Because the world doesn't have enough haikus, yo! Here are a few more.

Some haikus about my life lately:

I've been feeling crap-
tacular these days, for sure
Lobotomy-ho!

My throat hurts but lo!
Hot tea makes me pee too much.
Looks like beer it is.

Looking forward to
turning 30, not afraid
of the rickets. Ha!

Jason, your kid is
going to kill me, I fear.
Tell them to suck it.

I can't stop buying!
Anxiety makes me spend.
I need some more bling.

What the fuck, Prozac?
Where you been these past few months?
Don't do me like that.

"Holy fucking shit!"
my child exclaimed. I don't know
where he gets it from.

Kristi, Lindsey, Chris,
Jason and Duque and Reedy,
you my only friends.

Some things I am really in to right now:

1. Flight of the Conchords and Mad Men: I have just watched season one of each of these shows. Flight of the Concords cracks me up; hilarious! Man Men makes me want to drink and smoke and wear pencil skirts and have huge titties. Both of these shows are great. Can't wait to move on to season two of each.

2. Hot sauce: Obvious, maybe, but I have been more of a jalapeno girl until the last couple of months. Now I am buying huge bottles of hot sauce and putting it on everything from Mexican food to veggies and rice. I probably really stink lately.

3. Tall wedge shoes: These are the shoes that I call my fall-down shoes, on account of I usually fall down when I wear them. I just can't get enough of them these days, so I have been wearing them and falling down all over the place- Kristi's driveway, Kristi's hallway, Base Camp...

4. Margaritas and other various mixed drinks: I got a recipe for a Moscow Mule from Birdie last week and subsequently had a pretty bad hangover on Saturday. Lindsey and I went out and had margaritas the weekend before, and subsequently I nearly died the next day.

5. My purple maxi dress from Old Navy: It's like wearing sexy, stylish pajamas. I feel cute and comfortable all at once.

6. Turning 30: I have to say, I am really excited about this one. Age and birthdays have never freaked me out, and this one is no exception. I can't wait until our big party.

Something I am not so in to: My recent inability to hold my liquor. Quite suddenly every time I drink, I am terribly ill the next day. This doesn't bode well for my desire to drink frequently.

Happy 30th birthday, Kristi! Have fun at the Phish show! Spin once for me!

Kane,

Today you turn 13.

This is probably the last time we'll ever speak since I'm moving into the bomb shelter until you turn 21, 'cause, dude, I don't want any part of what all is coming up.

I'm kidding. I am actually very excited about what is coming up, especially since you are suddenly very interested in watching The Office and that is so much more tolerable and interesting to me than Pokemon, or Yu Gi Oh, or Total Drama Island.

When I first met you, you were six years old, and in first grade. Your dad brought you into the store where we worked together, and he introduced us, and Jude hid behind his legs while you said, "Hello there, Buffy."

In the months following our meeting there were screaming contests (literally; this isn't a metaphor for a fight), swimming, sidewalk chalk drawings, Super Mario Brothers all-nighters, and tag games. We did a whole lot of stuff back in those days, mainly because your father and I didn't live together yet so we had to find cool stuff to do outside of the house.

We've had some tough times together as well. You had a lot of trouble understanding your mother's illness, how it kept her away from you so much when you were so young, and I had the simultaneous joy and guilt of being able to help you deal with that. I am very glad that I got to know you, got to sit up with you at night and help you through some rough nights, but I have to tell you it is very difficult to come up with a good answer to some of your questions, "why won't mom come home" or "why can't I go to my mom's house" or "can't she please just stay home with us tonight". All I ever knew to tell you was that she loves you, and she's working on it. I hope that was enough.

You are one of the smartest, brightest, most resilient kids I've ever known, and I can't even imagine what all lies ahead of you. You sure do like to talk so I might suggest a career in politics or lawyering. You clearly also combine with that talk-love a pinpoint accuracy in recalling detail, I can't even tell you how many episodes of Family Guy or The Simpsons that you have described to me, and I could tell that you didn't forget a thing because it would take the same amount of time for you to describe it to me as it would to actually sit down in front of the tv and watch the bloody show. HOLY GOD, MAN, you need to apply your talent for seven-hour oration to something besides shows I don't even like, I beg of you.

Seriously, never stop expecting a lot from yourself, because you have the charisma and smarts to do a lot of interesting things with your life, and that kind of stuff almost never just falls into your lap: you have to work for a happy life, to enjoy your pursuits and have a happy family. Just like Gordy Ramey used to tell my mama: Remember who you are. Know that this life just gets harder and harder, all the time, and there will be moments when you think you will break, when you think it will never get easier. And I'm not here to tell you that it gets easier, because sometimes it doesn't. But it changes. Your feelings, the situations you're in, your desires, your goals, it all changes all the time, and no matter how hard it gets you can always come to your dad or me to talk about it, because we will always love you just as much, and we will always be your parents no matter how scary or unpredictable life gets.

Listen, I ain't your mama, have never been your mama and will never be your mama. But I do love you and want good things for you. I will always be there to talk or help in any way that I can. This fall you start eighth grade, and I am here to tell you that this stage of life is hard, hard for everyone, and the best thing I know to say about it is don't let them see you hurting, save the hurting for when you get home, and always be open to new friendships.

And no drinking or drugs until you're older. And no sex. Or girlfriends. Maybe you should just come straight home from school. And don't be talking to hussies on the phone, either. No HBO or Cinemax. And punch a motherfucker in the face if he fucks with you. But don't be a bully. Oh for God's sakes, I have to go; the bomb shelter is calling my name.

Also, totally unrelated to my vagina...

Summer sale! Buy one, get one free at my Etsy shop!

Reed Daniel.

I really enjoy reading birth stories like this one, and by "enjoy" I mean "panic and dry-heave". I realized that I hadn't ever talked about the day that Reed was born here.

I didn't go into labor naturally. About four or five days after my due date at an appointment with my doctor's office, an all-too-enthusiastic doctor told me he'd see if he could "get things going" since I was so late.

First let me say that I had one of those ridiculous experiences with an office full of rotating doctors and every time I went in I saw a different one so that I'd be "familiar" with all the doctors when I went into labor and just whoever could step in and catch the baby as it came flying out of my hoo-ha.

Next let me tell you what this fucking happy-ass guy did to me to "get things going": he put on a latex glove, stuck his hand into my yaya and "swooped" his fingers roughly about my cervix trying to "manually" open it up. I shit you not. This is not a joke. IT HURT LIKE A SON OF A BITCH and I very nearly levitated off the table with all the pain. Jason said he kind of wondered if he needed to punch that guy in the face, but somehow he refrained.

So the doctor tells me that I might see my mucus plug at some point and to call them if anything happens. Not a damn thing happened.

The next week at my appointment (now 10 days past my due date) the lady doing the ultrasound noticed that I suddenly didn't have very much amniotic fluid in there, and they did an exam and realized that I'd been leaking and holy cow! they better induce labor. Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be good.

