These are the boys I live with.

These are the boys I live with.
Originally uploaded by buffpuff

Jason has decided that he'd rather not transfer to Nashville right now, and I support him in that decision. I had actually started to get more excited and less mournful about moving away, but it doesn't make sense for us right now, as we're eating beans out of the can and all showering at the same time to save money.

Kane seems to be dealing with middle school pretty well so far. He's kind of been keeping to himself lately. Someone very wise recently told me, "He'll find his niche. Don't worry." So I'm trusting that advice for the time being.

Jude is... Jude. He's leaving his homework at school and forgetting EVERYTHING including the rules and doing flips and making friends and suggesting large, expensive pieces of electronics we could buy to make the house a little more entertaining. The word "no" is becoming the soundtrack of my life.

Reed. Today on the way home from daycare I said, "Did you have fun at school today?" "Schoo." "Did you have a good day?" "Day." "Do you want to sing?" "Nope." Do you want to count to ten?" "Nope." "Do you want some juice?" "JUICE!"

Sexy flute lady.

Sexy flute lady.
Originally uploaded by buffpuff

The party Saturday night was a huge success. You can tell by the fact that we broke out my flute from seventh grade. That's the mark of a good party- several people taking turns on an instrument they can't play. There was also some trampoline action, as well as some righteous karaoke.

Score.

This week has been bone-crushingly hectic at work. The owner's sister passed away last week and the funeral was on Monday, then we had a big event on Wednesday, then the rest of the week has been spent getting back to normal from those two big deals. This job is deceptively high-stress, in that it's one of those things like knitting- you think, "Knitting: low stress." That's what I thought about this job. And now I'm all getting hung up on more than once a day, hauling around heavy, heavy buckets, getting yelled at randomly for nothing every few minutes. I'm SO lukcy to have this job.

I am currently eating a bean burrito and watching It's a Big, Big World with Reed, and learning how fish hearts work. I have to tell you, when I was a kid and I imagined what my life would be like, if someone would have given me 17,000 chances to guess, I never would have guessed that I would live this life that I'm living right now. And I mean that in a good way. And a weird way.

Tonight we're throwing a party for our friend Mason, on account of he eloped and didn't even give us a chance to watch and then get drunk and tell Joy embarrassing stories about him. LOOK OUT, because tonight's the night.

I'm registering a complaint. Here on my blog. Where it will do the most good.

So the stores around here, and I'm assuming in other places too, do that tax-free weekend thing for one weekend in August right before school starts. It's cool, because when you have to go spend $75,426.37 on your kids' school supplies, it saves you that whole $754.26 in tax, as we have 10% sales tax here in Leeds. I'm like, "Woo hoo, that money goes straight to the beans and jalapenos fund that Reed and I have to keep running, to keep our habits in check.

This year we did our shopping at Wal-Mart, which we really hate to do. We went through a fairly long phase in which we didn't shop at Wal-Mart at all, because we don't agree with a lot of the Wal-Mart philosophy. The owners of the company have billions, BILLIONS of dollars, and they sit pretty while a large majority of their employees are paid crappy wages and denied benefits because "full-time" at Wal-Mart is less than 40 hours so they're not required to provide benefits. That's a tricky little practice also used at Starbucks. Anyway, a HUGE percentage of their products are made in China under conditions that are, shall I say, shitty. So by spending my money at Wal-Mart I'm supporting these companies in China that are not too different from sweat shops. That place is NOT a family store, it's NOT about little, hoppy smiley faces, Jorge does NOT love his job there, no matter WHAT they tell you.

Plus, the recent scares with lead paint on toys from Chinese factories and other problems with tainted stuff including food and hygiene products have got me thinking that I might be about to be making all of Reed's toys myself. I hope he enjoys all those sticks with leaves tied to them he's about to be getting at Christmas time.

I realize that a bunch of people are just RARING to give me the "Well, where do you shop now? Do they treat employees any better, or get their stuff from places other than China, because did you know that you actually know nothing at all?" etc., etc., etc. But I'm of the belief that I have the option to choose these things, to do my best to make sure that my hard earned money is going some place good, as good as possible, even if it's not perfect. I'm just trying, here, okay? And it's especially hard right now as the Food World in Leeds has closed down, so of course the closest place to shop is Wal-Mart. We have made many, MANY inconvenient drives to Target and Whole Foods to get our groceries, which just means we're spending more on gas and polluting up the environment.

But I digress. So we gave in and did our school shopping at Wal-Mart. We bought $240 worth of stuff on tax-free weekend- Kane and Jude's school supplies, some food, and some new clothes for Kane, Jude, and Reed. As I was walking to the car, I noticed that we were charged tax. I turned around and walked up to the greeter lady and said, "This is tax-free weekend, right?" She nodded with her mouth hanging open, mouth breathing her ass off. "So then why was I charged tax?" She stood there and mouth breathed for another three seconds, and then took the receipt that I had been holding up in front of her face. She literally said, "Uuuum, ah-ahhhhhh, oh, aoooahahhuhm... Okay, that's the city tax. Tax-free weekend only applies to state tax, but you still might have to pay local tax." It sounded remotely believable to me for about a second as I know nothing of taxes, and then I looked at the receipt again and it showed that I had been charged 10% tax. So I said, "I was charged %10 tax. You're telling me that I normally pay MORE than 10% in sales tax?" She nodded empatically. Since we had at that moment a screaming, writhing toddler in our possession, I just turned around and walked off.

Since then I've found that our friend Nina did the exact same thing, and they told her the same thing they told me. Then I found that our friend Shauna did the exact same thing, but they told her that if you spend over $100 they still charge you tax- something about how they don't want random folks coming in to buy tv's and stereos and iPods and stuff just to get them tax free. And I have to say, for a split second that made sense to me. But why are they being shady about it? Why am I getting smoke blown up my ass about it? Because even though I already knew the answer, I immediately dug through my purse in the car after we left Wal-Mart that day and found several other receipts, NOT from tax-free weekend, on which I'd been charged 10% sales tax.

So, I'm pissed. Big news! I think it SUCKS, and I think Wal-Mart SUCKS, and I'm a MORON for going there to buy our stuff anyway. I really should have gone back in and returned every single thing I bought. The power of the screaming child just overtakes me sometimes. I am going back to my non-Wal-Mart ways, even if it means making a longer drive to shop, and I challenge each and every one of you to do the same. Let's do it.

"I'm sorry; I know that's a strange way to tell you that I know we belong."

So today an older couple died here in Birmingham. They were both in their nineties; the wife had been sick for a while, and she passed away this morning. Her family was in the living room a couple of hours later, crying and being together, and they looked over at the husband, and he had passed away in his chair.

And it's exactly like those Ben Folds lyrics, and it makes me feel like a tiny speck, like the tiniest speck on this earth, and like I might just get washed away in an instant in all the DAMN emotion. Just hearing the story today humbled me, made me feel in awe of this life and what it's made of, or made from, or made by.

And that is all the product of this gigantic wave of hormones that I'm riding at this particular time of the month, if you get me, that's making me question everything in my life- if I'm a good mother, if I'm a good wife, if I deserve any of this, if I'll ever be more, or less.

Anyone looking for a ROLICKING good time right at this moment should call ME, let me tell you.

Love triangle.

Love triangle.
Originally uploaded by buffpuff

We went to Tuscaloosa on Saturday night for Chris' birthday. We had a whole lot of fun surprising him, and I think he had a whole lot of fun being surprised.

And yes, that's his robot that he bought in Birmingham from some guy who makes big, huge robots. I can't really explain to you how much this guy likes robots, LOVES them really, except to say that he has a robot tattooed on his arm. But he also has an otter. Because you can't be all robot, and you can't be all otter.

Happy birthday, Chris.

Them's my boys.

Them's my boys.
Originally uploaded by buffpuff

I haven't had much to say lately; we're all trying to get back into the routine around here.

Kane rides a different bus to the middle school than he did for elementary, and this one picks him up at 6:30. That's really quite a change, as we can usually all get away with sleeping until 6:30 and still being (somewhat) on-time to our respective obligations. Plus, Reed usually wakes up whenever he hears the rest of us wake up, so when I get up to get Kane up at 5:55, Reed gets on up, too.

The best part is how the middle school is about two miles away from our house, and Kane has to meet the bus an hour and a half before school starts. I find it to be an effective way of teaching children how random and pointless and backwards the world is.

On stealing bikes.

So last Saturday Kane's bike got stolen. We bought Kane and Jude bikes a couple of years ago for Christmas, and about three months later Kane's got stolen. Then we bought them bikes for their birthdays about two months ago, really snazzy ones, and Saturday Kane's got stolen.

We bought them a chain to chain them both to one of the posts out front and told them that we'd ship them off to Siberia if they didn't keep them locked up, but Jude had unchained them to ride his and didn't think to chain Kane's up. Lo and behold, Kane's bike was gone about thirty minutes later, in broad daylight.

