Keep on.

Let's keep thinking good thoughts and sending good vibes and bakin' brownies and shit for Leonard and Kristi and Chris.

So, I'm planning this bachelorette party for Kristi. Yeah, I mentioned it recently. And I'm sitting around, going, you know one day I'm going to have to get started on, I don't know, sending out invites and actual planning and shit, but the party is so far away I can just sit on my ass for a while longer.



Then suddenly I thought, July 31st. Um, July 31st? JULY MOTHERFUCKING 31ST. That's, hm, A WEEK AND A HALF AWAY OH SHIT I'M NOT READY NOBODY HAS BEEN INVITED WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO WHATAREWEGONNADO????



Now I've calmed down a bit, sent out some invites (let's be honest: I've also gotten Ashley, my fellow bridesmaid, to send some out as well), planned some food and drinks, and I'm feeling really excited about the whole thing.



I used to be really good at this kind of stuff, planning and inviting and staying on top of things. HOOBOY, not any more. I just sort of drift about, going "tralala!", and then panic and feel like shit about messing stuff up by waiting until the last minute.



But, hey, I got the invites out. So now I don't have to think about it again for a while, right?



Ooo, shiny!

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.

More on Leonard.

Leonard Peltier's parole hearing has been moved from July 27th to July 28th.

I believe the last day to sign the petition is June 26th, so please, please do so soon.

Any letters of support must be received by July 1st, so please send some. For a sample letter, go here and click on "July 28th Parole Hearing" on the left.

To read more about Leonard you can go to his website, his defense committee's website, or his Wikipedia article. The documentary film Incident At Oglala is fascinating and informative and is available from Netflix.

Leonard Peltier is an old man who has spent 32 years in prison for a crime that I whole-heartedly believe that he did not commit. I know that if you research it, if you look into this and see the evidence, you will know too that he didn't do the crimes for which he has served 32 years in prison. He has children and grandchildren who miss him, faces he's only seen through glass and never kissed or touched. He has illnesses that are being neglected by the prison officials who are charged with his care. Please read about him, sign the petition, and send a letter.

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.

Duque. Duke. Dookie. Duke-a-luke.

Oh, right, so we got this dog.

He is, by far, the sweetest, most well-behaved dog I've ever owned. He is crate-trained and house-broken and he heels and walks on a leash. We can actually take him outside without a leash on and he stays right by either Jason or me.

BUT. Only a couple of buts, but still but.

For one thing, we have his crate in our bedroom. I still think that's probably best, but this dog is the wiggliest, loudest, weirdest dog ever in a crate. He doesn't freak out or jump around or anything like that. He just re situates very frequently. Also, any time he scratches or licks he has to brace himself with one leg against the side of the crate. Some day I will take a picture of this to illustrate, because that's the best way I can describe it. IT IS SO LOUD AT FOUR AM. We tried putting a towel in the bottom of the crate; he pushes it aside. We put his bed in the bottom of the crate; he doesn't like it.

Besides the crate noise, the hour-long lick sessions at three and four in the morning are getting a little tired. LICK LICK LICK LICK LICK NIBBLENIBBLENIBBLE LICK LICK. The sound of the licking on its own doesn't wake me. The crate-wiggling wakes me, and then I listen to the licklick nibblenibble for an hour or so.

Also, the motherfucking dog ate my sweet potato pie. Rather, he chewed on it and then spit it out. It was on a plate, wrapped in aluminum foil on the kitchen counter. He pulled it down, which broke the plate, gnawed open the foil and then bit the crust off of the pie, which he then politely spit in the living room floor. NO PIE FOR ME.

Also, he peed on the bottom of the couch. Just, tra la la, PEE. He is house-broken, and we haven't had any other accidents, so I can't figure this one out. He just walked up to the couch, with Jason standing right there, lifted his leg and peed.

Duque really is a good dog, and we love him so. Reed is pretty good with him, and has already started training him in the ways of letting us set things on his head. I don't have a clue why Reed thinks this is a good idea, but he does, and I agree. Duque is very quiet and calm and patient, and that is the perfect temperament for my temperament, also known as the If You Don't Shut The Fuck Up and Sit Down Right Now I'm Going To Throw Myself Out The Window. So, you know. It works.

Kristi,

You know I think it's something special that we've been such good friends for such a long time. I don't have any other friends whom I've been close to for this long, and I don't know anyone else personally who does.