So we went home and I hyperventilated a little and realized I really was not that interested in pushing a honey-baked ham-sized creature out of that particular orifice. Oh, I forgot to mention that when they did the ultrasound they estimated that the baby in there probably weighed anywhere from 9 to 10 pounds. In case any of you aren't familiar, that's an XL-sized baby, absolutely not what I ordered.

So we headed to the hospital and six the next morning and checked in and they started an iv of pitocin to get the labor going. For the first hour or so, nothing happened. Then all of a sudden THAT SHIT WORKED and I was writhing around on the bed in a whole lot of pain, the kind of pain that you can't talk through or think through and all you can do is imagine fire and bombs exploding and bright, searing light. So the nurse checked me out and found that I was still only dilated to about 1 or 2 centimeters and so they couldn't give me the epidural, but they could give me a shot of Demerol to help with the pain. I politely said, "Yes, that would be lovely." About five minutes later I was totally drunk and resting comfortably.

We watched tv and just generally rested until woops! those contractions started ripping and tearing through the Demerol. They checked me and I was at 3 centimeters so they called the anesthesiologist (Would you believe that I spelled "anesthesiologist" correctly? I just went ahead and spell-checked because I thought there was no way I had guessed it, but I totally did. That right there is a testament to my love for Dr. Carlson, the fellow who gave me my epidural.).

So guess what? Throughout my pregnancy, I was so worried about getting the epidural, about the pain involved with some fellow jamming a large needle into my spine, about how you can be paralyzed and blah blah blah. I am here to tell you: IF YOU ARE HAVING CONTRACTIONS, FOR-REAL-THOUGH CONTRACTIONS THAT MAKE YOU WANT TO HIT YOURSELF IN THE FACE WITH A HAMMER UNTIL YOU LOSE CONSCIOUSNESS, THE TINY PRICK OF THE NEEDLE GOING INTO YOUR BACK REALLY ISN'T THAT BIG OF A DEAL. I had to sit up in the bed and sit very, very still on account of you don't want him jamming it in sideways or in the wrong place or whatever, so of course I started having a really intense contraction right as he starting giving me the epidural. Sitting perfectly still during a contraction is very difficult, and I managed only because of the expected benefit of the drugs seeping into my spinal cord.

He finished and told me it would take a minute for the drugs to take effect, so in the meantime I had a couple more meaty contractions to entertain myself with. Then, suddenly, I felt so fucking good. I felt relaxed and unafraid and sleepy, and I laid my head back and dozed. I could still feel the contractions but instead of feeling like PAIN! they felt like pressure; I could feel the muscles in my body contracting, but it didn't hurt.

Basically the rest was just that, rest, until I reached 10 centimeters dilation and they got me to start pushing. Eventually Reed's heart rate got kind of erratic, so SNIP SNIP they did an episiotomy and got some forceps and tugged Reed out of there into this cruel, cruel world, away from the comfort of my hospitable uterus.

And then there he was, gooey and shiny, bruised from the forceps, uttering the tiniest, cutest shriek of FUCK NO, PLEASE CAN I GO BACK FOR JUST A WHILE LONGER. And then we were parents. I was a mama, and Reed was my son.

We should have moved into a neighborhood for the blind.

Interesting story: my kid took a shit in the back yard yesterday.

I know, right?

He has recently really gotten a kick out of peeing in the back yard, and we occasionally let him, because what harm is it going to do? Besides him dropping trow in front of the neighbors in the FRONT yard, I see nothing bad that could happen. That DID happen, though, and it was pretty embarrassing, so we had to have this really fun talk about how you can't be showing your boy parts to random other people.

Anyways, yesterday when we got home from school he said he had to go use it and he wanted to use it outside. Jason kindly escorted him into the back yard, and after a few minutes wandered back into the kitchen- our back yard is completely enclosed by a high privacy fence, so Reed can be trusted alone back there for a few minutes at a time. After a couple of minutes I walked back there to find Reed, pants around his ankles and knees slightly bent, looking at me sheepishly. I asked him what he was doing, and he didn't reply. I asked again, and he smiled and said gleefully, "I'm POOPING!"

He then proceeded to squat. And poop.

I walked into the kitchen and told Jason, "Yeah, okay, your kid is taking a shit in the back yard."

He smiled and shook his head and said, "At least it's not in the front yard."

What dreams may come.

Right, okay, so last night I dreamed that I was watching Paul Simon, John Candy, and Bob Hope perform together.

I also dreamed that I watched this guy resuscitate a drowned hamster.

What the? Wow. I am not even making this shit up.

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.

Ob la di.

Ah, June. Hello, there. This is the month in which I will turn 30 years old.

There are a lot of things in this world that I don't know. But I'm learning and pressing on, and I think that's good enough for right now.

We photographed a wedding this weekend and I'm really excited about the pictures. It's really fun and touching to be able to share these moments with people in this manner, meaning that you're right on top of them every moment during a pretty important day in their lives. You're watching closely as they're putting on their dresses or adjusting their tuxes, kissing each other, shedding tears, exchanging vows, embracing for the first time as a married couple. Pretty heady stuff. It's good for my heart.

So on June 20th we're throwing a toga party to celebrate Kristi, Lindsey and myself turning 30. I am anticipating a pretty wild party, and I'm happy that I get to share this birthday with my best friends. It won't be a party unless I get drunk enough to call someone a douche.

On a more serious note, my uncle Vann is having some pretty severe reactions to his chemotherapy right now. I had decided for a while not to write about his cancer because it's really upsetting and scary (I know- selfish, selfish, selfish of me), but so far he has been responding well to his treatments and the cancer has been receeding. Because of a setback couple of weeks ago they've changed the kind of chemo that he's getting and this new medicine is making him pretty sick. Anyway, point is if you pray or think nice thoughts or meditate or anything of the sort, please think something nice for my uncle today. I want him to get better, and I think that it certainly can't hurt to have all of us sitting around thinking about how everything will be fine and Vann will get better. Thanks for your thoughts and prayers.

100 Things.

In honor of this, my 500th post. (Not all 500 are up for your viewing pleasure; I took several down a few months ago for personal reasons. Just trust me when I say there are 500 of them.)

1. My parents couldn't decide on a name; my dad liked conservative stuff and my mom liked less common, hippy stuff. They settled on naming me Elizabeth but calling me Buffy.

2. I have never been called anything but Buffy.

3. This has caused a lot of problems at doctor's offices and pharmacies.

4. I never met my maternal grandfather, since he died before I was born.

5. When I was very little, I told my mom and my aunt that I missed my grandfather whom I'd never met.

6. When I was little I stayed with my maternal grandma whenever my mom had to run errands.

7. My grandma and I would play board games, like Parcheesi and Sorry, and watch soap operas.

8. My mom was a stay-at-home mom until I was a teenager.

9. I have always wanted to be a stay-at-home mom.

10. My dad and I can't seem to understand each other.

11. My sister and I were very close when we were growing up.

12. We aren't so close now.

13. My sister is 5'9 and weighs 108 pounds.

14. I have a half-sister and a half-brother who live in Tennessee.

15. The person I refer to as "my sister", India, is really a half-sister as well, but we grew up together so we've never really recognized the "half".