As soon as they noticed that it was gone, Jason, Reed, and Kane (a motley crew, indeed) went out in the car riding around, looking for his bike. No sooner had they turned the corner when they saw three kids riding down the street on bikes, one of which was Kane's.

Long story short (too late!), they chased the kid around the neighborhood and Jason scared the shit out him until all three kids ditched their bikes at the high school, Jason got Kane's back, and a policeman took the other two.

Since then, we've gotten two visits from Cusses and Humps Boy's dad, saying that Cuss's and Hump's bike got stolen also, and they think it's by the same kid.

THEN, today THE KID WHO STOLE KANE'S BIKE showed up on our front porch, ringing the door bell and looking all sullen. He asked Jason where the other two bikes were, and when Jason told him that the police took them he proceeded to PISS AND MOAN about it.

When Jason was telling me all this, he said, "That kid has BALLS. Like, grown-up person BALLS." I replied, "Like, STUPID PERSON balls. We have a friend in law school. I'm sure she'll be prosecuting him for something in about five years."

I still rule this roost.

Oh, sweet Moses. Yesterday I yelled at a thirteen-year-old boy.

It was, of course, the same thirteen-year-old who came over here and humped everything with a Wii remote a couple of months ago. He had come into the house with another friend of Jude's, and just as I walked in and thought "I am kicking his ass out of this house", he opened the front door, leaned out towards some other urchin I've never seen before and emphatically said, "FUCK OFF." Then he slammed the door.

Then I pooped my pants and stood there with my mouth hanging open for about 1.3 seconds, and then instinct, i.e. blind stinking rage, set in. I yelled at the top of my lungs, not so much that I was shreiking or squeaking, but enough that my voice was booming through the house and the ground shook and the gods stopped to see what the hell was going on down here, "HEY, HEY, HEY. YOU GET OUT OF HERE RIGHT NOW. DON'T COME BACK TO THIS HOUSE AGAIN. YOU ARE NOT OLD ENOUGH TO TALK LIKE THAT. I KNOW YOU THINK THAT YOU'RE A GROWN UP, BUT I'M HERE TO YELL YA THAT YOU ARE NOT."

And he did the obligatory eye-roll, and huffed a little bit, and he really was just dying to smart off or call me a name or talk back or something, but I was COMPLETELY bowed up on this CHILD in my living room and just WAITING for him to give me an excuse to box his ears, and he could tell, so he did just enough huffing and eye-rolling to not look like a complete poser in front of his friends (the oldest of whom, by the way, was eight years old), and left.

And, hey, I've said before that I get that he's thirteen, that boys will be boys and all that, but my twenty-month-old baby who LOVES to repeat things was in the room, and he's CERTAINLY never heard that word some out of MY mouth before, although I can't speak for his fucking father. Besides Reed, I am not ready for Jude to be hanging out with boys who yell that word in front of other people's parents- Jude who is totally punk rock and rebellious, Jude who toes the line, Jude who has totally THOUGHT about saying that word to me before, I just know it. The point is that it's not the end of the world that a kid said "fuck" in my living room. But my job as the parent is to let my kids know what is acceptable and what is not, when it's acceptable and when it's not.

After that kid left, I turned around and said to Kane and Jude, "I'm sorry if that embarrassed you, but it's NOT okay to talk like that in front of other people's parents. I know that you guys hear your dad and me say bad words some times, but we have been around a LOT more years than you guys, and you're just not old enough to say those words yet. And, I mean, SNEAK AROUND and say them, for pete's sakes! Don't just SPOUT 'EM OFF in front of grown ups!" They laughed and said they got it, and I let it go.

I nearly cuffed around a thirteen-year-old kid. I am SUCH a badass.

I'm your only friend, I'm not your only friend, but I'm a little glowing friend but maybe I'm not actually your friend, but I am.

Okay then, big news about another friends. I'm not sure if he wants me writing about it on the internet, but maybe he doesn't care, so I'm going to sort of half-ass write about it.

I haven't seen you or talked to you in a long time, so we don't know the ins and outs of each others daily life. I don't know what it's like at your house when y'all wake up, when you sit and eat breakfast with the people you love, when you come home from work and find out how everyone's day was. And you don't know what it's like at my house when I start using the f word and shaking articles of clothing at Jude, or when my eyes roll back into my head so far they get stuck after listening to Kane talk about Naruto for 45 minutes, or when Reed starts pouring Goldfish, also known as "bish", all over the floor of every room in the house and then stepping all over them while I have a seizure in the kitchen floor.

But that's okay. There is plenty of time to learn these things about each other. I'll buy you a case of Milwaukee's Best and we can sit on the front porch and talk about it while we watch our children play in the street. IT'S OKAY, there's not that much traffic where I live. Besides we can put them on leashes that only reach to the end of the driveway and watch them try, TRY to JUST GET A LITTLE FURTHER to the street for a couple of hours.

I am a terrific mom.

Anyway, I have a lot, A LOT of fond memories of you. There was a period of time quite a few years ago when we actually spent a lot of time together, hanging out at my apartment and drinking beer, going to bars and whatnot. I like looking back at that time, partly because we were such good friends and I was so comfortable hanging out with you and partly because it's before I officially decided that I am a crazy person who is not believable as a human being. I'm glad that I had the opportunity to spend time with you and be close with you, especially since now we have these LIVES that don't allow us to sit up until four in the morning, drinking beer and running our mouths. I'm glad I knew you then so that I can still know you now. I love you and I'm glad that good things are happening for you.

On music.

So that whole "I can even sing in the car without crying except for American Pie because that song touches me in odd places"? I need to add another one to that list.

I haven't used my iPod in ages on account of the batteries were dead in my fm transmitter, and I kept forgitting to replace them. Well, hallelujah, we replaced them yesterday and I've since been enjoying the luxury of choosing what I want to hear besides young blondes singing about how great vandelism against her cheating ex is.

I finally settled on Coldplay's Fix You this morning, which I haven't heard in several months. It makes me weep- that song is so sweet and poignant and there ain't nothing a mustard drop is going to do about that, okay? Unless maybe I had about a liter of it, since it's 27 percent alcohol and then I could just get drunk.

Smooth Operator.

Smooth Operator
Originally uploaded by carmizzle

We went to see the White Stripes last night at Sloss Furnace. I have to say that I'm slightly disappointed, not at all by their performance but by the venue and the conditions and the results.

It was sold out, so I knew that it would be hot and crowded. I didn't know that I would never actually lay eyes on Meg and Jack because I'm too much of a pansy to fight through hundreds of people to the front of the stage, that I would be glad that I'm too much of a pansy because Jason made it up there and said that people were passing out all around him from the heat. He wore a LONG-SLEEVED BUTTON-DOWN shirt OVER a t-shirt and survived up there, while I sat in the very, very back wearing a short-sleeved cotton shirt and a very short mini-skirt and sweated my ass off.

One would think that, even from the very back, one could at least catch glimpses of Jack and Meg's tiny, far-away selves, wouldn't one? But one could not. All this one could see was the backs of peoples headses, rude people who slosh beer all over one and burn one with cigarettes and step on one's feet and bump one repeatedly with their elbows and whatnot. The One I'm now referring to is Lindsey, who nearly got into a fight on more than one occasion, who told me her pin number so that I could get bail money out of her checking account if needed.

We all made it out unscathed, and I'm glad that I at least got to HEAR the White Stripes play live, even if I didn't see them. We went to Bottletree after where Lindsey watched Jason and me get totally blind, running drunk. But I was slurring after the first 16 ounce Miller Light I partook of at the show. I was all, "I need another Millerler Light, please." Lindsey replied, "Good job, mom."

It's probably good for Dudley; I bet he gets bored.

Right now, right now as I'm writing this, there are two children screaming over our fence in the back yard, baa-ing at the tops of their lungs at our goat.

It scared the shit out of me at first because I thought, "I hear the baa, but THAT is not my goat." At first it made me afraid that Dudley is sick or something's wrong with him because it sounded so off. My next thought was, "Holy moly, is there another one out there?" I kept thinking, where the FUCK did another goat come from? And how did he get inside the fence? I was picturing Dudley having taught himself how to open and close the gate by the time I peered out into the back yard. At first all I noticed was Dudley standing perfectly still, like STILL, staring at the very back corner of the yard. Finally I followed his gaze until I saw the little heathens hanging over the fence. They were franctically and enthusiastically baa-ing, and I have to say that they sounded pretty authentic.

But any good mother knows the sound of her own goat, and they weren't good enough to sound like my goat.

Milestones.

Originally uploaded by buffpuff

On Saturday, Reed peed in the potty for the very first time.

On Sunday, he got his first kiss that wasn't from a girl he's related to.