It is with that in mind that I say GOOD LORD, we are odd people. I am really, really grateful to have someone in my life who is as much of a freaky weirdo on so many levels as me. I've written before about how we played leggies, but I'm not sure I mentioned our imaginary world that only we knew about and only we could get to, or our Barbie movies, or that time that we thought someone had broken into your mom's house and we armed ourselves with glass trophies. I'm pretty sure I've never mentioned how we've tried our entire lives to somehow become related. First we thought my mom and your dad should get married, then my sister and your brother, and now we're planning how Reed will marry your kid, even if it's a boy because maybe gay marriage will be legal in Alabama by then. And I'm starting to think that if gay marriage becomes legal, maybe they'll just throw in polygamy and we can just marry each other, FOR GOD'S SAKES WE MIGHT AS WELL JUST GET IT OVER WITH. Jason, Chris, Reed, Myrna, Duque, you, I, and little future Steamboat could just build ourselves a little commune and grow tomatoes and shit.

You should know that I am so proud of you for graduating from law school. This is a huge accomplishment, especially since you came so far to get here. And I'm not just talking about Texas, I'm saying you really had to do some traveling to get to this place. I am fairly certain that I would have given up some where along the way and picked up a healthy drinking habit. You picked up the healthy drinking habit AND STILL KEPT GOING, you're a multi-tasker if nothing else and that counts for so much these days. Be sure and put that on your resume.

And HOORAY for your first clients because now you get to be our lawyer! I just have a few felonies that I need wiped from my record. And some debts to erase. And a couple of people to knock off. That's what lawyers do, right? I am totally in to this.

I am happy that we are learning the ability to share our flaws. Because, shh, don't tell, I have some. Ha! ZING! That right there that's a loaded statement. Seriously, though, it is absolutely no secret that I am so far from perfect, and I am so lucky to be friends with someone who can deal with it, who can roll with my imperfections, because I know it is pretty difficult at times. I am not always an easy person to get along with. That's why I pick friends who throw trash cans, because if ANYONE can figure out how to deal with my crazy ass, it's a person who throws trash cans. Right?

Logic: I learnt it at university.

Really and truly, we are alike in more ways than we're different, and I will never know how to express to you how important it is to me that we remain friends. Jason is cool and all, but he cannot sing every word to Deee Lite's World Clique. FATAL FLAW.

Really I should probably also say thank you on behalf of Jason: I don't think our marriage would have lasted this long without you behalfin' some of my shit so Jason doesn't have to be behalfin' it all. YOU SHARE THE LOAD, and I'm pretty sure from that desperate look Jason sometimes gets that he's grateful to you for it.

I think our plan for Chris and Jason to head to Vegas whenever you get pregnant and for me to move in with you is a GREAT IDEA, by the way. Pregnancy is really really weird, especially for people like us who were already just a tad weird to begin with. I can't wait to share that experience with you. When I was pregnant I didn't really hang out with anybody who had been pregnant before, so there weren't a whole lot of knowing looks or understanding being passed around. I'm not trying to say that all of my friends weren't totally awesome and sweet and caring because they all were; but it's just like when I'm sitting there with somebody who knows how to balance a checkbook: I got nothin' for ya. I think it's rad and all that you can balance your checkbook, but I can't really share a whole lot with you about it.

When you're pregnant I am probably going to be obnoxiously all I know and oh, honey, I get it and here come the hemorrhoids and when you're in labor I'm coming in there to get me one of those epidurals and all that shit. Or, you never know, you might be one of those ladies who is a little kooky to begin with and when you get pregnant all those hormones just turn you into a normal person. And if that's the case I'm going to be like, bitch. Because I was kooky to begin with and all those hormones just turned me into kookier.

Anyways, the point is I will be there, and it will be fun and nutty and the weirdest thing that's ever happened to you, and I really hope you let me share it with you. Your body is equipped to build a person. Biology and shit: fuckin' 'ey.

I want you to know that I value every single thing that you bring to my life- your friendship, your sense of humor, your unfailing ability to withstand my finger in your face when you roll your eyes, your faithfulness, the intense love you have for your family, your ability to accept not only my flaws but every one's flaws. You are a beautiful person and I hope and pray that I can bring even a tiny bit of the wonderful things to you that you bring to me.

Because I love you eight days a week. And that's a pretty big deal considering that there are only seven days in a week. Just sayin'.

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

Earth Day!