16. I have always said I wanted to have three children, all boys.

17. I have two step-sons, Kane and Jude, and one son, Reed. GO AHEAD AND LAUGH GOD SINCE YOU GAVE ME WHAT I WANTED.

18. I sometimes worry about what kind of person I must be considering what kind of person Jason's last wife is.

19. My earliest memories are of sitting in my window in our house in Centerville, and my mom telling me that if I listened hard enough, I could hear God talking to me.

20. It is a happy memory for me.

21. I also remember sitting in our dirt driveway with my mom, digging doodlebug holes and singing for the doodlebugs to come out.

22. I thought going to college would guarantee a decent job and few money problems.

23. I was wrong.

24. I am wrong a lot.

25. I am surrounded by people who aren't afraid to stick by me even though I am wrong so much.

26. I am right a lot more often than I let myself admit.

27. I worry all the time about us having let Kane and Jude move back in with their mother.

28. I have some very deep and intense feelings of resentment and pain that I can't seem to let go of.

29. Jason astounds me all the time with his wit, intelligence, compassion, and humility.

30. I hope one day I can have all those traits.

31. I have a degree in Philosophy. I really like to talk shit.

32. My favorite animal is a possum.

33. When I was little my mom called me Possum Pie.

34. I have been to New Orleans seven times, and every single time I have felt like I was finally home.

35. I wish that I had the balls to move away, but I would be so sad because I really don't think I want to move.

36. I like my job.

37. This is the first job I've ever had in which I've felt respected and appreciated.

38. I love Coca Cola.

39. I love cheap beer.

40. One of my favorite things to do is sit on my front porch and drink a beer with Jason and my friends.

41. Jason and I have worked very hard to make our marriage work.

42. Jason is my best friend.

43. I also have girlfriends including my mom who are my best friends too.

44. I believe in Jesus. I think he loves us.

45. I try very hard to be the sort of person Jesus would want me to be.

46. I do not always succeed.

47. I try very hard not to pass judgement on other people.

48. Unless they're wearing something really stupid.

49. I get my feelings hurt pretty easily.

50. That is something I am striving to change.

51. My friends/family/whomever can make mistakes and know that I will not judge and my love for them won't change.

52. I was born in Shreveport, Louisiana.

53. I know that two spaces are supposed to go after a period when you're typing.

54. I make really good brownies.

55. I can't think about, talk about, or watch gross stuff while I eat, because then I can't stop thinking that whatever is in my mouth is whatever gross thing I've just thought about, talked about, or watched (bugs, snakes, surgery grossness on tv, etc.). The only other person I know who has this problem is Lindsey. We weird.

56. Some trends that I initially disdained but now like include skinny jeans, slouchy boots, and pointy-toed shoes.

57. I have never liked Burger King.

58. I am bad with money.

59. I am a youngest sibling.

60. I am currently reading Nelson Mandela's autobiography, Heather Armstrong's most recent book, and a parenting book.

61. I got in trouble when I was a kid for stealing an arrowhead from my 4th grade teacher.

62. I totally freeze up in the presence of famous people. I just can't act like a normal human.

63. That probably applies to life in general, not just being around famous people.

64. I had a pretty easy pregnancy.

65. During my pregnancy those Mastercard commercials with the lost dog would come on and I would cry my eyeballs out.

66. I also frequently literally laughed until I cried; I mean I would laugh and then immediately start crying. Pregnancy hormones: scary as fuck.

67. I loved being pregnant, and if Jason and I could afford another baby I would totally want one.

68. I would have to trick Jason into it, as he's already said, "FUCK, BUFFY, I have three kids. That's enough."

69. My cousin is Caitlin Kiernan.

70. If I didn't have to worry about working, I would stay up late and sleep late every day.

71. I can eat box after box of wintergreen Tic Tacs.

72. I once ate an entire box of wintergreen Tic Tacs at one time.

73. I can also tell you that that means I ate exactly 40 wintergreen Tic Tacs at once.

74. I think maybe I know too much about Tic Tacs.

75. Reed is named after my great grandfather, Reed Roe Ramey. Here is more info about that.

76. I would really, really like to have a little girl in our family. (Lindsey, I really love Ava, but I wish I had one that I made.)

77. I am scared that talking on my cell phone too much is going to give me brain tumors.

78. I am sad that Reed will never again be a tiny baby who drools on my shoulder.

79. I am still glad that we are on our way to being potty trained and not throwing writhing, bucking fits on the floor.

80. I took piano lessons for 13 years.

81. I cannot write fiction for SHIT. Seriously painful.

82. When I was a kid I liked to eat the powdered cheese that comes with macaroni right out of the packet. With a spoon.

83. I was also known to eat the powdered hot chocolate mix right out of the packet.

84. I am sometimes proud of myself.

85. I am sometimes ashamed of myself.

86. My paternal grandparents are both pretty sick, and I can't bring myself to visit them.

87. Mortality, my own and that of others, scares the shit out of me.

88. This swine flu thing scared me at first. Now it seems to have dropped off the planet.

89. I voted for Barack Obama.

90. I support freeing Leonard Peltier.

91. I drink a lot of water.

92. When I was 11, my mom and I drove from Leeds, Alabama to Santa Fe, New Mexico. It took 2 1/2 days.

93. On that trip we had a flat tire. A really nice young man stopped and changed it for us and told us he had just come home from Desert Storm because his wife and baby died in a car wreck due to some problem with driving on a spare. He asked us to be careful.

94. I like the Beatles, They Might Be Giants, Ben Folds, and Deee Lite.

95. I am obsessive about washing my hands after doing things like taking out the trash, scooping out the cat litter, sweeping the house, and other general cleaning activities.

96. When I was in high school, I either wanted to grow up to be an actress, a lawyer, or a pilot for the air force.

97. I feel devastatingly uncool when I'm around hipsters.

98. I generally trust people too quickly and easily.

99. I can't stand to step on bugs.

100. I really like the book Confederacy of Dunces.

Had I mentioned that Marianna Jones is what he calls Indiana Jones?

So a few weeks ago Reed suddenly dropped what he was doing and said, "I gotta go use it!" which means he had to go to the potty. He then specified, "I gotta go POOP."

So he went and sat on the toilet for a while. Suddenly he yelled, "Mommy! Daddy! Come here and look at this!"

It's always fun to get called into the bathroom to "look" at something.

So we go and he is standing in front of the potty, pointing into it, vibrating with excitement.

"Mommy, daddy, loooook! I made a Marianna Jones snake!"

Leonard Peltier.

The following is copied directly from my mom's blog:

Leonard Peltier has recently applied for a parole hearing. That hearing is scheduled for July 27, 2009.

Leonard Peltier was an activist in the American Indian Movement who had gone to help the Oglala Lakota people on the Pine Ridge Reservation in June 1975 when a shootout occurred with FBI agents. Accused of the murder of two agents, Peltier fled to Canada, believing he would never receive a fair trial in the US. In February 1976, the FBI knowingly presented the Canadian court with fraudulent affidavits, and Peltier was returned to the U.S. for trial. In a controversial trial in which evidence was fabricated and witnesses threatened and coerced, Peltier was convicted and sentenced to two consecutive life terms.

