last night I laid in bed and prayed to God, prayed for him to just please take care of Jason and Reed, keep them safe, give them a happy life. I am realizing more and more how important they are to me, how much happiness I want for them, how impotent I am in making their lives what I wish it could be. I've written before that I know that Reed has a mama who loves him and that's special and that's enough and some people aren't lucky enough to have that, but I still just want more for him. And it's not an I-wish-I-could-buy-him-more-stuff situation; that's not it. I wish he could have parents who didn't worry about money, parents who didn't have a foreclosure and loans and several maxed-out credit cards to deal with. I wish Jason's wife could deal with life more appropriately than she frequently does. I wish Jason could have a job that was never fucked up and wife who kept the house clean and food on the table. And suddenly, while I was laying there thinking all of this, I realized two things that hadn't fully occurred to me before: 1) I am not afraid of dying, and 2) I want to live.

I can't fully express what this realization meant to me. It probably all sounds trite and stupid, but this is a big fucking deal. Up until just a few months ago, I have been stuck in a dense fog for several years, one that I couldn't see out of and that gave me the feeling that no one could see into it. Now that fog has cleared just enough for me to see that it does not matter one bit. That fog makes no difference to me any more. I don't know how long this life will last but I am going to live it for however long I'm allotted, and I don't know what heaven and the great hereafter will be like, I don't know if I'll be able to hang around with all these people I love so much. I don't know if I'll be able to kiss Jason's face and smell Reed's hair, so I better do it now.

This isn't to say that I will never be sad again, never waste a day feeling sorry for myself, never let life get me down again, because I know that I will. BUT NOW IS THE TIME FOR THE EFFORT, PEOPLE. I am bringing it. So just look out.

Jude,

Today you are ten.

This means that you have spent six and one-half years WORKING ON MY NERVES. I would like to say that I'm kidding, but I think we both know that I'm not.

My first memory of you is you hiding behind Jason's legs because you were too embarrassed to meet me. My next memories of you are of how willing you were to hold my hand and sit in my lap, how close we became so quickly. I never could figure out if you were just that starved for female attention or if you just liked the idea of pissing off your mom. And what I'm saying here is that you have always been a person who liked to piss people off, but originally you chose to use me to piss others off instead of just going right for pissing me off. That's what kind of smart little bugger you are.

Jude, you are one of the most difficult, stubborn boys I have ever known, and that is saying a lot because I've known drug-users and alcoholics, womanizers and habitual liars, narcissistic pricks and fellows who were totally out of touch with reality, and you are more difficult than any of them. In some ways this is a compliment, but mostly this is just me saying OH WOULD YOU JUST GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK ALREADY. We have butted heads on more than once occasion, from the subject of sticking your hands down into the Brita pitcher (WHY do you need to put your hands INSIDE of it, anyways?) to licking the knife before putting it BACK IN the jar of peanut butter to whether or not to pick up your socks and whether it's okay to wear the same shirt seven days in a row when you have used that shirt to wipe jelly off the counter. IF I LIVE TO SEE YOU GRADUATE HIGH SCHOOL IT WILL BE A GODDAMNED MIRACLE, last night your actions took me to the point in which I hit myself in the head with a gallon of milk, who's to say that next time it won't be a rubber mallet instead of a large dairy product.

When you were little you would lie in bed until midnight or one in the morning making car noises and monster noises and explosion noises and sticking your feet and hands in the air, ANYTHING to PLEASE GOD STAY AWAKE JUST FIVE MORE MINUTES.

You would also drink icees until you threw up blue. We've moved on from that to a constant "Can I have an apple? Can I have some chips? Can I have a banana? Can I have a popsicle? Can I have a fried egg? Can I have some Coke? Can I have a sandwich? What's for dinner?"

Dude, I don't have a clue what you're going to do when you grow up- BMX biking? Professional skateboarding? The newest member of the wonderful team that stars in Jackass? And when I say that, I'm not calling you a jackass; the stuff they do on that show is the kind of shit that you declare is the awesomest, the sickest, the most insanely crazy cool shit you've ever seen. You begged for the poster out of my Misfits cd and lately you've been asking questions about the Ramones and listening to Green Day on the iPod: your future is fuck-all, I cannot begin to divine what kind of person you will be as you get older, smarter, and more daring. You are the PUNK ROCKINEST, sneering little ne'erdowell that I've ever known, except for that little foray into chick flicks and Britney Spears, but we'll just forget about that.