In honor of Earth Day, I am posting a link to an article about some really scary shit that is in all that make-up we be usin'.

It comes from Filter For Good, which I think is a pretty cool website.

Something I've been thinking about a lot lately is BPA in plastics. For a while the only place around town that I'd seen BPA-free products was Whole Foods, and that stuff is EXPENSIVE. You cannot put a price on the health of your family, but when you have $100 to live off of for two weeks and you have to buy FOOD, you gotta come up with some priorities, right? But recently I found some neat BPA-free stuff at Wal-Mart, which now has a Save and Live Green section on their website. Listen, I haven't always been a big fan of Wal-Mart, and I'm not sure that I'm a fan now, but it's our only realistic shopping location right now, so I'm glad that they're offering some affordable, Earth-friendly options.

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 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

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!"

You Americans, you're all the same. Always overdressing for the wrong occasions.

5 weeks until Costa Rica, and 5 days until San Antonio. I can't believe all this traveling that I'm doing. Since Jason and I have been married (five years ago), we had a nice honeymoon, a five-day trip to New Orleans, and a five-day trip to Gatlinburg. Besides that, it's just been a couple of weekend trips to friends' houses a few hours away. Not that those aren't nice, but it's very different from getting on a plane and staying in a hotel (or a house in the jungle) and all that. I'm terribly excited, which is why y'all keep having to read about it.

I'm also a little sick. My chest is hurting and I'm feeling pretty low; I think I'm calling the doctor today.

Reed has a really nasty sinus infection. We've been watching a lot of Indiana Jones, or Marianna Jones, as he's determined to call it, and last night he kept saying "I want to watch the one with all the steaks!" He said this over and over, and was totally frustrated that I was like, "I don't think there IS an Indiana Jones with steaks..." Finally I figured out that he was talking about SNAKES, the one with all the SNAKES. Actually there are snakes in pretty much all of the Indiana Jones movies, but I figured out he was referring to the Raiders of the Lost Ark. We happily snuggled under a blanket and watched it for bedtime last night.

When I really think about it, get myself down to the bottom line, this life is the life I've always wanted, with just a few snags here and there (crazy ex-wife, her crazy husband, no-money-having, etc.). We're working on the snags, and it feels good to be able to say that.

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.

I love the taste of phlegm in the morning.

This week I have a bronchial infection and it is very seriously sucking my will to live. Last night I coughed until I threw up. Yay, right?

The problem is that the only thing that makes me feel better is that perfect combination of Benadryl and cough syrup, which renders me nearly unconscious. I took it yesterday and felt much better, until I forced myself out of bed at 2:30 in the afternoon. This morning I'm thinking, "Okay, do I want to take the medicine and feel better and sleep all day long, or do I want to not take the medicine and feel awful but be able to be productive?" And then I'm like, "Who am I kidding? I've never been interested in being productive. I think I'll throw in a martini on top of the meds to give them that extra oomph."

So now I'm waiting for sweet, sweet unconsciousness and thinking about our money situation. It is bad, folks. There are a couple of things that may get cut off this week, plus we have to pay the child support, and we have about $250 in the bank.

I'm really trying hard to find something, anything, to bring some money into the house. I was really hopeful about this one job at Whole Foods, but they're hiring from the inside so no luck there.

It's really indescribably discouraging, this way that things are. I send out resumes all the time with cover letters explaining why I would be a perfect receptionist/office manager/executive assistant/copy editor/data entry person/ANYTHING THAT WOULD PAY ME; I am getting no phone calls.

For now I will just try to be thankful that at least I have the Benadryl.

When I first realized that I was really sick, Jason says to me, "Hey, look on the bright side: at least you don't have to call in." Small blessings.

Yesterday was my 29th birthday, and guess what I got? Foreclosure.

It's been a damn long time since we've been able to pay the mortgage, so it's not like it's a complete surprise. It's just that every payday, the money is gone before we get it, paying the daycare and the power and the loans etc. So here we are.

This weekend we start moving stuff into my mom's house.

Flowers or weeds?

Flowers or weeds?
Originally uploaded by buffpuff

The last week or so has been a blur, an exhausting whirlwind of good and bad and ugly.

Our show at Speakeasy was fantastic- we sold a whole lot of stuff and did a whole lot of networking. Some new things have opened up for us as a consequence and I'm looking forward to moving ahead with our artistic careers. Plus we drank a lot, laughed a lot, and got lots of hugs from people we love very much.