It's been a big couple of days.

Have you seen this? It's hilarious. And such a good idea. Look out, any of you people I know who might go out of town!

http://www.pinkprankproject.com/

Here's a few things.

So the work thing has calmed down for the moment. Nothing ever really came of my long letter; I suspect that my boss has managed some sort of temporary iron-out for the problem, and it may or may not rear its ugly head again. We'll see.

Jason and I have a gig photographing a wedding in October, and I'm really excited about it. We've never photographed a wedding before, so it'll be a learning experience. Don't worry; the happy couple knows that we're just getting started. They're having a small, intimate affair and they feel confident that we'll be able to handle it. And, actually, so do I.

Something that I've learned over the past couple of years is that it actually takes a lot more energy, thoughtfulness and will power to be nice and to think about other people's feelings and to always try to do the right thing than it does to spout off your opinion all the time. And the phrase "the right thing" can be a tricky one, too. People often think they're being helpful in some way by pointing out other people's problems or weaknesses, but more often than not I think it's just a selfish kind of righteousness that makes a person want to call other people out. I'm following in the footsteps of someone I respect in ways I can't describe when I say that I have been and am still just trying to be a good person- at home, at work, IN THE DAMN CAR, and wherever else I can be.

Done.

DSC_0340.jpg
Originally uploaded by Buford Union Davis

So I'm going to get my drivers' license renewed tomorrow.

I've settled on the face I'm going to make for the photo.

Oh, man. Two frozen margaritas at lunch time will really set the tone for the day. And by "tone" I mean bed, the bed I'm climbing into mid-afternoon for a snooze. Except I can't actually take a nap; it's too late for that. I could have if I had gotten into bed earlier, but I've spent too much time on the internet. Damn!

Have you ever really needed to make your own penis pinata, but not had the know-how? Look no further.

If it's on the internet, that means it's true, right?

The internet is the BEST.

I just finished reading a long, fairly detailed article on AOL about a monster roaming the Amazon jungle, and this was among the comments that followed:

hey rod we can go almost deep in the ocean and the ladys man ( heheh big foot) none sees them but we can land on the moon that was fake too

GENIUS.

I do like this guy, though. This cracks me up:

I've began singing a song already, for whenever I see deh badie putting it's feets in her badie mouf. The song is called "Badie Feets Go In Deh Badie Mouf," it's sung to the tune of "Puff the Magic Dragon," a more sped up version with a Caribbean accent, and I'll have to learn how to play the steel drums.

Score.

07-10-07_1031.jpg
Originally uploaded by buffpuff

So there went the majority of the day at the emergency room.

Reed went to his doctor yesterday, YESTERDAY, for a well check-up. Jason said when the the doctor listened to his chest he said, "Yeah, his cough sounds wet, but there's nothing in his chest, so it must be mucus in his throat." He also got two immunizations, and that was it.

Last night he was up half the night, and I figured he was feverish and uncomfortable because of the shots. This morning I noticed that he was really having trouble breathing. He was breathing really hard, heaving almost, and his abdomen was jerking in and out like it was really hard. I called the nurse and told her, and she said, "Yeah, I think you need to bring him on in. Don't worry about what you look like; just bring him." She called back about a minute later and said the doctor heard the whole conversation and said that we needed to take him to the emergency room instead of his office.

So to the emergency room we went. After some acetominophen and three half-hour albuterol breathing treatments, we're home with a sick, sleepy baby. They said he's got a viral infection in his lungs, and they almost made us stay in the hospital overnight- something about his blood-oxygen level being low, and if it didn't get over a certain number after three treatments, he had to stay. Luckily the third time did it.

And let me tell you, holding a mask that shoots mist and makes a loud hissing noise over the face of a toddler is not as much fun as it sounds like. For thirty to forty five minutes. Three times.

And really, I know that he very well may have gotten sick over night and there just wasn't anything for his doctor to find yesterday. It's just the shittiness of it- that he was at the doctor just about sixteen hours earlier, and then it had to get all scary and hectic on us. It just sucks.

Also, right when we were about to get out the door, Reed threw up all over my mom and the living room floor. If only I could train him to do that on command. Then I could just pass him around to people I didn't like very much, and say the signal word- "Hot damn!" or "Shabamalama!" or whatever.

That would be nice.

Eating a tomato.

Eating a tomato.
Originally uploaded by buffpuff

Today, Reed pulled his vintage sewing box up to the cabinets in the kitchen, stood on it and grabbed a tomato off of the countertop. As he trotted back to the television for more Sesame Street, or Street Street, he happily told me, "Peach!" Jason and I simultaneously said, "No, buddy, that's not a peach." Before we could do anything about, he started taking ravenous bites. He looked at us and said, "Mm, mm, goot!" We laughed and said, "Reedy, that's a tomato." He replied, "Mm, tuhtuhduhduh!"

Exactly.

I need a muscle relaxer that relaxes that brain muscle.

Today was an exhausting day. I'm pretty sure that this whole "not blogging about work" thing is going to make my head burst off the top of my body. Since I don't want that to happen, I'm pretty sure that I'll be blogging about work pretty soon. I intended to do it tonight, but I'm just so damn tired, and it's a big, long, specific problem I'm having at work that I'd like to write about, so I think I'll write about it tomorrow or Monday.

Suffice it to say that today I walked out of work after being berated on the phone for twenty minutes straight by a grown woman, and I went and sat in my car and hyperventilated for another twenty minutes. I really really REALLY almost just drove off. Then I thought I would go in and write a long letter, and then leave. I spent an hour writing a five page letter, but I was calm by the time I finished so I stuck around for the rest of the day. I left the letter on my boss' desk, and she's returning from a trip Monday morning, so I figure we'll have a long talk then.

We shall see how this turns out. I'm either going to quit, or get fired, or something else will happen. I'm not being secretive; I'm just not sure what the third option is. But I'm sure there is one.

Where do we go, now?

The Nashville Possibility, as I call it, is a lot closer than I thought. I figured we'd ponder it for about a year, and then move if we decided that's what we wanted to do. But apparently Jason's work would want him there by November 1 of this year, which is about FOUR MONTHS AWAY. So, yeah. Decision time. We spent some time on the internet looking at houses for sale in places like Antioch, Nolensville, Franklin, and Brentwood, or A Whole Bunch of Places I've Never Heard Of and Certainly Never Been To So How Can We Choose A House There? I mean, of course we'll visit and stay with Jason's mom, who lives in Hendersonville, to check out the city and the traffic and the stores and the mood, but still.

IT'S WEIRD. I've never lived anywhere besides Leeds and Birmingham, except for a sixth month stint in Montevallo which I now refer to as That Time I Was Stupid And It Cost A Lot Of Money, which is also another term for Every Day At The Agan House.

I digress.

Anyways, they haven't made Jason an official offer yet, but that really just means we don't know yet what position they want him to fill, or how much they'll pay him. He's had several higher-ups come up to him and start talking about Nashville, and then say, "You're going, right?"

FREAKIN' SCARY. It just is. But I feel compelled to push myself to do it, because really good opportunities like this one don't come around very often; this is the first time in my lifetime that I've had a real, viable chance to securely move away from here. So, it's onward and upward. More soon on This Thing That Might Be Good But Still Kind Of Makes Me Feel Like I Have To Poo.

Every one else is doing it; why can't we?

Yes, yes, yes.

So many gadgets, so little time. No, wait; MONEY. So little money.

Damn.

Antibiotics, decongestant, cough syrup, hyrdracortisone cream, mustard, and beech.

So Reed has the hand, foot, and mouth disease, and I have bronchitis. We are some sickly people, I have to tell you. I'm not even sure where the bronchitis came from, but I assume Reed's affliction came from the daycare. He has bumps all over his feet, legs, and hands, and some in his mouth like ulcers. The ones in his mouth hurt; he keeps crying and pointing at his mouth and saying, "Teeth!" We thought it was teething at first, but nope, it's a contagious disease. Jason noticed that he has some bumps on his feet and legs, so we're thinking he has it too. I'm just totally wiped out, and I can't breathe through my mouth or my nose, so I'm a tad bit whiny and ill-tempered.

The mustard essence that I've been using appears to work. All I know is that I added drops of it to my water all last week, and I didn't feel gloomy at all. On Saturday I decided not to use it because I was thinking maybe you're only supposed to use it WHILE you're gloomy. By Saturday evening I was totally heartbroken and weepy. I'm thoroughly aware that it would be coincidental or psychosematic, but really, who cares? I went back to the daily mustard, and Jason bought me some beech essence which is supposed to ease the intolerance one experiences during pms. But I've been thinking that I might use it all the time, not just during pms, because I'm pretty intolerant these days.