I know that we haven't always gotten along, and I know that you've been disappointed by my lack of cool-stepmomness and my overabundance of YOU'LL DO WHAT I TELL YOU. I have sometimes worried that when you're a grown-up you will look back on all of this and hate me for being so tough on you. I am hoping that instead what Lindsey has said is true: that you will look back on this and love me for caring, for trying to teach you about manners and morality and sympathy and empathy, that you will realize that, while I could have been cooler and more laid-back and more worried about pleasing you, I chose the tougher route which was to give a shit about what kind of person you would end up being. I have high expectations of you and I am not afraid to let you know about it because, otherwise, how will you ever have high expectations of yourself? You cannot fool me into thinking that it is too hard for you to clean your room or pick up your socks or put your dishes into the dishwasher, just like you cannot fool me into thinking it's unfair for you to have to share with your brothers or give your dad a chance to do something other than kissing your butt 24 hours a day.

That sucks, right? THAT IS THE ONLY WAY I KNOW HOW TO DEAL WITH YOU WITHOUT GIVING YOU A KNUCKLE SANDWICH AND HAVING YOU FITTED FOR A MUZZLE. You just sit down and be thankful that you haven't quite pushed me that far yet. And also don't forget to change your shorts. GAH.

I do not know what is going on with my body these days, but I think something must be wrong. My eyes are really swollen and hot, and my throat hurts, and my nose is all stopped up. I am exhausted all the time, whether I get sleep or not. I am nauseated and I've thrown up a few times. I've been getting heartburn regularly when, until about two weeks ago, I had never had heartburn before in my life.

I don't know what's up, but it's starting to get difficult to function an a daily basis when I'm feeling this badly. I long to be in bed all the time, and I've spent the last two days literally falling asleep at my desk at work. It's all getting to be too much pretty quickly.

I'm taking my vitamins, I'm drinking water and hot tea, I'm walking the dog, resting, getting some sleep when I can.

Oh, yeah, that's another thing: I've had a lot of trouble sleeping lately.

Anyway, I'm falling apart at the seams, mouth-breathing and aching and writhing around. I'm just not really sure how to deal with all of this.

The title of my autobiography:

Experiments In Big Hair: Make It Big: The Buffy Agan Story

or

The Bigger the Better: Teasing It Up With No Money or Food: The Buffy Agan Story

or

Don't Touch My Fucking Hair, But God I'm Hungry: The Buffy Agan Story

or

Why Do I Look Like Crap Today: Oh Yeah It's That Time of the Month: The Buffy Agan Story

A healthy dose of maturity.

Alagasco hates poor people, and Ms. Little over there ain't nothing but a puppet for The Man. Damn the man, save the empire!!!

Fuck 'em.

Perhaps I'll bring a better attitude tomorrow. But don't be holding your breath.

Super-fun, super-interesting conversation between Alagasco and myself:

From me to Alagasco:
I have had an account with you for nine years. I'm sure it has been delinquent more than once, but I've always managed to get paid up.
Recently I owed $254. Last week, on April 20th, I paid $100. That was all I could afford and I figured we could pay the rest when I got paid today.
But yesterday you came while we were at work and cut the gas off, and left a little note on the door saying we owe $606. I figured that couldn't be right. When I got to work this morning I logged on to my account on the Alagasco website. It said that I owed $154, so I paid it and then called you. The automated voice on the phone said "Your account is past due. You need to make a payment of $154 to keep your service from being disconnected."
So I spoke with a representative who told me that because they had to cut my service off I had to pay a deposit of (roughly) $400 to get my service reconnected. I kept saying, "My account online says I owe $154, which I've just paid. It doesn't say anything anywhere about a deposit. It says that my account is current now that I've paid the $154." She kept on that I would have to pay the deposit to get my service back. I got irritated and got off the phone.
About thirty minutes later I called back and spoke to someone else. I explained that we have three kids and our hot water comes from gas. I told her that I was unemployed until recently, and we are in foreclosure, and paying $400 would take half of my paycheck. She replied that I would have to pay the $400 in full to get my service back. The amount couldn't be billed, and it couldn't be split into more than one payment. So I paid it at about 10:30 today. She then informed me that they don't do same-day cut-ons, and I'd get my gas back tomorrow.
I just feel like something isn't right here. I made a payment last week, and still my service was disconnected. Then I had to pay a high deposit on an account I've had for years. Plus the deposit wasn't and still isn't shown on my account when I view it online. Plus your automated phone system said I owed $154 and had to pay THAT amount in full to keep my service. It all seems wrong to me.

From Alagasco to me:
We understand your concerns. We understand that many people are experiencing financial hardships. Unfortunately, we are unaware of personal circumstances unless we are notified. Our goal is to provide excellect customer service. We urge all of our customers to contact us when the billing statement is received if the amount billed will not be able to be paid on or before the delinquent date. We are to assist any of our customers with scheduling payment arrangements. Scheduling payment arrangements will possibly avoid interruption of service and avoid additional fees, associated with the reconnection of services.

