Okay, really? A slutty, ten-year-old witch?

The last several Halloweens have found my girlfriends and myself complaining that all of the prepackaged Halloween costumes for women are always slutty- slutty cheerleader, slutty nurse, slutty Snow White, slutty post woman, slutty police woman, slutty Goldilocks (FOR GOD'S SAKES, GOLDILOCKS WAS A CHILD). News flash: not all of us want to be slutty on Halloween. Some of us don't want to wear a tiny swath of spandex with our Cinderella-cleavage bursting out for all to see. But, you know, that's how it goes sometimes.

Then I happened across this on a website called Back To Basics Toys. I like the website, I like a lot of the stuff they sell, I've never ordered anything from them but I was considering a few things for Reed's next birthday. But THIS! No no no no NO, I tell you!



I seriously cannot deal with this shit, this idea that our daughters (okay, YOUR daughters) are supposed to be wearing fifteen pounds of make-up and a skirt with a sexy slit and a low-cut neck by the age of twelve (the largest size is for a 12-year-old girl), much less by the age of EIGHT (the smallest size listed), you sick, twisted motherfuckers! Lord help us all, I think we are veering madly into some sick, crazy, regrettable territory.

In a world where all our television programming is infested with "Let's Catch a Scary Pedophile!" shows, where lists of people who are convicted sex offenders are available on the internet, are we really also saying "Let's dress our young girls, very young girls, girls that are certainly too young to be viewed sexually, in some sexy, sexy stuff! It's just so darned cute!" And then that poor girl who modeled the outfit. Good Lord! What was her mother thinking? And the website or manufacturer or whomever is responsible for this? "Let's put this picture on the internet, where it's safe and sound and certainly no sexual deviants abound!" Listen, I get that anyone who puts pictures of their kid on the internet risks someone looking at them in different ways and for different purposes than they intend. I get that I put tons of pictures on my kids on the internet. But for fuck's sakes, it's a little different when you're TARTING UP YOUR KIDS AND STICKING THEM ON HERE FOR ALL TO SEE. There's something intentional about it, see? There is a huge difference between me saying, "Look, here's my kid cutting his birthday cake in his bike helmet and Batman shirt!" and someone else saying, "Look, here's my kid, my young daughter, wearing enough make-up to play understudy to Tammy Faye Bakker and a low-cut dress with a high slit! Maybe one day she'll have some boobs to fill it out!" I don't know if you see a difference, but I see a difference.

Point is, it's grotesque, and I think we're asking too much from these young girls when we allow them to dress like grown-ups, like slutty grown-ups, and then telling them to be chaste and save it for marriage, expressing concern about std's and teen pregnancy, espousing these ideals about kids should be kids and they are all growing up too fast. It seems to me that we should be teaching these girls that they have power and ownership over their own bodies and the way that they present those bodies has a lot to do with the way that they are perceived by others. I think that when we take these girls and say, "Aw, look, it's so cute when they dress like grown-ups!" that some part of their childhood is lost, something slips away when they start to think "Hey, I get a lot of attention when I dress this way". And plenty of girls realize that at some point, but I think that they're realizing it a lot earlier these days, using it a lot earlier these days, and I think stuff like this has a lot to do with it.

Also..

Hello there to anyone coming here from Suburban Bliss!

And thanks so much, Melissa, for the Sandisk slotRadio! I can't wait to try it out. I won I won I won!

Uh-oh. We're old.

Wow. Just... wow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Selections from an email exchange between friends:

I called him at NINE to see if he wanted to hang out. Fast fwd to 11:15 PM & he finally comes to pick me up. I was so sleepy (see my previous "Help, I have your sleep disorder!!" email), I figured a Red Bull would be a mere drop in the bucket -- WRONG. SO wrong. Luckily, he & his out of town guests were in it to win it, too, and so everybody is just now headed to bed after killing a 12 pack of Bud Light -- WITH LIME (ew), 1 entire bottle of Berringer white zin (oh God, college), and 3/4ths of another bottle of white zin (oh God, more college). Now I'm sitting outside basically sober, smoking a cigarette & trying to entice the neighbor's dog to come over so I can pat him on the head. (He's not buying it, though, & continues to eat grass in the front yard.) A neighbor just came outside, calling for Nick. I think that's the dog. A dog named Nick. I'm oddly amused. Yeah, the dog is DEFINITELY Nick. "Nick, come here RIGHT NOW!" etc. Hahaha. Also, I hope the neighbor doesn't decide to come over & get chatty w/ the stranger sitting on Jonathan's patio at 6:45 am, b/c I'm in no mood to be neighborly with strangers.