While in prison Mr. Peltier has won awards for his work and support of humanitarian causes and twice has been nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize.

Although limited by the prison environment, Mr. Peltier has emerged as a master of Indigenous Art. Leonard’s artwork reflects his beliefs and commitment to Native American culture. It is The People’s struggle to survive and his desire to portray their cultural beauty that inspires Peltier to paint. Art professionals marvel at the number and quality of the paintings Peltier produces. By donating his paintings to the Leonard Peltier Charitable Foundation, he was able to supply computers and educational supplies such as books and encyclopedias to libraries and families on Pine Ridge Reservation.

Leonard Peltier has been widely recognized for his efforts and has won several human rights awards, including the North Star Frederick Douglas Award, Humanist of the Year Award, and the International Human Rights Prize.

Leonard Peltier's case is something that is very important to me, something that I feel very strongly about. If you'd like to read more about the details of his case, you should go and read about him at his website. If you'd like to sign the petition for his release, click here.

A circus is a veritable...

Whew, this has been a long week.

Besides the SLEEPY!, my boss has been on vacation all week, and my department is made up of my boss and myself, which means that everything that had to get done this week fell upon myself. It hasn't even been bad; I have thoroughly enjoyed this opportunity to prove myself and show that I am valuable. It's just been a little tiring.

We moved Duque's crate into the computer room Sunday night on account of he'd taken a shit in it while we were out for a few hours, and our bedroom STUNK. This is one thing to put on your "con" list for dogs: Cleaning shit out of a crate at 1:00 am. (Okay, Jason cleaned the shit out of the crate, but still.) On the "pro" list: Herds me around the house constantly. (This can also be seen as a "con".)

Not too long ago I had the distinct pleasure of watching Kristi and Chris' dog Myrna "bury" her bone in their leather sofa, and now I've seen Duque behave similarly. We bought him a few rubber toys and found that he has ZERO interest in them, but last weekend I bought him some rawhide toys and he LOVES them. I've discovered him on more than once occasion setting these toys on the rug in the living room or in Reed's room, and then nudging the rug over the toy with his nose and paw. If he sees me watching him, he'll get the toy back out and slink off to hide it somewhere secret.

These past few weeks have been kind of rough, and I'm not absolutely sure why. I am hoping to shake this funk off in the next few days, because I have really been having a bad time of things lately. I have cried more in the last two weeks than in the last three months all together. And I'm not saying that to be all "Look how saaad I am", it's just that I'm so surprised and taken aback by it. I haven't felt this nasty in a while, and I'm hoping that it's just a temporary setback that I can get past very soon.

I'm looking forward to a nice weekend of Drunk Psychology and good friends. Maybe that'll perk me up a little.

Much ado about some stuff.

I haven't been able to feel rested lately for some reason. I've been getting a pretty good amount of sleep; I just still feel sleepy. Last Saturday I spent almost the entire day in bed, and when I dragged myself out of bed at SEVEN PM I was still drowsy and woozy. Kane and Jude were there with Reed and I would sort of shuffle and mope into the living room once an hour to say, "Do you guys need anything? Is everyone alive? Anybody eat any Comet or anything else I should know about? Y'all haven't barbequed the dog, have you? Alright, back to bed I go". I honestly think I could have stayed in bed until the next morning. I don't know.

And let me tell you, if I'm tired enough to not give a shit that Kane is walking around saying that he thinks he has PINK EYE, then I must be pretty damned tired.

I honestly don't think he had pink eye, though. Friday night one of his eyes was pretty red and irritated, but on Saturday it was much better, just barely veiny looking in one corner and not swollen at all. He was like, "Well, I know whenever I get pink eye it always hurts real bad the first night and then stops hurting." I am no pink eye expert, but I think it would have been weepy with green or yellow stuff and I think the outside of his eye, his eyelid and whatnot, would have been red-looking also if he actually had pink eye. Either way we bought him some pink eye drops and he seemed fine and so far no one else in the house has gotten any eye problems. Kane also just started wearing contacts a couple of months ago, and I think he could have just had some kind of irritation caused by that.

WOW, this is some boring shit. If you weren't sleepy before you read this, I bet you are now. I'm sorry I don't have anything more exciting to offer. It's the damn sleepiness- I am just kind of "meh" about everything. I'll try to bring something more exciting next time. Until then.....

...

Woah! Sorry! I fell asleep. What was I saying?

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.

On working on it.

So guess what? I argued and big-mouthed my way into Alagasco refunding the $394 deposit we had to pay. It's awesome, and it reminds me that sometimes you just have to speak up A LOT if you want people to listen. (Yes, in fact, everything in that last post I actually said out loud to an Alagasco representative.)

The bad thing is we're pretty far in the negative at the bank after having paid said deposit, after all the fees and whatnot, so the refund is kind of bittersweet. But it's better than nothing.

I've been trying to work through some stuff lately, some nastiness that is bleeding through the Prozac, nightmares and nausea and panic. I'm hoping it's going to fade in the next couple of weeks.

Kristi! In my love letter to you the other day I forgot to even mention YOUR WEDDING! How you're also getting MARRIED! Holy cow! In honor of that fact I have compiled this handy list for you titled The Secrets to a Happy Marriage:

1. Fuck all, really? Am I supposed to know this stuff? Okay, well first tell Chris to see Jason for a list titled How To Deal When You Marry a Looney.

2. I've said before, I'll say again: hide the hammer. You will have moments when you want to hit each other with it. Just going ahead and hiding it will save a lot of pain and grief, not to mention emergency room bills.

3. Later I'll make another list to give you titled How To Deal When You Marry a Laid-Back Hippy. It comes in handy when you're having a total and complete meltdown and your husband is sitting on the couch, eating all your lime-flavored tortilla chips. I would know.

4. Just work really hard, both of you, to help each other. That sounds really obvious and honestly I thought twice about bothering to type it. But it's important, and it's one of those things that can slip through the cracks when you're having a particularly boistrous game of NO I'M RIGHT AND YOU'RE WRONG AND I'M GOING TO ACT LIKE AN ASS UNTIL YOU VERBALLY ACKNOWLEDGE THAT. I'm pretty sure Dr. Phil once said "Do you want to be right, or do you want to be happy?" (oh, God, kill me now), and that's a good one to think about. Of course I really want to be right AND happy, so you know. That doesn't always apply, Dr. Phil, if that is your real name.

But the helping! Help each other get through each day, whether it's by doing the dishes when the other one is really tired, or throwing the other one's jeans into the washer as a favor (Chris, don't touch the good shirts and sweaters because, believe me, you could fuck those up pretty badly), or bringing home the other's favorite cookies from the store. This might all sound trite and meaningless, but as a married person who is nearly identical in craziness to Kristi and as a person married to a person who is very alike to Chris, I can promise you, IT AIN'T. Small efforts can pay off big time in your marriage. It took Jason and me a while to figure that one out, but we finally got it, and the landscape of our marriage is totally different in some very good ways.

5. Don't forget to compliment or thank each other for things. Don't forget how important it can be to say things like "You look hot" or "Thanks for walking the dog" or "I really appreciate that you swept" or "Those jeans make your high, tight ass look nice".

