Reply with a star date and coordinates for rendezvouses.

You are going to have to read this, and just keep reading all the way to the end, all the way through the comments that people left at the bottom. This had me laughing several different times. Here are some of my favorite moments:

this sounds pretty koo

I do not speak Klingon,
How ever I am open to interspecies relationships.
I am starfleet and have a uniform.
I am 6'2 w hazel eyes.
reply with a star date and coordinates for rendezvouses.

I have an hedonistic and somehow artistic point of view about of life, made of perfect scenes, days like music, hours like paintings and sex like pictures.

Just thought I would write because I make a mean roasted turkey...

The lizard king approves of your post and gives it 5 blue buses.

Stormy weather.

Originally uploaded by buffpuff

Last night the ominous, indifferent sound of the sirens woke me up around 3:30 a.m. I tripped over about 7 toys and a couple of odd shoes until I made my way to the living room, where I turned on the television to find red and fuschia flashing patches over maps of my county and my city. Jason and I watched and realized that it was moving quickly towards us, and I actually started to get nervous. Jason was due at work at 4 a.m., so he left for work during the calm before the storm; all was quiet, and he said everything would be fine.

About two minutes after he left, the house was surrounded by an intense whirring noise, which I finally figured out was "just the wind". Next came heavy rain and hail, and anything that wasn't tied down around the house was flying about, knocking up against the outside walls. The cable went out, so no more weather updates on the news. I sat on the futon holding a flashlight and my cell phone and waited- for something to happen, for a gut feeling that I needed to wake up all the kids and hustle them into the bathroom, for the urge to poop. I called my mom and her power was out but she said that the worst had already passed and it would probably pass us in the next couple of minutes. We got off the phone and I waited and sure enough, minute by minute the wind and rain got quieter. The hail stopped.

By 4:30 I was falling asleep to the gentle pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof, not realizing how bad the damage would be, not realizing that all around us people would be cleaning garbage and limbs and pieces of their own homes and lives out of their yards, not realizing just how lucky we are.


This morning the air around us smells intensely like a sawmill, so much so that it's turning my stomach a little bit. The police have our street blocked off to try and divert some of the traffic that's coming through just to get a look at the worst of the damage. The kids are home, the schools closed. I think a lot of people are still without power; ours never even went off. And right in the middle of all the bad luck, the complaining I've done, I am reminded that it can always get worse. Today I'm thankful to have a roof, a heater that works, little sweet people around me, and a husband who can drive from Leeds to Mountain Brook in the middle of a really awful storm unscathed.

Love, Buffy.

Coming home from a trip is always depressing for me; I'm not really sure, maybe it's the end of something I've looked forward to, or having to leave the people I've been dying to see, or going back to work, or going back to a stinky catbox and moldy leftovers in the fridge. Whatever it is, it's the way it's always been.

Today I'm particularly overwhelmed; I'm not afraid to reveal that I am having the first period I've had since the beginning of November. It has been a while, and the intense rush of hormones is really hitting me hard tonight. The melancholy and fear and loneliness and just the absolute ache, it's like a large blunt object hitting me in the back of my head from inside my stomach.

It's a bad night for the Oscars, and YES, the Oscars should always be planned around my menstrual cycles, because every speech and every look and all the subject matter is just keeping me in tears and I'm running out of tissues.

I've always been a movie-watcher, a person who enjoys films- comedies, tragedies, documentaries, musicals, cartoons, whatever there is. There was a time when I knew a lot about film, the making of, the content of, the best actors and best performances. I am no longer so much in the know. Since I had Reed I have been, shall we say, emotional, and it makes me avoid things that bring too much to the surface. Really, the sadness or fear or regret that a good movie brings out in me will last days, sometimes weeks, and I've found myself in a place where I just don't even pay attention to what's coming out and what's on dvd and what's nominated and who's a hopeful, if only as a defense mechanism. I'm too afraid, really, of what I might feel and how long it might take to go away to get involved. It's sad, because when I was invited to join an Oscar pool I realized that I hadn't seen a single film that had been nominated in any category this year. While it's true that the pool was about guesses, whether educated or not, and I was welcome to join in and give my best guess regardless, it's still sad to think how much good shit I'm missing. I mean, I'm thoroughly aware that I chose not to see the movies, that this isn't something that is being done to me or something that is just happening to me, but it's still all sad.