It turns out Reed had walking pnemonia, but now he's on the mend. He's been sleeping through the night with no nasty coughing fits, which is good for everyone involoved.

Kane and Jude are back from spring break and ready to get this last month of school over with.

We are about to embark, I think, on a very long and painful journey with lawyers and courts and finger-pointing and I'm really not looking forward to it. Part of me hesitates to say much about it, but the larger part wants to rant and rave and scream and spill it all out for you. And for me. And for my knotted stomach and swimming head.

Kane and Jude's mom has decided that the kids should live with her
to go to school and stay with us for all the weekends, holidays, and in the summer- pretty much the exact opposite of the way things are now. She says that this is her decision to make and the fact that we don't agree to it doesn't matter.

Luckily a few people who are very close to us are very invested in this situation and are helping us figure out what path we're going to take. That's all I'm going to say for now, except to say that I hope you can all bear with me through what is bound to be a difficult time for all of us. I appreciate everyone who reads this and I'll try to keep things balanced and rational.

But I make no promises.

You gotta know when to hold 'em.

Ah, life. Such a tricky little bitch, eh?

We've managed to push through the moment when we thought we would never get everything done for our show; now it appears that we'll have around 50 photos, 65 pieces of jewelry, and 3 paintings for sale, as well as a good-lookin' portfolio to peruse. Now there's room to be excited about it again, since the fear and dread have worn off.

Kane and Jude are at their mom's house for spring break and our house has been quiet, in both a relaxing and unnerving kind of way. The peace and calm that sets in when we have one child instead of three is nice in that we can regroup, rekindle, and revive. But I have to say, I get so accustomed to our life with Kane and Jude that I find myself sort of spinning my wheels at times.

Their mother called today to let Jason know that he should come early to pick them up on Sunday because she has something to talk to him about and something for him to "take a look at". She apparently refused to divulge anything about the nature of the issue; she would only repeat that Jason can come early to "talk" and "look". This, too, is unsettling since our experiences with her, both ours as a married couple and Jason's on his own, have been tumultuous and unpredictable. More on this on Sunday when there is more to tell.

Reed has inherited my tendency towards constant illness of some kind. We're hoping it's just allergies, but he has a really nasty cough that keeps him up at night, and it makes it hard for all of us to act like normal humans during the daylight hours. Last night he came to bed with us around three a.m., and this morning there were literally loogies all over the bed where Reed had been sleeping. It's really lovely, the blobs of phlegm all over our sheets. Then when he came home from school today, he had a pretty bad tantrum after I had to physically wrench the gum out of his mouth that he kept nearly sucking down his throat with every hacking cough, and then passed out at 6:45, about three hours earlier than he normally goes to sleep. Right now he's still in bed, and I'm sort of pacing about the house waiting for him to wake up and stay up all night long.

But maybe he'll stay asleep! Who knows? It's like roulette except I NEVER win money. Here, the house NEVER wins, and neither do I. How's that for odds?

No carns, no mums, no babies breath.

The weather has been so summery, so breezy and comfortable and sunny and happy, that this sudden cold spell is making me very grumpy. I'm cold and irritated and my nostrils hurt.

But Reed made me feel better a moment ago. He's obsessed with this little pink pirate dude that came with a pirate ship bath set his Grandmommy 'Cile gave him for his first birthday, and he takes it with him to bathe every night. When Jason was getting him out of the tub, I heard Reed saying "I give it to mommy! I give it to mommy!" Jason brought him in to me (into my crack den, where I smoke the crack), and he handed it to me and said, "There, mommy. He loves you."

Just about as sweet as it gets.

It's like a midget rodeo around here lately. My two-year-old does handstands- I am not shitting you.

The past few days I've thought about little else besides getting ready for our show at Speakeasy this Thursday night. There is a lot of photo-matting that must be done, and I'm feeling kind of nervous. I've been right on top of Jason, reminding him to print this and paint that and go get stuff and check stuff out. It's MARVELOUS for our marriage, as well as for Jason's opinion of me. He thinks I'm great. Really. The nagging- that's sexy. Just a little marriage advice from me to you.

At work today, I learned how to make corsages. It's a big deal, and I'm very excited about the learning because the more I know about what I do, the more valuable I become. That and one day I will rule the world, and the ruler of the world must wear the best corsages on a daily basis. Now I know how to make my own.