6. I'm out. I really think that's all I got on advice.

I am just so excited and honored that you've asked me to be your matron of honor, and I can't wait to be a part of all of this. You guys are both so sweet and you both deserve to be happy and to have a nice life together. I am just so happy that you both seem to have chosen the person who can give that to you.

Funny time.

Here is something that I found that makes me smile.

And a very serious warning:

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'.

A couple of things...

My friend Lindsey writes a really neat blog for al.com, and I've been lucky enough to attend a couple of shows with her to take pictures for said blog. You should check it out.

First, here's where we went to see the Ting Tings.

Second, here's where we went to see G Love and the Special Sauce.

The title of my autobiography:

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

or

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

or

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

or

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

A healthy dose of maturity.

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

Fuck 'em.

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

More from AlaSHITco.

From Alagasco to me, after one phone call with a message referring me back to their 800 number that I've called several times in the last few days:
Ms. Agan,
Thank you for your inquiry.
We have been unable to contact you at 205-370-2953.
Please advise us if there is a more convenient contact number for us to reach you. Or, you can call us at 1-800-292-4008.
If you need further assistance, please feel free to contact us via our website at www.alagasco.com.
Thank you for choosing Alagasco,
Customer Service

From me to Alagasco, after I returned the phone call:
I only received one phone call from you yesterday afternoon while I was at work. I have just returned the phone call, and the representative I spoke with only wanted to reiterate that the deposit was required because my service has been disconnected more than 3 times in the last 12 months. None of my complaints that I have raised have been dealt with, namely:
The information you sent me is condescending and not at all helpful for the following reasons. You wrote: "Unfortunately, we are unaware of personal circumstances unless we are notified." I notified you on April 30th that I would be unable to pay a $394 deposit because of several hardships, including unemployment and home foreclosure. You wrote: "We urge all of our customers to contact us when the billing statement is received if the amount billed will not be able to be paid on or before the delinquent date." I never received a billing statement saying that I’d have to pay the $394 deposit. The very next day after I received the note on my door, I called and told two different representatives there that I couldn’t pay it. You wrote: "For real-time account information you will be able to view your gas account using the “My Account” feature on our website." Clearly you do NOT have real-time account information; that’s part of my complaint. I had to pay a deposit that wasn’t mentioned anywhere on my account online, and still today is NOT REFLECTED ON MY ACCOUNT ON YOUR WEBSITE. I am currently ordering an electric heat pump from Alabama power and will contact you to cancel my services with you as soon as possible, as I find Alagasco to be lacking in every area of customer service and convenience. I intend to report this story to any one who will listen, and have already been discussing with with Fox 6, NBC13, as well as local newspapers.

Rest assured that I will be taking this matter up with anyone who will listen, including my lawyer, since no one there seems interested in offering anything remotely resembling customer service.

At this point I am becoming melodramatic and impulsively angry, but I don't know how else I can deal with such mind-numbing stupidity/insolence/assholeishness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mammal.

All you have to do is pick a (musical) artist and using ONLY SONG TITLES from only that artist, answer the questions below. Leave yours in the comments.

I've chosen They Might Be Giants.

1. Are you a male or female: How Can I Sing Like a Girl?

2. Describe yourself: Rabid Child

3. How do you feel about yourself: Nothing's Gonna Change My Clothes

4. Describe your parents: Someone Keeps Moving My Chair

5. Describe your ex boyfriend/girlfriends: Women & Men

6. Describe your current boy/girl situation: Birdhouse In Your Soul

7. Describe your current location: I Should Be Allowed to Think

8. Describe where you want to be: Sleeping in the Flowers

9. Your best friend(s) is/are: Wicked Little Critta

10. Your favourite colour is: Sapphire Bullets of Pure Love

11. You know that: Everything Is Catching On Fire

12. If your life was a television show what would it be called: Who's Knockin' on the Wall?

13. What is life to you: If I Wasn't Shy

14. What is the best advice you have to give: Narrow Your Eyes

And here is what I do at work...

I am a very busy woman.

In other news, we're going to get our dog tomorrow. He's excited, too.



And this right here is a very informative swine flu website you should check out. And here is another one.

Two random things I forgot about Costa Rica:

1. You aren't supposed to flush your toilet paper; instead you're supposed to put it in the garbage can, no matter what you have just wiped on it. This made for some stinky garbage.

2. We had a monkey attack during the night! We had a tendency to leave things on our front porch on the picnic table, including Jason's journal, cigarettes, lighters, hot sauce, and water bottles. One morning Jason got up and everything was strown about the yard. There are teeny bite marks in his journal. We could hear the howler monkeys every day around dusk and dawn; their roars were pretty creepy

*Edit*
FUCKING ALAGASCO, I HATE YOUR GODDAMN GUTS. Last week I paid half of what we owed. Yesterday they cut off our gas and left us a sweet little note saying we owe $604. I went onto our account online and WHAT A FUCKING SURPRISE it says we owe $154, just like I thought. As I got paid today, I went ahead and paid the $154 and then called Alagasco.

Bitch says we have to pay a FUCKING $400 DEPOSIT ON ACCOUNT OF THEY CUT THE GAS OFF EVEN THOUGH I MADE A PAYMENT. I went back and forth with her saying "Our online account doesn't say anything about a deposit. I have paid the balance. Now our online account says we owe nothing." She kept saying we had to pay the deposit because they cut the gas off. I said we made a payment, we shouldn't have been disconnected. She said we didn't pay in full, so they cut it off.

Finally I said "I WILL NOT PAY YOU $400 TO CUT MY GAS BACK ON WHEN I MADE A PAYMENT LAST WEEK AND A PAYMENT THIS MORNING AND NOW IT SAYS I OWE ZERO." So she said, "Okay. Is there anything else I can help you with today? Thanks for using our services."

So now we don't have heat or hot water. The heat may not be a big deal if this warm weather continues, but no hot water? WHAT THE FUCK?

Cleaning out my text messages.

- I finally grew a pair and cut my bangs and now it looks like I shaved a hedgehog in my sink.

- You have no idea about the REDWOOD I just pooped.

- I am a mortar GOD!

- Team Colonel Ingus!

- HOTTUB spelled backward is BUTTOH.

- Oh my god! Why aren't you a spoon in Ohio?

- Holy shit! Do you feel like you're living an inauthentic life?

- Pink straws: packed.

- And that's why they call me the shocker!

- I'll guard you both from the rear.

- *smacking noises smacking noises gross mouth noises*

- So now I am just texting to pretend I am not a fork in Ohio.

- You are paaaaaaaaaht of the rebel alliance and a traitor!

- He's a hypnotist of ladies.

- Real Raybans or testicles over my eyes?

- NUCULAR.

The idea for this post came from Sarah.

Nawlins.

So this weekend we had a nice getaway to lovely New Orleans, Louisiana. We stayed with our friends Amanda and Luke in Algiers. It was a girly trip, just Lindsey and me, since my sister is trying to starve herself and consequently Jason had to stay home with Reed. But more on that another time.