...

Holy fuck (by the way, I just typed "Wholy fuck!", and was like,
wait...)! I haven't gotten an email this long from you since I DON'T
KNOW WHEN.

...

I'm sure you know this, but I love when people give animals human names. And, like, names you regularly run across in casual conversation: Nick, Eric, KEITH. (One day, one of us WILL have a pet named Keith, I declare it. And by one of us, I mean me. That'll be the cat I get AFTER my Scottish Fold named Push Pin, which will be after I move out, which will be never, so you know. Yay! "And this? This is my imaginary bunny. Named Keith. Would you like to pet him? He's really imaginarily soft!")
In my drunken stupor last night, I left Dan a message on his wall, telling him "I totes understand about not being able to drive. I'm sure we can make some arrangements -- if you're not gonna bail, that is," with "totes" being my weirdo web speak for the word totally & something I try really hard to keep on the d/l in polite company, because not everybody gets it, and now that's all I'm hearing from him is "I'm not bailing....totes!" and, when I called him a smart ass, "What? I'm serious....totes serious!" Lordy. Do boys EVER grow up?? In other news, I think she is HIS AMPUTEE ROOMMATE. You totally wanna go to the party now, don't you?? (BTW, I just had to Google the word amputee to make sure I spelled it right, and you just don't wanna KNOW the shit it pulled up.) Also I just have to tell you that someone has flipped my poop switch and I CAN'T FIGURE OUT HOW TO SHUT IT OFF. I'm SERIOUS. PS: This email thread alone makes me hope and pray and hope and pray that somebody somewhere at your company is screening your emails, b/c this is what all snoopers hope for when they get into the business. Emails about amputees and pooping.

...

OH MY GOD AMPUTEES! CANCER!!!11 AAAAIIIIIIEEEEEEE!!!!117 You need sleep. I mean, if we were together right now, I would totally be on your level on account of I had some sleep and then I just had a cinnamon crunch bagel and a huge cup of coffee, but then around 11 you’d pass out and I’d be like, “Okay, now it’s time for Mexican.” “Totes?” “Totes?” “Totes?” Word's lost all meaning for me. He will probably never grow up; that is just him. I bet when he typed it he did his little squinty eyed laugh. I think it’s funny that he could even figure it out. If you want to pull out some 13-year-old, inside humor you could reply that he needs to drink his boooooooooost. You have to say it like that, Drink yer boooooooooooooost!

...

I bet he had to Google the phrase "internet slang" and "totes" to figure it out. Was it a cinnamon crunch bagel from Panera? Because I love that shit, except for when they sit in the break room for 8 straight hours and you go to the bathroom and the office smells like cinnamon crunch bagel and you come back from the bathroom and the office smells like cinnamon crunch bagel and you go to lunch and the office smells like cinnamon crunch bagel and you come back from lunch and the office smells like cinnamon crunch bagel until you want to Lysol every inch of your body because EVERYTHING SMELLS LIKE CINNAMON CRUNCH BAGELS. But. They are delicious. "A lighter: you have one?" Dude, I will never NOT love this. ALSO. WHAT THE FUCK WAS UP WITH THAT DRESS, MAN?? WAS SHE SAVING IT FOR LUKE PERRY, ER, I MEAN, ESPECIALLY, VERY SPECIFIC VAMPIRE SEX WITH BILL COMPTON???? That's got to be, hands down, the single ODDEST choice of wardrobe I've probably ever seen in a TV show. & I mean, it's not like she just APPEARED with it on! We had to SEE her picking that shit out! Intentionally! Some costume designer somewhere put SHITTONS OF THOUGHT! into Sookie's psychology behind that choice! In other news, I bet Bill was like "Awww, yeah! I get to fuck Maid Marian! Holla!"

...