Reed is counting now, and it's very much like having a small, smart-assed French guy in the back seat of the car. "Uuuuuuu-EH! Doooooooo-EH! Reeeeeee-EH! Vooooooo-EH! Feeeeee-EH!" And after counting, or at the end of a song, or after he gives me a kiss, he congratulates himself with a very emphatic "YAAAAAAAAY!" while clapping his hands. We should all congratulate ourselves that often; life might be a lot more satisfying if we could say "YAAAAAAAY" and clap for ourselves after every task we accomplished.

Turn and face the change.

Another thing I did, I put on my old uniform, the one with the epaulets and funny lopsided hat. I always hated that fucking hat, it never fit me and always made my face look like it was on crooked. I put it on and rubbed the entire thing with peanut butter, hat, jacket, pants and all. I went to the garage and opened a forty pound bag of bird seed and doused myself liberally. I walked six blocks to the park, laid down, and waited.

This guy is an old friend of mine.

I'm sure I can catch Jason scratching his butt. He does that for about nine hours a day.

Beware, all ye who travel here.

My mom bought me a flip video for my birthday, so you're all about to experience some interesting stuff. So far I haven't had much of a chance to use it, but it's so small and convenient I'm sure that many a video of Jason tooting, me picking my nose, and Kristi musing about childhood dreams of carrot nipples are to follow.

Hey, potty training is coming soon for Reed; I'll bet a can capture his first toilet poo on film.

Today is my 28th birthday.

Honestly, birthdays have just never freaked me out. I was excited to turn 16 so I could drive. I was excited to turn 18 so I could totally be an adult and say "screw you" to my parents, which actually amounted to staying out late and arguing with my mom on the phone sometimes until two or three in the morning, when I would finally give up and go home. I was excited to turn 21 so I could finally find out what it was like to drink the alchohol.

Because I totally never drank before I turned 21.

Anyway, beyond that, ages have never really meant that much to me. Kristi turned 28 just a couple of weeks ago, and she jokingly said (I hope she was joking) that "we're approaching the age where we won't have anything else to look forward to." After Lindsey and I beat her about the neck and shoulders, she was like, "seriously, it's all downhill from here". Lindsey, whose 28th birthday is in about two weeks, has been saying that 28 is just one year closer to 29 and OH SHIT we're about to be 30 like, any minute now. For some reason it just doesn't bother me.

I mean, in a lot of ways, I still think of myself as, like, 20 or something. I still FEEL like a young person, and when I see old episodes of Friends when they're supposed to be 25 or 26, I still think of them as older than I am. But in a lot of ways it just doesn't occur to me whether I'm old or young or middle-aged or what.

Besides, when Jason turned 30 (which was, like, 20 years ago or something) we had an awesome party. We drank a lot of random stuff, like peppermint schnapps with hershey's syrup, and blew up pies with firecrackers. AWESOME, I said. If we can have a party like that, there's no way 30 will seem scary.

From a boy to man. A man with a purse.

Reed is really and truly an amazing human being. He's learning all these new words and phrases, and it's like having an alien riding around in the car or following me around the house.

First, the phone is officially the "mong-EE". When it rings, he starts saying "Mong-EE! Mong-EEE!!". He's very emphatic about it. It really cracks me up because I honestly can't see where this pronunciation came from.

Also, he is really very interested in purses. He loves my purse and his grandmommy's purse (grandmommy is now known as "maw", which just goes to show you we really ARE from Leeds), but he would also like to have his own purse. He found a VERY sparkly bedazzled purse at Cracker Barrel the other day and fell in love with it, and I have to tell you it was a battle to get it away from him and get out of the building. I finally found a little one that I bought a while back but never used and gave it to Reed. Whenever it's time to go anywhere, he says "Poose! Poose!" Once he finds his "poose", he hikes it over his shoulder and he's ready to go. I mean, really, once you have your poose and your mong-EE, you're set for the day.

He's also just started saying "I not know!" with so much inflection and sincerity. We ask him where is purse is, and he shrugs his shoulders and says, "I not know!" I sent a video of this to Lindsey and Kristi this morning, seeing as how they often not know either, so I figure they could relate.

Emma Grace.

A trick.
Originally uploaded by buffpuff

Yesterday our friends Amy and Dave had their baby, and we went to see them today. Emma is the prettiest little baby, a little Eskimo thing with chubby cheeks and a whole lot of dark hair. She slept for the first little while, but was smiling and making the funniest little faces in her sleep. Then she woke up and quietly opened her eyes. You've never seen a room full of adults oooing and ahing the way we all were.

I recently told Jason that I wish we could have more babies, and how I wish we could have a girl. Jason replied, "Do you REMEMBER your pregnancy?" And I do. I told him it's just that the good stuff overwhelms the bad stuff. Or maybe I just want a good excuse to lay on the couch for nine months. But whatever.

Tonight Reed decided he'd help me make supper.

As I stirred the pinto beans (what else?), he pulled the rest of the items we'd need out of the fridge- pina colada mix, A1 sauce, blackberry preserves, worcestershire, ranch dressing, red wine, and three cheddar cheese sticks.

Don't you wish you were eating at our house tonight?

Up yonder. In Isbelltown.

Up yonder.
Originally uploaded by buffpuff

I had to take a picture of this sign.

Recently I was talking about religion and Christianity specifically with a couple of people, and I was thinking how excited I would be to be sitting there in heaven when people started showing up. And, even, how excited I would be to get there and give a few people a knowing "I told you so" look, such as Kurt Cobain and John Lennon and Andy Thompson.

This may sound pretty presumptuous of me to assume that I'll go there, that I have some sort of golden ticket that guarantees my passage through the pearly gates, but I figure Jesus saves and my ass needs some saving right about now, expecially from an eighteen-month-old baby who has hit the terrible twos early seeing as how he's so advanced and mature and shit, which just means that he's already eating dirt and rocks and screaming when I force him, the mean bitch that I am, not to stick things into electrical sockets and eat dirt and pour as much bathwater as possible onto the floor.

Christina Aguilera could probably sing this better than I'll write it, but here it is anyhow.

Deanna, you little stinker.

I have a few things to say, the first of which is how proud of you I am. I ain't your momma or your daddy or anything like that, but I wonder how often you've been told that someone is proud of you. And I AM proud of you, so I feel like I should tell you.

I'm proud of you for jumping into the abyss even though it's scary. I'm proud of you for taking a chance, for doing something very risky, just because you can feel it in your gut that you just need to. Not all of us have that kind of strength.

I hope you find something really really fulfilling- a job where your boss appreciates the hell out of you, or a boy who doesn't want to involve you in polygamy. SHAUN.

Because I have known you for a while, and while we're not best friends, I just really like you. I think you're a sweet girl, and so much fun, and so sincere, and BEJEESUS CRIPES you're so pretty I can't believe that you're not surrounded by boys who worship you and want to take care of you and want to make you feel good. I have had moments in which I wished that I was as pretty as you or as much fun as you or as willing to kick a boy in the BALLS just because I can.

Don't ever stop kicking boys in the balls, Deanna, especially when they deserve it. SHAUN.

I don't know the boys you've dated very well, so I realize that I don't know the whole story and maybe I don't have the right to judge blah blah blah. I just know that you are vibrant in a way that I envy, and a boy who dates you should be SO thankful, and SO happy, and should be thinking of ways to make you smile and ways to make you feel special, not ways to fit just one more girl into his back seat.

I hope that we'll continue to be better friends than we ever have been, and I hope that I'll still get to hear about the ball-kicking goodness even though we don't work together any more.

Done.

I found my calling.
Originally uploaded by buffpuff

You now how I said yesterday that I'd like to own my own business?

This is for sale in Leeds.

It's a PORTABLE. MEXICAN. FOOD. STAND.

He drinks the pool water. But he also drinks his bath water, so I should have expected it.

Originally uploaded by buffpuff

Today was a good day.

These past few days have been better and worse at the same time.

Have you ever been yelled at and humiliated by a woman two-and-a-half times your age? In public? For doing something you were told to do? You really can't handle that much hotness, I can tell you from experience.

Last night we had many, many pina coladas and beers with Lindsey, Dave, Kristi, and Chris. I'm thinking that, in Chris and Dave, we may have found the ultimate pieces of this puzzle that is life. I really felt good, for the first time in a while, with all of us together.

Today Reed tested out his very first kiddie pool. He fanatically loves it, and I can see that many summer hours will be spent this way. Which is really, really good. We had fun.

Mason and Joy,

You two are infinitely lucky to have found each other; the two of you together are almost as lucky as Mason solely is to have found a woman who can deal with having a boy who takes longer to get ready than she does. You'd think a man with no hair could shit, shower, and shave in about twenty minutes rather than two hours.

But I digress.

You guys have a lot of good things in front of you, whether it's making your home together, learning every minute detail about the other, having children, cooking meals together, or whatever it is that you're most excited about. These things make daily life worth living. Remember every day that you are each special and perfect in your flaws and that you each make up half of a team that will best succeed if you always try to work together.