For real-time account information you will be able to view your gas account using the “My Account” feature on our website. Just access www.alagasco.c om, click on “My Account.” In the box labeled “Login to My Account,” click on "Register Now" and follow the steps to register for this service. Once you setup your username and password, you will be able to view your usage and payment history, view your current account balance, make a payment arrangement, enroll in the Budget Plan and more.

From me to Alagasco: Your response to my query was condescending and uninformative for the following reasons:
You wrote: "Unfortunately, we are unaware of personal circumstances unless we are notified."
I notified you of our financial hardships including unemployment and foreclosure on April 30th, the day that I found out we were being asked to pay the $400 deposit.
You wrote: "We urge all of our customers to contact us when the billing statement is received if the amount billed will not be able to be paid on or before the delinquent date."
I never received a billing statement saying that I’d have to pay that deposit. The very next day after I received the note on my door, I called and told two different representatives there that I couldn’t pay the $400 deposit.
You wrote: "For real-time account information you will be able to view your gas account using the “My Account” feature on our website."
Clearly you do NOT have real-time account information; that’s part of my complaint. I had to pay a deposit that wasn’t and still isn't mentioned anywhere on my account online.
I am currently working with Alabama Power to get an electric heat pump and will contact you to cancel my services as soon as possible.

More on this as it continues to force me to pull large, bloody clumps of hair out of my head.

Also, now we're -$500 in the bank. Awesome.

You're nothing now and you never were; you're the empty core of a hollow shell!

Okay, so you know how I'm like "Crazy bitch!" and "Fuck this shit!" and "I'll choke a bitch!" and "Oh my gosh I am just going to throw myself off a cliff onto a pile of poop and porcupines and get it over with!"? You know how I'm like that? Well, here's some more.

Jason's ex is still trying to wring extra money out of him, money that he doesn't owe her, money that she is not entitled to. And the only way she'll communicate with him about it is via text message. He tried to go up and talk to her about it yesterday when we dropped Kane and Jude off; her husband was like, "She's in the bathroom, so she won't be able to hear you." FOR FUCK'S SAKES, I CAN'T EXPRESS IN WRITTEN WORD HOW CRAZY THESE PEOPLE ARE.

Just rest assured that we ain't giving her any more money besides the money we are court-ordered to pay her (i.e., the monthly child support). I am tired of all of this. I want to be able to live our lives without receiving these shitty, cowardly, God-forsaken text messages from two crazy people who are so totally self-involved that they can't see past the ends of their own noses, can't even see how their behavior is starting to affect the kids that they're supposed to be raising.

Anyways, just wanted to keep you up-to-date. Plus I haven't done any of my "I might fucking set myself on fire!" in quite some time, and I didn't want y'all to get worried that I had gotten over it. IN FACT, I HAVE NOT GOTTEN OVER IT.

On knowledge.

Recently my boss asked me if I have a college degree.

I always feel like it's something special on my resume, like it gives me some extra oomph or something to have on there "Yes I got my degree in bullshitting just a few years ago. I am capable of sleeping in classrooms for several years at a time." It's funny that I've gotten a job that I really am very happy with and the fellow who probably chose me out of however many applicants didn't even notice that I graduated from college. My position is entry-level; a degree wasn't required. But you'd think they'd notice.

I must say though that I forget sometimes that I have one. I was in college for, like, 17 years; I took it pretty slowly, dropped a few classes here and there when they looked like they might involve much work or the professor was a shit. There were times when I forgot that college actually ended. Sometimes it seemed like I might just go to college forever, especially once I discovered film classes in which I could watch lots of movies and then do some reading on them at home and that was about it.

When graduation time finally came, I was finishing in December, and I just wasn't very interested in participating in the actual graduation ceremony, so I skipped it. They sent my diploma in the mail which kept me from having to demonstrate in front of my fellow graduees that I can't shake hands with my right hand and clasp onto something with my left at the same time- it's like chewing gum and walking: too much thought is required, especially at that time in my life when I was drinking about 43 beers a day and living off of deli food.

When I told my boss that I do in fact have a degree in philosophy, he laughed and said, "So what have you used that degree for?" In truth, I haven't used it for much professionally. I intended to use it for toilet paper, but I keep forgetting. It's one of those liberal arts degrees that is great if you're going to move onto something else, like law school, or teaching, or hanging around in a toga sitting on rocks and coming up with stories about dudes in caves and their shadows and what they were thinking about. But on it's own, it doesn't burst down doors to lots of jobs or anything.