In other words, I'd be sad if I was watching them, and now I'm sad that I'm not watching them.

Right now someone needs to be handing Jason a medal for staying married to me.

Anyway, I decided that I would write the Oscar speech that I will give if ever I win one. I mean, with all those speeches about not giving up and never recognizing the impossible, I am realizing that I could one day win an Oscar in any one of the many categories. So I decided to think about what I'd like to say.

Thank you to the Academy for recognizing my intense dedication to my craft. This Oscar for Best Jokes Ever/Most Stylish, Affordable, and Unique Jewelry Ever/Best Most Serious Actress/Best Friend/Most Attention to the Picking Up of Socks/Best On-Set Cheerleader/Best Keep-Your-Drinks-Full Lady really means so much, because it reinforces my deep love of actors, movies, entertainment, and the art of getting away from it all (thank you, Jack Nicholson).

Thank you to my husband for being able to deal with it all, for taking care of my children when I can't, and for being so supportive, attentive, unwavering, trustworthy, and so different from every other man I've ever spent any time with.

Thank you to all the other people in the film- Johnny Depp, Leonardo DiCaprio, Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Çasey Affleck, I love you all. I'm sorry that I can't say yes to all of your lovely, heartfelt marriage proposals, but Jason Agan is a sexy motherfucker, too hot for words really, but just in case he ever wises up and leaves me I'll keep your numbers so I can call you and cry and read you haikus that I wrote for Jason that he won't respond to when I send them to him on Myspace.

Thank you to Russell Means, Sherman Alexie, John Kennedy Toole, and Kurt Vonnegut for writing that makes me at once so sorrowful and joyous that it has inspired me to keep living, if only to see if maybe life is as interesting, as heart-breaking, as unforgiving and callous, as rewarding as you all make it out to be.

Thank you, finally, to God and my mother for bringing me into this world that is so terrifying, horrifying, beautiful, and odd, but bringing me into a particular place where I am not in the middle of a war, not physically or mentally abused, not afraid for my life (in an immediate sense), not homeless, not alone, not forsaken. Thank you both for giving me this life in which I am surrounded by these crazy, ridiculous people who love me and take care of me, without whom I would be so lost, so lonely, so abjectly pointless, that I would have to just bash myself on the head with this Oscar and get it over with. Thank you for bringing me into a world where there is a Reed to talk to me about playing guitar with his pick, where there is an Aunt CJ and an Uncle Rog to laugh with me and remind me why life should be celebrated and to teach me how to make a latte, where there is a Kristi to come home to even if I have to wait a few days because she's in law school WHAT AN EXCUSE, where there are beaches and big water and sand and family and parties and dancing. AND DANCING.

Thank you, Nick Agan, for not ripping my arms out of their sockets. This has allowed me to keep writing, keep typing, and keep picking my nose at red lights.

And thank you, True Baker, for just letting me know that there exists a seven-foot-tall, John Kennedy, Jr. look-alike who is sweet and loves his mother and asks me to dance. You may not be quite as sexy as my tattooed, red-headed husband, but that's an awful lot to live up to, especially with all that equine-vetting you have to do, and I will definitely recommend you to all of my friends.

The bayou, Aunt CJ, the Jimmy I never knew, and a wedding tomorrow.

Tonight has been a night of telling tales, reliving old times, relating more recent ones, and just plain, old making shit up. Maybe not making shit up, but wondering if we were.

I feel a lot like this life is a really, awfully hard one, for everybody really, and there are stories and moments and memories and just things imagined that break my heart.

Tonight Jason is asleep like a baby, deeper and more sound than I've seen him in a long time, goosedown and a kitty named Elliott singing his lullaby.

I'm sleeping on a bayou tonight, and the air is thick with things untold and things waiting to happen.