Now, for the part of this letter that falls into the "reality" category.

You are going to piss each other off SO BAD. There will be days that you would rather bash yourselves in the face with a large, wooden meat tenderizer than to speak to each other for another moment. This marriage stuff gets difficult and confusing and excruciating at times. What I hope is that you guys are able to persevere, able to remember why you felt like you couldn't live another day without being married to each other, able to remember all the little things about each other that make you smile.

And, really, I don't have any special, secret, married person advice for you guys that you couldn't figure out for yourselves or read in a fortune cookie. What I have learned is that every day is different, and sometimes it's hard to stay on the same page. There are days when I have thought "WHAT have I gotten myself into?", days when I've thought "HOW can one man eat so many bags of lime tortilla chips?', days when I've thought "If I can just bang my head up against this shovel ten or fifteen more times, maybe I can knock myself out." It is fun and exciting and scary and very, very hard to live with another person, especially when it's NOT a roommate situation in which you can just keep thinking, "At least this year will be over soon." It's FOREVER and ever and ever and ever, which means you don't have any easy outs. You have to work and work and work, and learn how to let things go quickly and thoroughly, how to balance out the other's flaws with your strengths, and how to let the other balance out your flaws with his strengths.

For a person who is totally obsessive and a bit of a control freak, a person such as oh I don't know MYSELF, it can be a confusing path to travel.

Mason, I've known you for a long time. One of my earliest memories of you is driving you to Jack's Quick Stop so you could buy me a pack of cigarettes. I was fifteen years old, and I had managed to talk my mom into letting me drive her car to your parents' apartment because they lived pretty close. I cruised through a stop sign on the way, and you said, "Buffy, be sure to always stop at that stop sign. Sometimes cops sit up there and pull people over for running it, and I don't want you to get into trouble." Because that's what you do- you take care of people. You think about other people and what you can do to help them. I'm lucky to know you, and I hope that we'll always be friends. I'm happy for you that you've found someone who makes you so happy and so secure and so unafraid to live your life the way that YOU want to.

Joy, I don't know you very well yet, but I hope that I'm going to get the opportunity to know you better. Mason has been happier and more carefree since he's been with you than I've heard him in a long time. If he loves you this much and is so sure of you, then I know you must be awesome.

I love you guys. Call me if y'all ever need someone to scrub your countertops with bleach.

Buffy

Breakfast.

Breakfast.
Originally uploaded by buffpuff

Today Reed had some Peeps for breakfast- white, marshmallowy sugar goodness with some green sugar goodness on top. He seriously LOVES the Peeps.

And, to think, I had the audacity to complain about Mary feeding Kane and Jude cotton candy for breakfast. The woman is a genius.

School's out for summer.

Today I spent the day in a building without air conditioning. In Alabama. At the end of May. In 85 degree weather.

I'm pretty bitchy when I get hot, so let's just say that I have been a PLEASURE to deal with on this day.

I've been thinking a lot about a whole lot of stuff that I'm not at liberty to speak of, on account of I don't want to get fired AGAIN for my blog. Which makes for very interesting reading for you guys. Hey, if any of you guys ever want to get together and listen to me complain about having to get out of bed every day, CALL ME.

Finally, today was the last day of school for Kane and Jude, also known as The Day We Get To Go To Mom's and Get Out From Under Buffy's Fascist Regime For A Whole Three Months, and let me tell you it couldn't get here soon enough. Kane has been spending most of his time on the internet, and Jude has been spending most of his time secretly giving me the finger. They're totally ready to escape to the land of dirt, candy, and all-night television. Jude spent the last few days trying to convince us that he shouldn't go to school today; he told us that the buses weren't running (they were), that they weren't serving lunch (they were), and that his teacher told him that he OUGHT to just stay home (THAT one I believe because the less kids the better, you know?). We decided that we really didn't mind if they didn't go today, but alas Jason and I both had to work, so there wasn't anyone to stay with them, including their mom who had other stuff to do today. And it DOES take some preparation to deal with these kids; Jude is in the midst of a full-on, middle child syndrome attack. His mom informed Jason that Jude has been trying to get presents by saying, "If you loved me, you'd buy this for me" and crying in the middle of the store, also known as The K-Fed method. She told Jason that the only thing that gets him to calm down is to say, "Am I going to have to call your dad?" We both agreed that the even better way to set him straight would be to say, "Am I going to have to call Buffy?" Trust me; THAT would scare the shit right out of him.

So we take the kids to the library pretty frequently to check out books and movies since it gives us all something to do and is free, since, you know, I refuse to spend money on the urchins. Usually the deal is Kane and Jude each get to pick one or two books and one movie each. Normally I wouldn't advocate putting a limit on reading material, but you have NO idea how often they lose stuff, and how often we subsequently pay for that stuff.

Yesterday we made one of those trips. Kane picked a book that is too easy for him and Jude picked a book that is too hard for him, so all was as usual. Kane picked a movie based on the computer game that came with it which he couldn't play because we have Macs and those games are always for PC.

Jude picked Aquamarine, a touching tale about three pre-teen girls, one of which is a mermaid. This CRACKED me UP to no end, but I didn't let Jude see that there was anything odd about it since I didn't want to damage his delicate sensibilities. On the way home when I asked what the hell that movie was about, Jude recited the whole story line with no trouble whatsoever. Something about the mermaid wants to be a regular person, so her dad Triton (!) tells her that she has to prove that true love exists in three days or he's going to flood the earth. CINEMA AT ITS FINEST, PEOPLE. He ended with, "It's REALLY good. We saw it when it came out in the theatre." I can't really explain it, but the picture in my head of Kane, Jude, and their mom sitting in a dark theatre totally riveted by this teenage angsty girly movie almost makes my eyes pop right out of my head from all the laughing.

We found out last week that this same guy, this same kid Jude, got into RLC. DUH.

I have some things I'd like to say.

Peter Petrelli, you are a SEXY BADASS with all that intensity, even if you do have the Stalone lip a little bit.

Claire, quit whining already. Seriously, that's enough.

Noah, you scare my balls right out of the sack, if you will, even if you are actually a good guy.

Hiro, run a comb over that muppet head!

Nathan Petrelli, you're dead, dude. Or are you?

Today I encountered a woman who told me that "Middle Eastern people always want something for nothing," and that the majority of them are "a problem".

Then she laughed and said, "I guess that makes me sound racist!"

I laughed and said, "There ain't no sound about it, lady; that makes you BE racist!"

Well, I didn't say it out loud, but I wanted to.

You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.

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Pimp Chalice Craft Night, and my new mantra.

"Everybody's got to believe in something. I believe I'll have another beer."
-- W. C. Fields

Pimp Chalice Craft Night at the Bottletree was a total hit. We had a great time, made some awesome chalices, and drank some beers. Kristi finally had an occasion to which she could wear her mumu, and I finally had an occasion at which I could walk around and tell people what to do.

WAIT, woops! I do that every day.

We had an attendance of about eighteen people, which really is awesome because when the last two girls showed up it was difficult to find a place for them so sit and pimp. But we worked it out, thanks in no small part to Brock's begrudging willingness so seek out power strips and extension cords for us to use. Paint was slathered on, hot glue was gunned, and much bling found its destiny last night. My new chalice is even better than the first one. Jason photographed the whole thing, and I'm sure I'll nag him into uploading those soon, so be on the lookout.

Do you have anything to do with your tired ass tonight?

No?

You should come to Pimp Chalice Craft Night, and craft yourself a fine lookin' pimp chalice. It's at the Bottletree from 8 'til 10, and it's definitely going to be a good time.

Got some hoes to pimp but just don't have the right chalice for the job? Come see us. We can help.

The Green Wave.

Originally uploaded by buffpuff.

I went to my ten-year high school reunion on Saturday night.

No, that's not me in the picture; it's Ashley. But we're both complete idiots, so I think it's okay to let her represent this night and what it means to me.

I have to say that the actual reunion at Pine Tree Country Club was a little tense and quiet. Not bizarrly so, not totally uncomfortable, but just a little weird. About the time we left, I think everyone had JUST had enough to drink to loosen up a little bit.

Kristi and I had already planned to go karaoke at the Upper Deck in Homewood or I'm really sure we would have gone with our old friend Kelly to the Yacht Club, a place that she kept referring to as "alternative". When she explained what that meant to a group of the boys we graduated with, they pointed at me and said, "We're going to HER bar."

I thought it was a funny joke until we arrived at the Upper Deck to find several tables pushed together at which were about half of the people who attended the class reunion. A TOTAL SURPRISE. And a pleasant one, at that.

The night proceeded to be COMPLETELY BIZARRE. It was like being back in high school, except without the discomfort and self-hatred. It was like the reason that high school reunions are invented- I got a chance to totally and completely just be friends with a lot of people I missed out on in high school. It was nice.