We drove down Friday evening and let me tell you, Mississippi, YOUR SIGNS ARE A LIE. It never fails that I start getting low on gas somewhere between Meridian and the Louisiana state line. There is not much in that area, but there are a few exits with signs stating that there are gas stations off the exits. LIE. We had to get off of three different exits before we stumbled upon the Circle D where we got gas, ice, and SCARED.

We made it in around 9:30 and hung around their apartment for a while, then went out to the Quarter via the ferry.

Saturday we took the ferry in again and had lunch at Felipe's (yum) and then walked around the quarter for a while. We found Ignatius' statue and took some pictures and then headed back home for a nap and some cool-down time because IT WAS HOT THERE.

That evening we walked over to the Dry Dock Cafe for a burger and then to the Crown and Anchor for a couple of beers before we headed back home to film a new Drunk Psychology.

Sunday we went to the Clover Grill in the Quarter for breakfast. We ate omelettes and biscuits and gravy and saw Laurence Fishburne*. Yep. And guess what? I didn't have my camera. CLEARLY I learned nothing in Costa Rica. I had carried the camera around all weekend long, and when we went to eat I thought, we're just going to eat, I don't need the camera. Then I saw Laurence Fishburne. And let me tell you, HE LOOKED GOOD, and apparently he smelled good too from what Lindsey could tell after nearly elbowing him in the junk as he walked past our table. He and I made eye contact a couple of times, and I'm pretty sure we had a moment. Well, I had a moment of "HOLY FUCK HI LAURENCE" and he had a moment of "Is that girl having a seizure? Why won't she stop staring?"

Let me tell you, if you want to meet famous people and have a nice conversation with them I am not the person to spend time with. I am the girl who sees Cowboy Curtis and doesn't have a camera and furthermore doesn't want to interrupt his meal or stop him on his way out to say "OH MY GOSH I REALLY LIKED THE MATRIX, WELL THE FIRST ONE ANYWAY I NEVER SAW THOSE OTHER ONES CAN I HAVE YOUR AUTOGRAPH?"

*Laurence Fishburne, if you're googling yourself and somehow stumble upon this blog, I am the girl in the purple shirt who was sitting with the girl in the black shirt and the girl in the green shirt in the Clover Grill. I'm sorry we pretty much giggled and fluttered our eyelashes and ogled you throughout your meal. I'M SORRY, okay? It's just you look good and we love you and we could not help ourselves. Please send me one autograph since I'm too big of a pansy to ask you for one in person. Really you should just be thankful that we only considered the idea of asking you to sign my boob instead of actually asking you. Thank you.

El Duche!

We were approved for adoption- we're getting a dog!

Now we just have to find a day when we can drive to Tennessee...

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.

Hit me again, Ike! And this time, put some stank on it!

Have you ever seen any of your exes in a store and ducked or turned the other way in hopes of not having to talk to them?

I have in my wake a long string of boys who think I am a devil woman and that our relationships went horribly awry on account of ME, my being a CUNT and a BITCH and a, dare I say, WHORE who should just FUCK OFF ALREADY.

Hey, mama! Jason, what's up?

Anyway, I have a few things that I would like to say (what else is new?).

Firstly, not ALL of my exes think all that about me. There are some who smile when they see me, introduce themselves to Jason and Reed and act politely and we all are fine about everything.

Secondly, those who DO feel that way about me, I have always wished that these guys could take another look at the relationships that we had, the absolute horror of it all and how terribly wrong it was and how after a while, neither of us was happy any more. There are a couple in particular that I'm thinking of where they boys hated me particularly badly after it was all over and I was left standing there going, Wait, you are mourning the ending of this clusterfuck? 'Cause I thought there would be, like, confetti and some champagne and handshakes and shit, so I am just really confused that you seem to be suggesting that you thought we ought to continue this charade of bad sex, near-violence, name-calling and black-out drinking.

I mean, looking back I can honestly say that I was a shitty girlfriend some of the time, but if we're really going to be truthful wouldn't we say that you fuckers were SHITTY boyfriends some of the time as well? Really, do you think I enjoyed being called a bitch and being yelled at every time I wanted to go somewhere with my girlfriends and being dropped like a hot potato every time one of your friends wanted to go to the movies and being next in line behind your brother and fourteen other fucking punks*? DO YOU? Because I can tell you I did NOT, in fact, enjoy that shit. And I say again, I was sort of a crapshoot as well.

The POINT is that there really wasn't much worth salvaging in those relationships, and I ended them because we were both miserable and mean and totally self-absorbed and nothing good was ever going to come of it. And what happens next is I am a pariah, spit upon by all your friends some of whom are MY friends and WERE my friends since before we dated, and I'm a BITCH CUNT WHORE who ripped your world apart and shit on you and laughed in your face, and all your/our/my friends are just really uncomfortable with the way I just FUCKED YOU OVER so hardcore, and they must remind me about it every time they see me by sneering and cold-shouldering and whatnot. Hey, it's cool, it's fine, I'm not bitter about it or anything.

I'm just not totally comfortable with those labels.

Anyways, I have recently started talking to a fellow who I used to be really good friends with and who is still really good friends with one of those exes. It makes me think about how a couple of those relationships, somewhere on the inside of them, I started wishing that I was best friends with the boy instead of his girlfriend. Because if we were best friends we would have been able to enjoy everything that was so good about the relationship without all the yelling and anger and supsicion and bitterness. And when I started wishing that is when I thought, WOAH, clearly we are not meant to be, right? I mean, if you're thinking "I'd really rather take So-And-So to the movies than Buffy" and I'm thinking "Wow, this would be great if we didn't have to fuck", IT JUST HAS TO BE A SIGN, OKAY?

So what is my point in all this? I don't really have one. Ha! I just like talking about how slutty I am.

*I'd just like to also say BROS BEFORE HOS and all that fucking bullshit but if two people are really suited for each other let's hope that you don't really have to make a choice between your bro and your ho, right? I generally don't have to choose between Jason (my ho) and Kristi or Lindsey or anyone else (my bros): it just doesn't work that way.

Their names are called, they raise a paw: the bat, the cat, dolphin and dog, koala bear and hog.

We have a lot going on in the next few weeks.

This weekend we're headed down to New Orleans to visit our friend Amanda and film a new Drunk Psychology. The next weekend is our good friend John's 30th birthday party. May will bring Mother's Day and India's birthday and Linnea's birthday, and then we're photographing a wedding at the end of the month.

It will only get busier from there. June brings Kane's, Jude's, Kristi's, and my birthdays, plus we're planning a baby shower for our friend Brock (yep), and our friends Dana and Wes are getting married and we're taking pictures, and we're throwing a huge party for Kristi's, Lindsey's, and my 30th birthdays combined.

In July we'll have Lindsey's birthday, my mom's birthday, and Brock's baby will be born.

August will bring Kristi's bachelorette party and shower, and then she and Chris are getting married on the 8th. Reed and I are in the wedding and Jason is the photographer. Then Chris' birthday is on the 19th.

I think I might go to bed for a while in September. So don't bother calling.

Reedy.