Mama, I love you and I'm sorry that your life is so hard. I hope that the things I've done to make it harder haven't been too much to bear. I hope that the good things I've brought to you have been enough to make you happy that I'm here. I hope that you can get past all the things that have made you sad, all your gut-wrenching disappointments, to find joy in guitars, picks, footballs and xylophones.

Tonight I go to bed waiting for Biddy to tell me that everything is going to be okay. I know that it probably will be, but it's nice when a dead person takes the time to tell you.

I would like some wine with this cheese.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scratch, scratch, scritch scratch.

So last night, totally exhausted, Jason and I snuggled up in bed around ten. Jason wasn't in the best mood because I had nagged him to fold a load of jeans while I washed the dinner dishes, so when we started hearing the scampering, scraping and scratching above our heads he wasn't happy.

I've mentioned the squirrels fucking in our ceiling; last night they weren't so much fucking as squirreling- scratching about, making noises, just generally making angry the man of the house. Jason got up and banged on the ceiling a few good times, which did nothing whatsoever. He went poking about and stepped into our closet to have a listen from there; he said, "Buffy. Come here."

I stepped into the closet and followed his pointing finger to discover a little hole in the ceiling, a little place where something had popped or scratched or scraped through the popcorn.

I have to tell you, I NEARLY SHAT MYSELF. Now I can't stop thinking about squirrels and rodents and RABIES, RABIES, people. It has made it's way into the house!! It has GUTS and GUMPTION and I will run away if I see it. Jason jammed a small suitcase underneath it so whatever has been poking its rabies-laden nose through there can do so no longer, but now I'm thinking, it'll just do it again! Next thing I know there will be little holes everywhere in the ceiling, with little noses and eyes poking through! GROSS. SCARY. I mean, what we heard last night was likely the sounds of the next hole, the next stop on the way to Buffy's insanity.

It's a short trip.

I think I'm turning orange.

I finally managed to get some new things up on Etsy tonight, and I'm feeling pretty good about it. I got a request to make some earrings to match one of my pendants; hopefully I'll be able to work on that tomorrow night.

I'm fighting tooth and nail to not be a sick person; I take a multivitamin and a B complex every day already. Now I'm taking an extra C tablet, and using Airborne three times a day. And still my throat hurts, and my chest feels tight and sore.

I really, really don't want to be sick. This Friday will mark the end of a week in Hell at my job, and it will be the birthday of one of my favorite girls in the world. Also Jason and I are miraculously both off work on Saturday which never happens, so Friday will be the perfect night to go out and celebrate IF I can just not be sick.

Don'tbesickdon'tbesickdon'tbesick.

The good things in life are free.

I know that I've been writing a lot about the bad things lately, and I'm glad that you have been sticking with me through all of it. I decided it might be good for all of us if I made note of some of the good things.

- I've been making a lot of pretty jewelry these days. I haven't had a chance to post it on Etsy yet, but I'm sure I'll get to it in the next few days.

- Kane, Jude, and Jason are on the mend. I think Kane and Jude will go back to school tomorrow, and Jason is off work tomorrow so he still has one more day to rest and recuperate.

- I haven't gotten fired.

- At the very heart of it, when I can get away from the absolute insanity that is my job, I really like the actual work that I'm doing. It's creative and intense and never, never dull.

- People read this blog and comment.

- Jesus is listening.

- I have not been buying anything off of eBay. Apparently I make jokes that are SO awesome, people don't get it.

- Sometimes I sleep for, like, eight hours at a time.

- I eat breakfast almost every day.

-Reed and I haven't gotten the flu.

- My family and friends are sweet and caring and funny and concerned and fun and I have fun when I'm with them.

- My husband is smokin' hot. Even with all the snot and body aches and coughing.

- My two-year-old child told me today that I'm pretty. I might not always agree with him, but I know that I'm trying to be pretty. And at least I am to him.

Clorox wipes- check. Vitamin C- check. Large bottle of vodka- check.