And, hey, Ashley made that face up there. And Beau shook his ass like a stripper. And Matt actually stripped a little. It must have been good.

No thanks.

So John Fucking Tesh was doing this really titillating segment earlier on married couples and the 437 things that you should never do because if you do them it will kill your marriage.

Don't ever play the victim. Don't ever put your own needs before your spouse's. Don't use too much "me" talk. Don't ever talk badly about your spouse to your friends or family.

I was pretty skeptical throughout most of it, but when he got to that last one I immediately thought, "Okay, this guy has OBVIOUSLY never been married, and if he has it's probably to some bow head who desperately wants to sign a petition in support of Paris Hilton.

Good answer.

A couple of weeks ago, Jason had a long talk with Kane and Jude and told them that he wanted them to clean their room, to really clean it, throw out broken toys and old homework, put everything in its place. I honestly didn't think it would happen, but that night they totally overhauled their room, and threw away three garbage bags full of stuff.

The next evening I noticed something odd in the bathroom garbage can. Upon further inspection I found that it was a pair of Jude's underwear. The underwear was perfectly intact, and really didn't even look dirty. I pulled them out and went to Jude and said, "Why did you throw away a pair of underwear?"

He looked at me blankly for a moment, and then he got his "I'm really thinking very hard" look, and said, "Uuuuuuum, I've slept since then, so I really don't know."

I don't need Thomas Dolby; I blind myself with science.

Oh, holy shit. I just realized that I forgot to mention the VERY BEST PART about Josh's graduation party Saturday night. Was it when Lindsey threw his cake in the back yard? No. Was it the fact that Josh graduated from college with his double major in I'm Smarter Than You and I Might As Well Go Ahead and Sign Up To Be a Professor? Of course not.

The best part was when we were all sitting outside, smoking cigarettes and drinking beers, playing guitar and having a sing-along, and I decided that I had to go to the bathroom so, in front of five or ten of my good friends and five or ten people from out of town I'd never met before, at about 9:30, very shortly after we'd arrived, before I even finished my first beer, I got up and WALKED INTO THE CLOSED SCREEN DOOR.

It was AWESOME.

Seriously, the last time I did that was when I was eight years old, and I wast at my aunt CJ's condo in Pensacola, Florida. Instead of walking into the SCREEN door, I RAN into the closed GLASS sliding door, and it was not only emotionally painful but physically painful to boot.

This time, nearly twenty years later, I was mortified for about three seconds. Then I realized, hey, this way they automatically know not to speak in long sentences or use big words when they talk to me, but to speak slowly in short sentences and nod and smile a lot, and maybe I'd just leave them alone.

The funny part was that immediately after I did it, I stood perfectly still thinking that maybe, just maybe, no one had even seen it. The sudden rising chorus of "Hell yeah!" and "Damn, Buffy" and "Look out!" and "Woah, good job!" alerted me to fact that, yes, every single person on the patio had seen it. When murders and rapes occur, there are often no witnesses at all, but when I walk like an idiot straight into a screen door, there are twenty. TWENTY.

And, you know, it makes sense, because the door was right behind where Josh was sitting, playing the guitar, and everyone else was sitting or standing so that they could watch and listen to him play. So it was like that time I stumbled onto the stage at a Green Day show and did a line off Billy Joe's ass expecting no one to see- it just wasn't logical.

By the way...

I've had a couple of thoughts. I do think, every now and then. Just not that often.

I think it's nice that people stop by here pretty often to say nice things, to say "how funny" or "good job" or "don't worry", or if you're Jason, The One Who Comments, something like "I don't actually think that's correct" or "nuh-UH!". I love it. LOVE IT. I encourage it completely and if I had just a little more money I'd give everyone who commented a dollar and a large sweet tea with each comment.

No matter how nice it is to hear nice things, I still really like hearing the not so nice things, the "you can't do math" and the "you need help" and the "WHATEVS LOL BEOTCH ROFLZ". Really I love to know that people are reading. Loving my ass like God taught you is not required. I love for people to disagree. LOVE IT.

What is funny to me is the fact that almost every single person who ever has something nice or funny to say signs it, either with their actual name or their nickname if I know them, or a link to their blog if I don't. Yet, a large majority of the people who are just dying to say something ugly are anonymous. It's funny how brave and bold you can be sitting behind a dark curtain. How bold is it, really, to say what you think if you're afraid to own up to it?

I assume that, if anyone reads this and just REALLY HAS to disagree with me or try to explain why they wouldn't want to put their name on a comment, they'll say things like "I don't want my name out there on the internet" or "I don't feel the need to attempt to glorify myself or show off by putting my name on it" or "I just didn't have the time, after the 45 minutes it took me to hunt and peck out 'UR A BICH', to find the letters to my name". But I just don't really buy it. I think it's odd that people would take the time to say these things that they wouldn't own up to.

Just a thought.

Jason, you're The One Who Is About To Have A PhD In Psychology. What do you think about it?

Cinco de Mayos and graduations and how your vagina can get you into trouble.

Oh, yes.
Originally uploaded by buffpuff.

We went to Josh's graduation party last night, and it was a good time. Jason let his hair down, I pulled mine up, and then we humped each other on the dance floor also known as Dave's living room. NICE.

I know someone who had an abnormal pap smear and has to have her cervix biopsied. Scary stuff; if it were me, I'd be freaking out. She's really worried that it's an awful procedure, really painful and whatnot. I imagine that it's easier to worry about that than to sit and think about the outcome. I mean, I KNOW that everything will be fine. Jesus and I have already talked about it. But if I was in that situation I probably wouldn't feel so sure of myself.

I know someone else who has spent a lot of time telling herself that things will get better, and trying to have faith in someone who continues to let her down. I know that feeling- how that little fluttery thing that happens in your stomach can make you put up with large amounts of intense pain in your head and heart. I just hope that things get better, way better, from here on out, no matter what "better" turns out to be.

I hope that both of these girls know that I'll be there if they need me, through thick or thin, all the way to the outcome and on to the other side of it.

Our wedding.

Our wedding, Jason's and mine, was the best day ever, second only to the day Reed was born. They were both happy days- the wedding day was just a lot less bloody and physically painful, and instead of bringing life into the world we collectively killed millions and millions of brain cells with shots, shooters, and beers. And martinis. And wine. MILLIONS AND MILLIONS.

The day started slowly, as we had the bright idea the day before to share a PITCHER of frozen margaritas. At Moe's. And people, you know how I love the Moe's, but I have never again since that day had the margaritas there. They use shitty tequila there, and it will come back on you tenfold, even if it IS the happiest day of your life. Because Montezuma, he doesn't give a fuck about your wedding.

Once Jason finally dragged me out of bed around 11:00 a.m. we showered and pretty much went our separate ways. Jason picked Kane and Jude up and dropped them off with his mom, except Jude threw a fit to go with Jason so they went together to my mom's house where he finished the groom's cake, and then he went to the hotel where his parents were staying to get dressed and ready. I showered and headed to my mom's house, where we were getting married, to do my make-up and finish with the last of the decorations and get dressed.

My aunt CJ was there, and I was telling her about the awful cramping and diarhea, and she was like, "OOO, that's the cold feet!" And I was like, "NO, that's the shitty tequila! My God! I wish I'd never had a margarita ever!" I've learned not to say things like "God, I'll never drink again." Because, really, no one likes a liar.

The ceremony started around 5:30 with just our immediate families in attendance, and my dad walked me down the long hallway to the living room. Jason and I were married in front of the fire place by an old family friend named Lindy Martin. It was lovely and short and sweet and Jason teared up when he said his vows, probably because he's said them once before and he couldn't figure out how he'd gotten roped into this again.

By 6:00 p.m. people started to show up for the reception, the food was put on the tables- jambalaya and red beans and rice and hummus and tabouli and cakes and cookies and cheese and crackers. The alcohol started to flow and pretty soon the house was packed- my boss and coworkers, our families and friends, cousins of mine I hadn't seen in years, aunts and cousins of Jason's who I'd never met before, and some I'd met the one and only time at his grandmother's funeral, a story that is painfully funny or at least painful that I will tell another time. I managed to spill apple martini down the front of my dress OVER AND OVER throughout the evening.

Jason and I handed out hugs and accepted hugs and laughed and talked and drank and had a really good time. It was a really beautiful evening.

Off the subject, do you feel the need to be disturbed? Do you? Here you go.

This thing called happy.

Originally uploaded by buffpuff.

This life, this one right here, has calmed down for a few minutes. I mean I know I'm jinxing it, but it has been, like, twenty minutes without a "now what?", and I'm getting a little used to it.

Shit.