So much has been happening lately that I haven't gotten to write much about Reed. Here is a list of Reedy thingies:

1. He is SO IN to Spiderman and Batman right now. We haven't had cable/satellite for some time, but we still have our DVR box. We still get some gems like the Home Shopping Network and the Hallmark Channel, and whenever Dish Network is doing free previews of channels, we get those. We got a free preview of one of the fifty bajillion Disney channels a few weeks ago and managed to record about 75 THOUSAND episodes of Batman and Spiderman cartoons. I have seen all of them a lot of times. I am now intimately schooled in the stories of the Black Cat and Two Face and Venom and the Green Goblin and the Hobgoblin and King Pin. I realize that these are Disney cartoons but Jason- a.k.a. Comic Book Blowhard- says that most of the plot lines follow the comic books surpringly closely.

2. Reed has both a Spiderman costume and a Batman costume. They are both pretty cool, and we have a lot of trouble getting him to wear anything else. We can't exactly send him to school in a superhero costume so once or twice he has worn just the Spiderman mask to school, walked into his classroom with it on, then taken it off and kept it in his pocket all day long.

3. As a result of the combination #1 and #2, Reed is constantly wobbling and flipping and trotting through the house in his costumes saying "I'm Spiderman!" or "I'm Batman!" and falling into things and slipping and spilling stuff and just generally keeping me on my toes. He climbs up onto things and dangles about. He carried a shoelace around with him which he'll fling at you at any moment and then start hissing "Pssssss! Pssssss!" while holding his hand, wrist upturned, at you like Spiderman. Last night he spent some time wriggling along the top/back of the futon in his Spiderman costume. The minds of children: who the fuck knows.

4. We're still working on potty training, and we've almost got it. He goes to school every day in big boy underwear with no pull-up and makes it through the whole day without having any accidents. Then he comes home and I say, "Do you need to potty? Do you need to peepee? Tell me if you need to potty. If you feel like you need to use the bathroom, go to the bathroom. Let's just go for fun. Let's go to the bathroom and give it a try. Don't you need to pee? Don't you want to potty? Go to the potty if you need to pee." He inevitably resists and tells me over and over again that he does NOT need to go. Five minutes later he wets his pants, and the futon along with them. So, you know. Shit.

5. He goes to bed like a champ most nights. We start warning him at about 8:30 that it's almost time for bed, you have to go to bed in a minute, just so he'll be prepared. Then at 9:00 I carry him to bed and I sit in a tiny chair by his bed for about a minute-and-a-half. Then I kiss his hand, then he kisses my hand, and we say night-night. If Jason and I try and have a conversation in the living room Reed says, "Mommeh! Can y'all stop talking, please? I'm trying to sleep." So we talk quietly.

6. He is still sleeping in a crib. I think I'm just lazy on this point; plus I don't think that it's ever occurred to Reed that he might one day sleep in a big boy bed, so he doesn't complain, so I'm like, shmeh. His bed converts into a toddler bed and the prospect of his being able to just get up out of bed and wander about the house SCARES THE DOODOO OUT OF ME. See also #7.

7. A few months ago Reed reached the point in his growth and development when he figured out how to unlock and open the front door. FUCK. So we bought chains to put on all our doors (we have a bunch, our house is weird). Reed has figured out how to use his light sabre, or "white saver", to slide the chain out. MOTHERFUCKER, I said. He is agile and accurate as hell when he does this; there's no "he can do it sometimes". He can do it EVERY time with one hand tied behind his back, wearing a blindfold and a straightjacket. HE CAN, WE'VE TRIED IT.

8. When we went to Costa Rica he stayed mostly with my mom, and a little with my dad. He stayed with her from Tuesday, March 10th, through Friday, March 20th. It was a very long, crazy trip and a very long time to go without seeing my baby. On our last full day in Costa Rica I called my mom to check in and she told me that Reed had not only said the night before, "I want to go home and sleep in my own bed" but that he also asked if we were coming back. My child had to ask if I was coming back. Jason and I clutched each other in the questionable bed in our hostel room and cried together. I will never take another trip away from my child for that long as long as I live.

YES.

From this post on this blog:

I love the heft of your warm body
your outflung hands
your curious glances
but seriously, kid.
Could you do me a solid
and hang on when I carry you?
Consider the
koala
or perhaps the
tree frog.
Both fine examples
of the methodology I would prefer
that you employ
instead of this business
that involves my left arm
falling
the
fuck
OFF.

It's like she lives inside my head, the head that resides somewhere above the stiff neck and sore shoulders of a person who is still carrying a three-and-a-half-year-old who likes to dangle like a potato sack.

Our new kangaroo is supposed to arrive next week.

I'll be honest with you: I think maybe something is wrong with me. And also with pretty much everybody I know.

As long as we've lived in our house, which is about four years, Jason has wanted a dog. A big dog. Some sort of large, bounding, herding dog that the kids can ride around the back yard and that can kill whole cows and bring them home for dinner. I have spent this last four years saying no, a thousand times no, we don't need a dog and we can't have a dog and if we were going to get a dog I want a Chinese Crested. Jason's response was "Hell no on the Chinese Crested but OF COURSE we need a dog and can have a dog. A BIG ONE."

So we've continued on in this manner for all these years.

Then last week happened.

Nothing in particular has changed or occurred. I don't have a clue what has happened to my brain. Maybe the prozac; I don't know. But suddenly Jason has been on this blue heeler kick and for whatever reason I said, "Okay, let's look at blue heelers."

So I've been looking up dogs, and it turns out Jason is incredibly particular. And it's not even like there is some list I can go by; Jason simply can look at the dog and know if it's "his dog" or not. This one is too tall. This one is to small. This one prompted Jason to say "I will not be able to fucking sleep knowing that dog is in our house."

I love all three of those dogs, so someone should go adopt them so I don't have to worry about them any more.

Anyway, we think we've found a dog we like. We've filled out adoption applications. Yesterday I finally got up the nerve to tell my mom about it. My mom is the lady who always says no, a thousand times no, we don't need a cat/dog/goat and if we get a cat/dog/goat she's going to throw herself off the roof of her house in protest.

What did she say yesterday? "Well, you know, I've had dogs all my life. I can't argue with you."

WHAT?!? So all I could think was, "Well I HAVE to send the adoption applications in NOW with all that flippant gauntlet-throwing she's doing right there."

Listen, the truth is I had dogs and cats throughout my childhood. I had Poochie, a little round mutt who followed me everywhere and took care of me and was a hell of a watch dog (the poor UPS guy). Then I had Ruppleduffie, a huge lab mix who was goofy and spent most of his puppyhood sleeping on top of a large basket of pecans. Now I'm not going to lie and say that I took complete care of them and my mom never had to lift a finger- she did the majority of the feeding and bathing and taking care of those dogs. But I helped. And I loved them intensely, and played with them, and pet them and stroked them and talked to them and took their pictures and dressed them in doll clothes. They were my pets.