It really only gets better and better around here. I'm entering a time of year at my job, a period of a couple of weeks in which everyone I work with goes totally bonkers, stiff with dread. I've gotten a lot of advice over the past few days since this is my first time to attempt to traverse the insanity at this establishment during the Valentine's day season. I've been told to eat my Wheaties, take my vitamins, bring snacks, pack a flask, duck and cover- the list goes on and on. We've been givin several sheets of typed instructions, flat and black, ominous on the paper, on what to ask and inform every single person we talk to on the phone.

Given the seriousness, the absolute terror this season inspires, my boss rather matter-of-factly told me that regarding my children I need to make sure I "make other arrangements" for the next couple of weeks. She was referring to the fact that any time one of them is sick, I call in to work and stay home with them. If Jason is off work, he stays with them, and sometimes my mom stays home from work with them, but usually it is I. I don't ever expect to find a job where they tell me "you know it's really fine for you to call in any time you want to", but I also really don't know what other options we have when it comes to sick children. I mean, Kane is almost 12, so pretty soon he'll be old enough to stay home alone. But Jude is 8 and Reed is 2; they just might still need some supervision.

Nonetheless, I've been told to make other arrangements. OH BUT GUESS WHAT? Jason, Kane, and Jude all have the flu! The absolute motherfucking influenza! It's great news, right? Now yesterday I went all over the house Clorox-wiping in hopes that Reed, Jason, and I might not catch what Kane and Jude have; Jason came down with it, Reed appears to be okay, and I've been nauseated, nasally, hot-eyed, and slightly sore-throated all day. The only good news is that I've been feeling mildly like this for about a week-and-a-half now, so maybe it won't go any further than this.

In other news, I chose all of this. I totally forgot that I ordered postpartum depression off of eBay for $17.34 plus shipping. Damn! I missed the 7 day return period, too, as I purchased it in December 2005. Stupid, stupid me.

Working together.

Mm, fighting with Kane and Jude's mom about whether or not she's going to grow up and take care of her kids every now and then is just so refreshing. I was going to write out the entire exchange, but suffice it to say that she wants to let us do all the work even though we each actually work 40 hours a week AT JOBS, and then take care of three children; the fact that we worry about bus schedules, field trips, lunch money, homework, and clean underwear with absolutely no financial assistance from her isn't enough. She also feels like if the kids are sick we should be calling in to take them to the doctor and feed them chicken soup. While she sits at home and smokes cigarettes and buys cars.

Nice, huh?

I was thinking today that I'm ready for a new tattoo, and I'd like to find something lovely that somehow represents my most recent resolution- that I'm going to start letting people know if they're hurting my feelings or wronging me in some way. And then it hit me- I just need a big tattoo of a bird. Right on my forehead. Obviously I'm not talking about Tweety here; I need a good old-fashioned, long, skinny, erect middle finger right in the middle of my head.

Because, really, it would save me so much time, breath, and energy to be able to just show people what I'm thinking in the first place.

Happy birthday, Steph!

Originally uploaded by cuttingroomfloor

Way late, but late is better than never.

I've been "written up" for being late to work, because the mornings are so unpredicable so I'm late to work sometimes.

Then this morning, I got a nice, fat speeding ticket trying to hurry to work. The sad part is that I would have been on time if I hadn't gotten pulled over.

Stupid, inconvenient policemen.

I made my first sale on Etsy, and I have some serious awesomeness that I'm working on to post on my store some time in the next couple of days. I have high hopes.

Our finances are totally in the shitter, but my marriage has really been enjoying some good times lately. I'm not perfect, but I'm working on it; I think Jason enjoys watching the process.

To all of you who have been saying nice things to me, sending me sweet messages and calling me and spending time with my defective ass, I love you. The people who surround me right now are the best I've ever had. I've never felt so supported, so cared for, so loved in my entire life. Y'all just brace yourselves; it's either going to get so much better or so much worse from here- and either way I will react with a lot of yelling, spanking, hugging and drinking.

To the folks I know who are waiting for me to break, who are banking on my downfall, I hope one day you get a life. This one isn't yours, and it ain't going no where.