I was out taking pictures this morning, and I found a horse shoe at Lake Purdy. I picked it up because I thought maybe it's lucky. My mom said, "Sure it's lucky!" and Jason said that since it actually came off a horse- it still has the nails in it and everything- that makes it more lucky.

Also, I've lost twelve pounds since March 13.

Now, tonight we have to do some kind of experiment with dry ice and balloons for Kane's science fair, so if you're sitting there thinking how you hate me and my life shouldn't be this good, don't worry. Things change.

On earth, as it is in Heaven. Especially that "Thou shalt not be any pissy babies" part.

So I was right; it's the strep throat, complete with fever, fatigue, and grumpiness. My doctor was all, "101 degree fever? Why are you doing that?" I was not amused.

I'm just hoping that Reed won't catch it, seeing as how he's already going through his "If Moms Can Die From Frustration, I Can Take Care of That For Ya" phase. Reed is bringing cracker back in more ways than one, and I'm getting a little frazzled. He contstantly wants to be doing whatever he's not doing. Pick him up; put him down. Give him juice; give him crackers. Go, go, go in the car; go, go, go outside; go, go, go in the house. Play with his toys; see what he can do with a sharp knife and an electrical outlet or maybe a toaster if he's feeling nutty. I'm telling you, it's enough to make a person love the Lord if only because loving the Lord might get you into heaven and in heaven there are NO PISSY BABIES.

Blistery goodness.

So I can feel the strep throat coming on. It's MARVELOUS. Jude had strep throat about two weeks ago, and I honestly thought the rest of us had avoided it. Reed is currently still on antibiotics for his nasty cough and runny nose, so I don't really have any idea if he CAN catch it. But I'm pretty sure I'm getting it. My throat felt weird and scratchy on the way home from work on Friday, and when I looked at it there were two gross blistery spots on the back. SEXY. I felt better yesterday, but today I feel really really awful, tired and achy and low and confused, and my throat is hurting really bad. I suppose it's back to the doctor with me tomorrow.

Off the subject, I'd just like to get off my chest that Jason and I both, at our respective jobs, work around some of the most stuck-up, intolerable yuppy fuckheads that I've ever encountered in my entire life. EVER. Fire me, I don't care, because it's enough to drive a person to drink large amounts of alcohol and randomly shout "FUCKERS!" I think it's starting to get to me a little bit.

Lastly, Jason and I got a sympathy card in the mail regarding Shu Shu's passing, and it was the sweetest thing. It really was.

Baby Ruth?

Baby Ruth?
Originally uploaded by buffpuff.

Oh, I definitely have stuff to do. STUFF. TO. DO.

I got a hair cut today in preparation for my ten year high school reunion.

You can go ahead and bludgeon me in the face at any time.

Honestly, it's not a matter of being nervous or scared or uncomfortable; I've seen a lot of the people who will be there pretty recently. It's more just a matter of the OCCASION. I wonder if we're all going to be standing around going, "SO... What have you been up to?...... Mmm. Cool." I intend to dance and drink and eat and hopefully try and look pretty.

Incidentally when I was being shampooed at the salon today, the shampoo lady looked at my long-ass hair and said, "You're getting this cut? Are you doing Locks of Love?" I laughed, and was like, "No, just a trim. I'm not a generous person."

This is the way.

So the Pussycat Dolls officially have a new member, a girl young and energetic enough to bring the other 27 members of the Pussycat Dolls their hot water bottles and fiber pills after thrusting and humping violently for hours at a time.

In other news, we've been doing some gardening around here and it's good for the soul. We've let life get in the way of keeping up with the out of doors. I went to the store and bought a hydrangea, some creeping jennies, and a few other pretty things and we're working on getting things up to code. I'm excited about having a pretty yard when we get done.

Reed is back to normal momentarily. He's finishing up another round of antibiotics after a nasty cough made things unbearable for every living thing within a three mile radius, and- for the moment- we're all sleeping all night long and waking up happy.

And, in the most interesting news of the evening, Jason was just now apparently doing his "Pussycat Dolls dance" over in the corner just for me, and I didn't even notice.

I'll be talking him into doing it again in nothing but flip flops and a thong later.

Oh yes, that's right.

Originally uploaded by buffpuff.

We saw Wolfmother last night at Workplay, and it was one of the most impressive rock shows that I've ever seen. Those guys have so much charisma, like out to HERE, so much that you have to stand back and brace yourself in order to take it in. I really was pleasantly surprised, because I don't know that much of them. Jason really loves them so I was just along for the ride, and I'm so glad that I was because it was SWEET. And now I have a crush because that lead singer, that one with the tight jeans and the afro, he says "BIRmingham." You know, BIRmingham, with the emphasis on the BIR. Folks from Birmingham, Alabama say "BirmingHAM", with the emphasis on the HAM, because ham is just so good that the emphasis always ought to be there, on the ham. Apparently Australians are more concerned with the bir than the ham, which is probably how he can fit in to those TIGHTEST JEANS THEY HAVE.

HOT.

My only complaint is that the whole show was so damn energetic, so non-stop, and then at the end they suddenly went into this too-long, when-is-this-going-to-end, I'm-asleep-with-my-eyes-open experimental jam-type thing, and it just didn't fit. I mean, every one there is pumped, drinking tons of beers, dancing all over the place, sweating and loving it, and then all of the sudden the whole thing screeches to halt and they just slowly sway about the stage, teetering about playing random notes and feedback and whatnot. We made it through about twenty minutes of that before I figured that midnight was a smart time to go home, what with the working and the baby who cares not about my sleep.

But all-in-all, a great experience, a great band, no ass whatsoever to fill those TIGHTTIGHT jeans but still a sexy motherfucker.

Speaking of, one of the highlights of the night was when I leaned over to Lindsey and said, "Man, that guy has no ass whatsoever." She replied, "Have you SEEN Jason's ass?"

Mish-mash.

Well, today my cat is still dead and buried in the back yard, and our plumbing still isn't fixed and the plumber still hasn't come back to figure out why it's not fixed even though I first called them last Thursday to let them know things weren't kosher.

LIFE IS GOOD! PARTY!!!

The owner of the plumbing company that did this most expensive work came over today to discuss the work, the price, and the fact that things still aren't perfect and, I gotta tell ya, he's a LOUD TALKER and a CLOSETALKER. Those two things together equal a very odd conversation, a conversation in which he claimed that Jason said, "As long as it doesn't go over $8000, we'll pay it.", a conversation in which he asked me what church we go to, a conversation in which he kept talking about charging us $4000 in a way that I could tell he meant that he had never tried to charge us $7000. IT WAS TENSE. He eventually said that he was "prepared" to only charge us $1500 instead of the $3000 that we owed (he had held on to the check for $3000 since Jason told him that we didn't have that much in the bank), and that his "guy" would come back later in the afternoon to figure out why the shower still isn't draining.

We still don't have a bill or an invoice for the work, and his "guy" never came back to fix our shit.

This situation is steadily getting more frustrating and more complicated, and I don't really DO complicated, you know? I like beer. I like cheese. I like having beer and cheese with my friends on the front porch.

Maybe I just need to have some beer and cheese on the front porch with these plumbers and try to work it out that way.

My Shu Shu.

Well, our Shu Shu kitty got run over tonight and died. She was a really good kitty.

Then I watched The Color Purple, so I'm in a pretty sorry state right now.

Shu Shu was a really good kitty. She liked sitting on Jason's shoulders. She really loved Reed. She refused to eat table scraps of any kind, or wet cat food. She shit on Kane and Jude's bed a couple of times when we still lived in our apartments.

Tonight, right after she got hit, I was trying to get Reed ready for bed whilst weeping loudly, and he suddenly started saying "Shu Shu! Shuuuu Shuuuu!" I really almost threw up, and I wept a little louder.

So now I don't know who Ida's going to play with. I don't know what to say to Reed when he starts saying her name. And I can't quite wipe the image of her little dead eyes from my mind, the last image I saw of Shu Shu, right after the girl knocked on our door and said, "Do you guys have a cat?" And I just can't stop thinking how her bowl was empty, how she might have been hungry. And how she slept with us last night for the first time in a long time.

I KNOW THAT THIS IS SO VERY DRAMATIC. I'm just not good at this stuff. I can't deal, okay? Cut me some slack. Slack is not something that we get over here very often, with all the plumbing issues and car wrecks and the getting fired and old friends dying and the throwing up and snotting and bills in collections and the whole NOT BEING ABLE TO DEAL stuff. Really, I'm working on it. I'm trying to remind myself that this stuff happens and in my life time a lot of kitties have gotten run over or died or been given away, and I did a good thing by telling that tearful girl that it was okay, that I knew it wasn't her fault.

But my kitty is dead and she's buried in the back yard and I'm just really not cut out for this stuff.

Pimp chalice craft night.

Pimp chalice craft night.
Originally uploaded by buffpuff.