First, yes, Panera cinnamon crunch. So, so good. I just went to the bathroom and found some of the crunch IN MY UNDERWEAR. That is not a joke- it is TOTES for realz. And yeah, after Jason and I watched the possum episode we sat at the table making funny dialogue and it was hilarious. And the dress! I was immediately like, “Where did she get that? A Rembrandt Fair?” And Jason was like, “Yes, that is exactly what they’re called, Buffy: a Rembrandt Fair.” And I was like, “Oh, what’s it called? What are those called?” He had to tell me IT'S A RENAISSANCE FAIR, BUFFY ‘cause I couldn’t remember. And that dress is fucking stupid as hell. Also, due to my facebook status and the ensuing comments yesterday, I will forever use the phrase “hanging up one’s meat coat” to refer to people who have become vegetarian. As in, Jason hung up his meat coat.

...

Well thank God you're going with the G-rated version. I was afraid it was gonna be the new "beef peach" -- gack.

True Schmutz.

An approximation of a tense scene in True Blood:

"I am not human. I am vampire. A lighter: you have one?"

"Non. But I do have this fireplace bread toaster. Let me show you it."

"Also, a Fresca. FUCK YOU! Holy shit. Are you high?"

"No. Well, yes."

*kiss kiss slurp slurp hump hump SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAM*

"Are yawl tawkin' about SLAYVES? I KNOW YAWL AREN'T TAWKIN' 'BOUT NO SLAYVES!"

"What a whore what a whore what a whore scary vampires..."

"I can hear yawl! I can hear those thawts yawl hayuv! Yawl are awl hillbillehs! Gawd! Awl sex up a vampuhr any time Ah feel lahk eet!" *stomp stomp stomp* "Let me put awn my Renaissance Faire dress and run through a feeyeld."

*zip sweat sweat slurp slurp hump zip*

"Aw, Chrahst, yawl, Ah'm in luv with a vampuhr! Whut? That's MAH shit! You git outta mah house!"

"Whut thuh fuck ever- I do what Ah wawnt! Watch whawl Ah geek out and fuck sum bitches!"

Aaaaaaaand scene. Thank you.

Sadly, I still like this show.

On Crocs. Of shits.

Okay, so, wait just a minute: has anybody else out there seen this website? It's hilarious! Here are a few of my favorite excerpts:

This is more than a fad and if you would be smart enough to try a pair on you would also understand why smart people were Crocs. Were do people like you have time for creating such stupid websites.

fuck u u fuckin blowjob. i from Korea and i wear crocs. crocs cool!

Nice blog you FUCKIN STUPID ASS DIPSHIT!!!
GET A FUCKIN LIFE!!!
My entire family wheres Crocs. They fuckin rock!
YOU FUCKIN SUCK SHIT!!! WHO GIVES A SHIT ASS FUCK ABOUT FASHION YOU FUCK!!!
FUCK YOUR FUCKIN BLOG!!! FUCK FUCKIN YOU!!!

And let me be clear: I like Crocs. I own two pairs of them. When I worked at the flower shop and had to be on my feet all day long and had to run back and forth and carry 35 pound buckets of water and foliage and the floors were slippery and it was hot in the summer and I didn't want to wear tennis shoes, these were GREAT. I wore them with socks in the winter. I loved them. My feet almost never hurt, and when they did it was only mildly.

But they are some of the GOOFIEST shoes I have ever seen, hands-down, just ridiculous. JUST RIDICULOUS.

So now we've stumbled into True Blood (no spoilers in this post, but there ARE spoilers in the Wikipedia article that is linked there, so if you aren't up to date on the series you could ruin some stuff if you read it JUST LIKE I DID MOTHERFUCKER). I kept hearing about it from various sources, so we Netflixed it and now we're hooked.

I suppose the best characterization of the show would be Southern gothic, vampire, sexy-sexy. Those are technical terms; for those of you who are laymen, I'm saying it's a lot of bad Southern accents and spooky music, sun and sweat, and pretty graphic sex scenes involving humans with humans, and humans with not-humans- namely, vampires. I'm sure there will eventually be vampires balling vampires, but I haven't gotten there yet so PLEASE DON'T SPOIL IT, FUCKERS.

I actually like it pretty well, because I am notoriously (notorious in my own head, at least) able to overlook melodrama, stereotyping, and REALLY FUCKING AWFUL dialogue spoken with about the WORST SOUTHERN ACCENTS I'VE EVER HEARD.