What it has done is teach me a lot about thinking, about how I think and what kind of perspectives I have and how I can change them. Studying philosophy taught me a lot about having an open mind, being able to appreciate lots of differing opinions all at once even if they don't line up with my own. It taught me how to look at my thoughts and beliefs and evaluate what they were based on, strengthen them, even to throw some of them out altogether.

So in the end I think my study in philosophy is invaluable. Well, the value of it is actually about $15,000 in student loans that I have yet to begin to pay back. But who's counting? Say, if a philosophy degree-holder turns tricks in the woods to raise money to pay back her loans, does it make a sound?

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!"

Oh, it's already been broughten!

Oh man, have I been sick the past few days. I think it boils down to a really awful sinus infection that was causing constant and severe migraine headaches and was slowly moving down into my chest. I spent the past few days on the couch, either in terrible pain or dizzy and out of it from all the medication.

Then last night I came out of my medicoma long enough to pack for my trip to San Antonio.

Oh, wait, back up just a tad. You know I mentioned that Kane had strep throat and the flu a couple of weeks ago? Well last week Jude was feverish and feeling bad, and everyone assumed he was catching what Kane had. Then on Thursday their mom asked (in a text, naturally) if we wanted to take them to a sock hop at Jude's school Friday, since they were coming to our house anyways. So Friday, their mom texted and said nevermind the sock hop, Jude was sick, we should just pick them up at the normal time. Jason asked if she had taken him to the doctor; her response: "No, it's a stomach thing. If it gets worse you can take him to the doctor tomorrow." ("Tomorrow" being a Saturday, FOR FUCKS BLUE EYED SAKES)

Listen, back in the day when they lived with us there were more than one occasion in which their mom would say she was sick, not feeling well, and the kids would just have to stay with us for the weekend instead of going to her house.

Now consider just a couple of factors about this weekend: 1) I was terribly ill, and fairly incapacitated by the meds. 2) Reed was ill as well. 3) Jason is still trying like hell not to catch anything from anybody. 4) I am leaving Monday for a work trip, a trip in which all the arrangements have been made, a trip in which we fly and stay at a hotel, my very first flight ever. 5) Kane is still getting over strep throat and the flu. 6) Jude has a stomach bug.

So I was the bad guy, the mean guy and said, "Listen, I'm sorry, but I'm sick, Reed's sick, Jude's sick, and Kane's sick, and I have to pack and prepare and then manage to GO on a trip on Monday. Kane and Jude need to stay at their mom's this weekend. I can't handle this. That's just the way it's going to have to be."

So of course Jason said that to his crazy ex-wife, and she said, "Oh, I don't think it's a stomach flu or anything. He went to a party Thursday night and had too much cake."

So OF COURSE I was overruled and they came and Jude moped around feeling like shit all weekend.

And today, as I am about to get on a plane for the very first time, Jason is at home with Reed who is squirting poop and throwing up, and I am squirting poop and cramping and having chills and sweats.

FUCK YOU, EX-WIFE. It is on now. I hope you don't think that what you've witnessed to this point was me bringin' it, because NOW I AM GOING TO BRING IT.

P.S. Everybody wish me luck flying. Posting will be light this week as I'll be out of town. Let's hope I make it there and can chug margaritas and regret getting drunk in front of my boss.

Six weeks until Costa Rica. Bitches.

Now for movies and crap.

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.

Do you like sex and travel?

I'm going to get my passport this afternoon. It's only turning into kind of a pain in my ass, but it'll be okay. I ordered my brand new birth certificate off the internet last week seeing as how mine is just a copy of whatever was laying in the floor in Shreveport. I already got my passport photo from the drug store, and it looks TERRIBLE. So all is right with the world.

I'm starting to think a lot about packing for a nine day voyage to another country, and it baffles me just a little bit. Logically I'd really like to pack as little as possible, but I am TERRIBLE at packing light. I do a whole lot of, "Well, IF it gets chilly I might want this sweater, or I might want this one, but I might EVEN want this one here. And if it's sweltering I'll be needing these three tank tops for sure, but I might suddenly wish I had any one of these five here, so I'll take those, too. It will be warm so I'll take these flip-flops, but if my feet get cold I might want these sneakers. And if we get dressed up I may want any one pair out of these three pairs of flats. And I shouldn't go anywhere without Anal Ease, just in case."

You know how it is. Or maybe you're good at packing so you don't know, so just back off because I am anxious AND obsessive, a nasty mix that will result in Jason stealing the seat next to Chris on the plane so Kristi is forced to sit next to me while I wrap my entire body around her head and scream, "IS THAT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN? DID YOU FEEL THAT BUMP? WHERE THE FUCK IS THE DRINK CART?"