Since my head has been so clear lately I've re-evaluating a lot, including how I'm raising Reed. I think we're doing a pretty good job, but I realized that I don't want him to grow up, to be a six year old and then a nine year old and then a twelve year old without ever having helped to raise a dog. I don't want him to grow up without knowing what it feels like to love a dog, to take care of it, to see its happy face when he comes home from school. Kane and Jude have had a wide assortment of pets, a few at our house and a lot at their mom's house, and I sometimes worry that their mom is teaching them that pets are disposable and you can just move on to the next one if the first one doesn't work out. I think maybe this might be good for them, too.

Last night I asked Reed, "Would you like to have a dog that lives here with us?" He got very excited very fast and said, "Yes! I wish I had a dog. I would like to have a dog."

So I guess that settles it. Reed is a normal kid and my mom and I are crazy as shit-house rats. Congratulations to us all.

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.

AHA.

I want to talk for a moment about something that's on all our minds: vaccinations.

Okay, so it's not on anybody's minds. It hasn't been on my mind for some time as Reed has been caught up on his shots for some time; I think he was probably around 2 or 2 1/2 the last time he had to get any immunations. But it's on my mind now, and I have a few things that I'd like to say.

When I was pregnant I read a LOT of pregnancy and child-rearing books. I think by the time Reed was born I had read eight or ten of them. Any time I ran across an article or website on the subject I'd read that, too. I was pretty much terrified, and the more knowledge I soaked up about the process of pregnancy, labor, and raising a kid, the calmer I felt about all of it. You can never know everything, but in my opinion you can never know too much, either.

One of the issues that started to stick out for me was childhood immunizations and their pros and cons. This has been a hot-button issue for several years, not least because some people claim that there is a link between these immunizations and the occurance of autism. The link seems to revolve around the use of thiomersal as a preservative in vaccines. Besides autism a lot of parents find that their kids have pretty severe adverse reactions to some immunizations like rashes and bad fevers and whatnot.

Listen, I am no expert, but I have read up on both sides of this debate and I have to tell you by the time Reed was born I was really worried about these vaccinations and what effect they were going to have on my tiny baby. Pregnancy is not a condition that is known for shoving one chock full o' logic and reason which is partly why I did so much reading: I wanted to be aware of what was realistic to be worried about and what wasn't.

My opinion by the time Reed got here was that it was realistic to be worried about it. Once he was here, once I knew him, the idea of something changing him (Jerkface get off my wording here, I know that "something" will eventually change my kid, but I think you get my point here) or of my making a choice that might alter his abilities horrified and terrified and paralyzed me. A lot of this was a result of some severe postpartum depression that I have only recently gotten a handle on. I mean, driving with Reed in the car I would think "What if I get in a wreck and he gets hurt?" and when he slept I would think "What if he chokes or stops breathing and I don't hear him?" OF COURSE after all that reading I was going to think "What if I get Reed all those immunizations and he stops making eye contact with me or stops saying a word that he says now?" PARALYZING.

After talking to Reed's pediatrician about it we decided- the doctor, Jason, and I- that Reed would get his immunizations but on a slower schedule than the schedule recommended by most pediatricians. The norm is to shoot your kid up with a LOT of vaccines in a short amount of time, sometimes four or five in one doctor's visit, and I didn't like that. Reed's doctor was understanding and kind and cooperative, and helped us work out a schedule that made me feel a lot better.

At some point a person who I was very close to judged me, openly ridiculed me for my concerns, and it hurt and embarrassed me and ultimately played a part in my total alienation from that person. That person had no children of her own and was very open about never wanting to have kids. She was also in the medical field which I'm sure is part of what made her so sure of herself in her judgements.

Again, I haven't really thought about it much in past year or so, but then I read this post on Dooce and reading what Heather has to say about it really made me feel good about all of it. I appreciate what she's saying about the real and extreme dangers involved in not immunizing your children. But what I really like in this post is her interest in other people's thoughts and her ability to welcome differences of opinion while still expressing her own.

Basically I am meandering around this point: Please, please, whether you have kids or don't have kids, want kids or don't want kids, know kids or don't know kids, allow your friends to grow and learn and work towards their own decisions without the added pressure of your impending gauntlet-throwing. It is always helpful to engage in discussion and debate on these kinds of topics, and if you're lucky everyone involved will learn something from them. But let's all take the time to either sympathise or empathise with how difficult, how mind-blowing, how crippling parenting can feel for some of us. Please know that when someone you love is trying to make any of the myriad important decisions associated with being a mom or a dad that that someone is probably trying really very hard to make the right decision when there is no right decision there. BE SUPPORTIVE, for fuck's sakes, and if you feel differently about something than your parent friend then talk to them about it. Make it a discussion, not a ruling.

Incidentally, Reed had what I'm pretty sure was an adverse reaction to one of his rounds of immunizations once. It scared the shit out of me. Of course the doctors at the emergency room didn't want to discuss whether or not it was related to the vaccine- they literally wouldn't say whether or not they thought the two things were related. But it made all of my fears and concerns and paranoia feel real, logical, tangible. I am a crazy bitch, but that doesn't mean that every thought I have is crazy.

It's kind of like how Taco Bell is really kind of a shithole, but not everything that they make there sucks. You know?

His rap name was Crazy D.

So, last night I dug out my journals from junior high and high school and read them.

BAD IDEA. Man, I was melodramatic as hell. And kind of a slut. A slutty, melodramatic bastard. There was also a short story about a fairy and poem about a twinkle- the title is What Is a Twinkle?

Dude, I thought I might submit to Cringe, or at least post some stuff here, but no way man. There is stuff in there that CLEARLY I have blocked out of my memory for a reason. When I got to the part where I wrote, "So I cheated on [redacted] yesterday with a boy named either Jon or Jay" (hey, mom!) I was like, "Okay, it's time to put these away."

Keep in mind by "cheated" I was talking about kissing, I was still a virgin at that point (BUT PROBABLY NOT BY CHOICE) but does that make it any better? DOES IT? And before you give me shit for not including his name in there, let me just say that with everything else I have going on I do NOT need to be screening phone calls from angry junior high boyfriends, boyfriends who had "rap names" and were in "gangs".

I'm pretty sure I'm going to burn them tonight in sacrifice to the god of cool because EVIDENTLY he must have thrown me a bone at some point, I don't know how any of you ever put up with me back then if the shit that came out of my mouth was remotely like the shit I was writing in my journals. I mean, I am well aware that I am not some kind of bastion of radness now, but I promise you I am cooler than a person who falls in love with a boy because he says "Damn, you got a big ass for a sixth grader!"

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

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

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

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

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

They call me her.

Tonight it's off to the Ting Tings at Workplay, courtesy of my friend Lindsey and her sweetass blog.

April Fool's Day!

Okay, so, now I've told my Costa Rica story and can finally get back to my much more important blather- you know: blahblahblah this life sucks blahblahblah crazy ex-wife blahblahblah fucking kids blahblahblah I guess I'll go to work blahblahblah drinking beer on the weekends blahblahblah laundry and I will kill Jason today blahblah.

Right? I mean, that's about it, right?

Hey, the next time you're wearing a slim-fitting denim pencil skirt and you've just finished using the bathroom, I want you to try and flush the toilet with your foot (like you do).

Just for funsies.