Seriously, Anna Paquin: not good at the Southern-speak. NOT. Stephen Moyer: one of the cutest boys I've ever seen (gah!), given some of the worst lines I've ever heard, not good at the Southern-speak. NOT NOT. Seriously, Sookie's holier-than-thou attitude along with Bill's I'm-a-Gentleman-of-the-Old-South phrasing get old pretty quickly. But I am able to overlook them in favor of the quirky, over-the-top plotlines- the love and lust, the mystery and murder, the feeling that there are massive things happening just under the surface, just where you can't quite see them.

The show does employ quite a few stereotypes which I can't decide if they're charmingly accurate, or frighteningly false and overused. There is the cute, ditzy Southern belle who is intelligent underneath it all; the Southern jock who gets all the girls; the bitter, angry black girl who wants to make sure everyone knows just how wronged she is; the kooky, gossipy grandma who always makes sweet tea or lemonade and cooks up three huge meals a day and always expects your best behavior; the gorgeous whore who is witty, self-important, and, above all, horny; and of course the scary, scary, sexy, sexy vampires. I just don't know; should we want more than the tired characters we've seen in a million other places, just rearranged in different orders with a little extra spice thrown in (i.e., a lot more boobs and asses and sweaty, naked bodies)?

Some things Reed says.

The kid is hilarious, by the way.

For one thing, he randomly adds the letter d to ends of words. "I'm Batmand!" or "What about Kaned?"... come to think of it, perhaps it's only words that end with n? Because he'll also say "oned" and "wond" and "rund". What's really odd about it is that it's not all the time; in other words, sometimes he'll say simply "Batman", but other times it's "Batmand". WHAT IS WRONG WITH MY KID IS IT AUTISM DOES HE NEED RITALIN WHAT THE FUCK?

I should add that perhaps it's me with the problem; I had to type "KID" about fifteen times because every time I did it, it came out "DIS". Hm.

We're also smack-dab in the middle of a begging phase, a phase that, if I take into account my own mannerisms throughout childhood, should last approximately 26 years, I think. The other night he was begging for us to let him have another popsicle, and he actually implored to Jason, "Please, man. Man, please." Jason and I both cracked up and gave him the damn popsicle, for the love.

Also lovable and odd is "yaw". Reed says "y'all" frequently, but it comes out "yaw". "I want to come widj yaw!" "Do yaw want a popsicle?" "Can I ride widj yaw?"

OH MY GOD IS HE A HICK WHAT THE FUCK?

Hilariosity.

From this article on this website:

Cats are dangerous in numerous ways: they have sharp claws and teeth; they can navigate in the dark using a complex navigation system embedded in their heads called “whiskers,” thus giving them an advantage during blackouts; and the only flesh they enjoy more than pig is newborn babies. So you make your choice. Will it be Mr. Jangles, or your precious, precious baby?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cleaning out my text messages.

- Oh my God! I hope you partied with pork at City Stages!

- Shole is. We have been tipsy since noon. I washed my hairs.

- Oh vodka. You my only friend.

- Evil baby! Hillbilly baby!

- I love your couch/why don't you have a pool?

- We can tell you about usufructuary, riparian and littoral water rights. Fun! Can you shoot me?

- I just realized I haven't washed my hair since last Saturday. My scalp be itchin.

- I just bought a 32 ounce Dr. Pepper and I still don't think it's gonna be enough.

- Lelaina really should have worn a bra with her doily dress.

- I was thinking a crossbow, but any port in a storm!

One sentence for each year of my life for my 30th birthday, which is tomorrow:

0-1: I am born.

1-2: We move from Shreveport, Louisiana to Centerville, Alabama because my dad is tired of running an Omelette Shoppe.

2-3: I have my first crush on a boy named Kenneth, and I call him "Nuff".

3-4: We move from Centerville back to my parents' home town of Leeds, Alabama.

4-5: I play outside with the boy across the street named Beau; we share our first kiss and both come down with strep throat.

5-6: I hate going to school because I'd rather just hang out with my mom all day; we watch Charlotte's Web at school and it traumatizes me.

6-7: My friend Kasie and I sneak down to the creek during recess and stay too long and get left outside, resulting in our both being paddled by the principal.

7-8: I get in trouble in school because the boy next to me keeps taking my pencil from me and I argue with him to give it back to me.

8-9: I start having pretty severe acne, and the kids at school call me "pizza face".