Bowling balls for tonsils.

The nausea has set in, either from the birth control or the impending nastiness with Kane and Jude's mother. Days and days of clenching, gagging, and crying is really starting to take a toll on my body and mind.

She has registered them for school where she lives. Her mother thinks this plan is "great". It's becoming more and more obvious that there must be some hidden goal, something that no one is telling us about this plan, because I just can't understand what about it is great. I mean, all the time that they usually spend the night with Nan, they'll now be at our house, so there will be no more spending the night with Nan. All the time that they go on vacations with their mom or her family will now be spent at our house, so there will be no more vacations. The only days that they will spend with their mom or Nan or whomever will be days that they're at school for most of the day; the only nights with them will be nights that will be followed by getting up for school. I just feel like there is some hidden agenda, some reason we're not being told that makes this all just FANTASTIC for them.

I really can't apologize enough to all of you for my obsession with this topic. The moments I spend thinking about anything else are few and far between. Thankfully, Jason will begin the phone calls and referral process with some legal eagles tomorrow; I hope that most of the day will be spent lawin', not jawin'. Or jawin' about lawin'. Anything that might help ease this constant feeling like I have a 40 ton cement block riding on my shoulders.

Don't they have any cling wrap or anything?

Kane has informed us that today was a busy day at his school. One kid got suspended for bringing porn to school, another kid had a seizure, and an eighth-grade girl is pregnant.

Kane's day got even busier when I fell into the floor and started having a seizure of my own.

Seriously, this is what we have to deal with now. I imagined that we would have to worry about this stuff when Kane got to high school; I just got shafted out of two years of preparation time. Where "preparation time" stands for "heavy drinking".

I know that this stuff happens; I know that this 13-year-old girl isn't the first thirteen-year-old girl to get pregnant. I KNOW IT. But, just like people imagine that their children will be well-behaved, quiet, contemplative, calm, patient, people imagine that their children won't have sex until they're, I don't know, OLD ENOUGH TO DRIVE TO THE CHEVRON TO BUY CONDOMS. Seriously, that girl can't get her own contraceptives, and now she's pregnant. It's actually the fault of the DMV.

My point is that just as I have come to terms with the fact that my children are going to misbehave, yell, hit, and writhe, I am starting to fear that I will have to come to terms with driving my child's girlfriend to the doctor for prenatal care, since my child won't be old enough to drive her himself. Hell; my child's pregnant girlfriend's PARENTS might not be old enough to drive her there- less and less surprises me.

What I'm saying is that parenting is not for me. Nevermind. I'm returning all three of them tomorrow. Now I just have to find the receipt.

P.S. Kane was just telling us that in his English class they had to write and autobiography including some things they want to do in the future. "By the time I'm thirty I want to be the first man to land on an asteroid and discover a new metal." So I probably don't have to worry about the sex stuff for at least a few more years.

I would like some wine with this cheese.

So on Sunday Kane and Jude's bikes were stolen. They were on the carport, chained to a post with a titanium bicycle chain. It was midday, and I was at home. No shit- someone apparently came up and cut through the "impenetrable" titanium chain and hauled off two medium-sized trick bikes in broad daylight, while I was in my bed complaining about all the aches and snot.

Jason came home and was like, "Do you know where the kids' bikes are?" I was like, "NO. But I know where the FLU is. RIGHT HERE, BUDDY." But don't worry; then my indignation set in.

My flu-induced stupor kept me from encouraging Jason to call the police and file a report until he came home from work last night telling me about seeing some 15-year-old kid riding Kane's bike around just a mile or two away from here. Finally I was like, "Wait a minute! Before you go beat up a minor, how 'bout we call the cops?" Of course Jude was raring to go with Jason looking for this kid, and I let Jude know that if his dad was going to go abuse a child, he would have to stay at home. (He moped.)

So the policeman came over and got all the information from Jason; the entire time they were on the front porch talking, Jude was standing at the front door staring out with little hearts bubbling up above his head.

Reed heard Jason talking and asked what he was doing. I said, "He's outside, talking to a policeman." Reed thought about it for a minute and then exclaimed, "EWWWWWWWWW, NASTY!!"

So the policeman said the description sounded like someone they had busted several times stealing bikes, and said he'd call us if they found anything. We haven't heard back yet. It IS kind of sad, though; they haven't had the bikes for long, and they were kind of expensive. Plus, it's the SECOND time Kane's has been stolen.

For Pete's sake, we really need a break around here.