Last night we made ourselves some pimp chalices. And it was good. It's amazing what you can do with a little gold paint and some rhinestones.

Next weekend, we drink from our pimp chalices. We never quite made it that far last night. But we did listen to some Dr. Dre, drink Natural Light, and craft it up.

Also...

Hindsight, after all, is caused by a lack of foresight. Civilization woozed out of the Nile about 300,000 years ago. The Nile was a river that had some water in it. Every year it would flood and irritate the land. Mesapatamia was squigged in a valley near the Eucaliptus river. Flooding was erotic. Judyism was the first monolithic religion. Old Testament profits include Moses, Amy, and Confucius, who believed in Fidel Piety. Moses was told by Jesus Christ to lead the people out of Egypt into the Sahara Desert. The Book of Exodus describes this trip and the amazing things that happened on it, including the Ten Commandments, various special effects, and the building of the Suez Canal. David was a fictional character in the Bible who faught with Gilgamesh while wearing a sting. He pleased the people with his many erections and saved them from attacks by the Philipines.

You should really check this out. Thanks, April.

Yes I did.

Yes I did.
Originally uploaded by buffpuff.

Creativity is sho 'nuff therapeutic. Yes it is.

MOTHERBITCH.

OOO! So today, we had about $7000 worth of poopy fun! Except that poop isn't really that much fun, and neither is spending $7000 on about four hours worth of work.

By the way, next week I'm becoming a plumber.

It turns out a pipe burst in our back yard underneath the ground, and they had to bring in a tractor or a back hoe or some shit, dig up the back yard, and replace the pipes. We have a home warranty but this wasn't covered because the problem wasn't IN the fucking house, which I'm sort of divided about because normally I would say "just so long as there's no shit in my house." But today if the shit had been in my house I could have saved $7000 so I think I would make the trade-off.

After Jason told the guy repeatedly that we literally don't have seven-fucking-thousand dollars to pay him, he finally knocked it down to $4000 because he's such a stand-up fellow, so we gave him $1000 and a check that's going to bounce like Beonce's ass if we get turned down for a loan tomorrow, which we probably will.

So, you know, party! Tonight we drink. Tomorrow we start looking for cardboard boxes that are big enough to hold two adults, three children, two cats and a goat.

I poop; you poop; we all poop!

You know, sometimes things get pretty boring around here..

Luckily, right now as I type this, there is a puddle of poo and other assorted items of sewage in our back yard. IT JUST GOT INTERESTING.

For about the last two weeks I had noticed that, besides the fact that the shower was draining REALLY slowly, there were just odd things happening with out plumbing. Often times for no particular reason I can hear what sounds like water draining in the tub, and I can hear bubbles coming up in both of the toilets.

Now there's poop in our back yard- probably our own poop. But I guess there's no guaranteeing that since we're on the city sewer, not a septic tank. It's too bad that we don't live close to any famous people; we could have famous poop in the back yard. I could be selling Leonardo DiCaprio's poop on eBay right now.

But, really, if I had immediate access to Leo's poop, why would I SELL it? It would live in a jar on our mantle above the fireplace, where all good famous poop lives.

This is the way we grow our childrens.

Originally uploaded by buffpuff.

Yes, that's right; my child wears bunny ears.

He hunted Easter eggs for the first time yesterday, and it was really one of the most fun, inspiring, joyous days that I've experienced in a long time. Regardless of how dramatic it may sound, watching him grow and develop is mind-boggling and heart-breaking and awe-inspiring all wrapped up into one big mess of emotions. HE HUNTED EGGS! He sought them out and put them in a basket and showed us how many he had. OH MY GOD I'M GOING TO BE THE MOTHER OF A TEEN-AGER ONE OF THESE DAYS.

And today he didn't cry when I took him to daycare. HE DIDN'T CRY OR PROTEST OR CLUTCH ME AND SCREAM. It is monumental and wonderful and I felt so FUCKING RELIEVED and a little bit hurt, but that's just my crazy showing itself a little. Some tiny part of me wants him to never want to be with anyone but me, but hey, all the boys can't act just like Brad Pitt. HE always cries when I drop him back off with Mama Angelina. That whole marriage thing is a cover-up, by the way.

Work, and life, and parenthood, and life and work and being a mama, it gets right up on top of me sometimes. I was driving home from work the other evening and I suddenly had this realization that I DON'T HAVE TO BE PERFECT. And I'm not perfect at all. And even though I am so far from perfect, I am a fantastic mother because some days all I can think about is how to make things the best they can possibly be for Reed and Kane and Jude. And I'm striving all the time to be a fantastic wife, and even thought I'm not ALWAYS a fantastic wife I try so hard and I apologize A LOT, people. And things- you know, life- have felt really good for a surprising amount of time, and it's only partly because of all the heroin and vodka, so I'm making progress.

Really the only area that I'm not progressing in is italicizing. When I use Blogger on my Mac, there isn't a button for italicizing, so I'm doing all this FUCKING capitalization, because it's the only other option for EMPHASIS and INTONATION.

HELP ME PLEASE.

Qui gives a shit?

Things are temporarily fairly normal here at the Agan household. I AM RELISHING IT WHILST I'M ABLE, PEOPLE (mm, relish).

I would like to say that I was pleasantly impressed and entertained by The Departed. I knew that I'd like it, but I didn't really think that I'd FANATICALLY LOVE IT the way that I'm doing. I have to say HONESTLY that it had me sitting on the edge of my seat, tapping my foot through the whole movie. TRUTHFULLY, though, I didn't buy the psychiatrist character; there was something that just didn't play out for me. Because honesty and truth are not synonymous.

I have to say, that concept had never really occurred to me before- I know plenty of you are just gearing up gleefully to type "OH MY SHIT YOU NEVER KNEW THAT?" But come on, I can't be a fucking genius on every single idea ever, people. I know whores and cocaine, okay? Those're my forte. Honesty and truth? I know not these things.

I was thoroughly intrigued, so I took to the internet- that's where all honesty and truth reside, right? I also took a quick look into my 1997 Merriam-Webster Dictionary, which had this to say about the word honest: 1 : free from deception : truthful; also: genuine, real 2 : reputable 3 : creditable 4 : marked by integrity. It listed the synonyms upright, just, conscientious, honorable. The definition of truth (in 1997) is: 1 : truthfulness, honesty 2 : the real state of things: fact 3 : the body of real events or facts: actuality, and it lists the synonyms veracity and verity.

I went ahead and looked up integrity as well, as it was used in the definition of honesty: 1 : adherence to a code of values: incorruptibility 2 : soundess 3 : completeness.

You may all be asleep by this point, but I find the subtle difference to be fascinating. I'm pretty sure that I'm going to have more to say about this later, but for now, what do you think? Does it boil down to whether you're more concerned about the outcome or the actual fact? Does that simplify it too much? Should folks holdin' philosophy degrees just shut the fuck up and go to bed already?

Sometimes the Pepto just comes back up with the rest of it, so what's the point?

Mm, nacho vomit. So pleasurable.

So it turned out I caught Reed's stomach virus from him. I started the puking Monday night and continued on into Tuesday morning, and then came the aching and fever. It was SEXY, and Jason can confirm that as he was trying to sleep about ten feet away from the bathroom in which the magic was happening. And it really was magic, I tell you. It never ceases to amaze me how one can eat this one portion of food, then about eight times that much can come back out again. VOILA!

The worst part was that something odd happened to my left hip at some point so that every time I heaved, it felt like it was dislocating. So much fun.

So far, Jason, Kane and Jude haven't caught it. I spent today washing clothes and towels and sheets and Cloroxing every surface in the house including my own ass. Hey, it needs disinfecting sometimes too.

Getting puked on is SO rock and roll.

So now Reed has the stomach virus. There is nothing better than reaching out to stroke your lovely baby's face, and pulling it back covered in purple vomit. NOTHING.

He puked half the night Saturday and half the morning Sunday, then he was fine all afternoon yesterday. This morning I noticed that he seemed a little warm, but I thought that it was my imagination. After my shower I noticed that he just looked puny, so I took his temperature with the fancy ear thermometer that we bought last time he was sick (you know, 47 minutes ago). It said 101.4 in one ear, and 103.5 in the other- that thing was SO worth the $35 we spent on it. Then while I was drying my hair he puked blueberry-colored vomit all over our bed, as he had a blueberry cereal bar for breakfast. Most of the puke went on Jason's pillow, so it's okay. He's not the one who gargles Clorox at the mention of a sour stomach, right?

So now I'm just hoping that it's passed, and that tomorrow he'll be well. The nurse at his doctor's office said "Oh there's no reason to bring him in!" I'm pretty sure that she's been lobotomized and nailed to a stool where she sits and answers the phone and just says, "Oh there's no reason to bring him in!" over and over all day long. It's a wonder those people ever have patients in the office.