9-10: My teacher is Mrs. Dawson who is one of my favorite teachers ever; she reads us The Hobbit aloud.

10-11: My teacher is Mrs. English, my least favorite teacher I will ever have; she says things like "social sturdies", "dunkey", and "pyahcil" (social studies, donkey, and pencil) and makes us carry all of our books home if we get into trouble.

11-12: I start junior high at a different school and don't know anyone except for a few people who travel from Leeds to Gresham as well; I have my first boyfriend who I am afraid to kiss.

12-13: I stay at the new school even though my best friend goes back to Leeds; it ain't that great.

13-14: I go back to Leeds for eighth grade and meet the girl who will be one of my best friends for the next several years, the girl who taught me how to act like an idiot in front of large groups of people.

14-15: I go to Shades Valley R.L.C. for ninth grade, where they stress independence and self-discipline; I am good at the independence, not so much the self-discipline.

15-16: I lose my virginity to a guy who has pressured the hell out of me to do so.

16-17: I drive a manual shift truck and am best friends with a girl who will eventually overdose on Oxycontin.

17-18: I break up with my boyfriend to be with a girl who tried desperately to convince me that I'm gay; alas, I will not be convinced.

18-19: I am engaged to my tiny Italian boyfriend; we fight A LOT.

19-20: I break up with my tiny Italian boyfriend so's I can drink A LOT.

20-21: My friends and I have discovered a few bars that we can go to even though we're not 21, so we take a whole lot of advantage of it.

21-22: I calm down quite a bit, discover the me that I want to be, and fall in love with a high school senior.

22-23: I take the high school senior's virginity without nearly as much pressuring as I required to lose my own; I meet Lindsey who will become one of my closest friends.

23-24: I fall madly in love with Jason and break up with the de-virginized, formerly-high school senior and realize how badly I miss my childhood best friend.

24-25: Jason and I get married, beginning what is now 5 1/2 years of wonderful, terrifying, scary, excruciating, exhilarating life.

25-26: I am let go from a part-time retail job for asking off to study for college courses after being told "If you ever have studying that you need to do just ask, because college should be your priority"; I also find out that I'm pregnant.

26-27: I have a baby; it is nuts.

27-28: I spiral into the worst depression I have ever experienced; I am fired for this blog, and subsequently take one of the most interesting, high energy jobs I've ever had with the worst, most horrifying, soul-crushing, rude, heinous boss I've ever dealt with.

28-29: Jason and I have become photographers, and I start making jewelry; Kane and Jude's mom begins the process of becoming the most difficult, scary, mean, uncaring person I've ever had to deal with personally.

29-30: I am fired from another job; I finally begin to get a grip on my depression and anxiety after starting the first job I've ever had where I feel valued and appreciated.

30-31: Holy fuck, what's going to happen this year? Can somebody at least warn me if it's going to be really awesome or really terrible?

Come show your love to your hoes at our 30th birthday party (Kristi, Lindsey, and myself) at Stealth Arts, June 27th, 8 pm. I may even be drunk by 10, hungover by 1, and drunk again by 3. Come place bets.

Have you ever wondered why I am the way that I am? Ever wondered what's going on in my head? Well, read this. This right here is going on in my head at least a few times a week.

Some notes on City Stages 2009 in list-form:

1. Alabama, what the crap with the hot? I went to City Stages last year and it was hot, BUT NOT THIS HOT. Good Lord, with the sun and the sweating and the sun.

2. Styx: Rocked my socks right off my body. I actually wasn't wearing socks because, I might not have mentioned, IT WAS HOT, but these guys still knocked my metaphorical socks off. Thank goodness these guys still tour and thank goodness we went to see them, because they were on top of things.

3. Plain White T's: Pretty decent for some young, pretty white guys. There were lots of moms with their kids and their $5 pizzas, and lots of screaming young women. But the band was impressively tight and together. And one of them was wearing a plain, white t.

4. Indigo Girls: I still love you after all these years, and you ladies still got it. I love the diversity of the crowd of fans who love you: black, white, gay, straight, girls, boys, old, and young.

5. Eric Hutchinson: Refreshingly honest, real music from a talented guy who clearly loves what he's doing. But, dude, don't wear a suit in Alabama at an outdoor festival in June. It was giving me pains just to look at you in all that material. We met him after the show and I said, "You clearly didn't know what you were getting in to when you got dressed today." He laughed and said, "Naw, naw, always fashion first!" That right there is a Yankee for you.

6. Jonny Lang: This guy has been amazing me for over ten years, and Saturday was no exception. He brings the authentic, searing, heart-wrenching blues of an old, hardened, jaded man in the form of a 27-year-old dude. Jonny plays the guitar like no one I've ever seen in person, furious and heated and unstoppable, uncontrollable, and he sings as if his body is somehow channeling the voices of some of the greatest musicians in history.

7. Guster: You guys are one of my very favorite bands, and I am so glad I saw you, grateful that you came, and just a tad proud of myself for managing to come to your show alone. You played the Airport Song, the first Guster song I ever heard, and you played Red Oyster Cult, one of my favorite songs ever. You guys are just so much fun and I couldn't wipe the huge, goofy grin off of my face the whole time I was listening.

8. Young Jeezy: This guy pulled the biggest crowd that I witnessed at City Stages. I have to admit that I don't know his music, although Chris, upon learning that I would be going to see Young Jeezy, did an impressive impression of his collaboration with Akon and then immediately sat down at his computer to download the song. Seriously, the audience was packed in like sardines and everyone started getting restless when he was late coming onstage; there were some fights and some tense moments but when Young Jeezy took the stage the crowd got lost in dancing and bouncing and couldn't be bothered with being mad any more.

9. Lynyrd Skynyrd: These guys had the most crowded pit at City Stages (the pit is the media area between the stage and the crowd). There were probably 20 of us jostling for photos and video. It was dark and loud and tight and HOT, hothothot. But man, this band loves what they do; they bring the energy and the love and the excitement. They look great and sound great, and I'm glad that I stuck around to see them in spite of how tired and worn out I was. Also did I mention it was hot?

More on Leonard.

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

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

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

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

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

So, yeah.

Originally uploaded by buffpuff

I just photographed one of my top-4 favorite bands ever.

And I also photographed Young Jeezy and Lynyrd Skynyrd.

Go take a look.

City Stages.

Lindsey and I will be covering City Stages for al.com this weekend, and I'm very excited about it- Lindsey does write-ups and video, and I do photographs and severe inebriation.

I am particularly excited about the Indigo Girls, Jonny Lang, Guster, and the Pine Hill Haints.

Here's to being ridiculously sweaty and being tossed about by thousands of people!

Karaoke and appendectomies.

Holy cow, this past weekend was pretty nutty. Kane had an emergency appendectomy, I karaoked Shania Twain's Any Man of Mine, and Lindsey got hit on by a 23 year old. I AM SO TIRED.

Lindsey and I went out Saturday night and bar-hopped a bit and ended up at an all-night karaoke joint we have been known to frequent in the past. Of course we stayed out too late and arrived home to Kane power-puking in the bathroom with the door open. Jason got up and was like, "Oh, yeah, he's been puking."

The next morning as I was just about to expire from the hangover, Jason informed me that he was taking Kane to the emergency room because he was having some cramps that could indicate appendicitis. He called a couple of hours later and said it wasn't his appendix, it was just a stomach virus, and they were giving him nausea medicine and fluids. He called a couple of hours after that and said Kane was still cramping so they were taking blood and running tests and giving him an iv because he was so dehydrated. They eventually did an x-ray and discovered that Kane's appendix isn't situated in the normal place and woops! it WAS his appendix, he DID in fact have appendicitis and oh yeah, they needed to remove his appendix.

I would also like to point out, because it is just so predictable, that while Kane and Jason and Jude arrived at the hospital around 10:00 am, and Kane was finally wheeled into surgery around 5:30 pm, Kane's wonder-mom didn't show up at the hospital until 6 pm. The only reason I want to point this out is that it is just indicative of the kind of shit she pulls that makes me go WHAT THE FUCK, PEOPLE?

But all is well; Kane was in and out of surgery very quickly and everything went fine and he's recovering. I would also like to say that after the surgery, still high on the anesthesia, Kane was quietly resting in his bed and then would randomly spout lines from the Office ("What kind of bear is best?"). So funny.

It was just nutty, a nutty day and a nutty chain of events, and I'm glad everything is okay.

Jude,

Today you are ten.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.