Slowly getting back to normal. Whatever that is.

Sleeping Duque.
Originally uploaded by cuttingroomfloor

We're slowly but surely getting all our things moved in at my mom's house. GAH, we have a lot of shit. I mean, loads and loads of shit.

We've moved most of the furniture, and our artwork, our books, our movies. And, while we've moved some of our clothes, HOLY CRAP at all the clothes we still have to move. And I have seriously already donated about 10 garbage bags full of clothes, shoes, and purses to Goodwill. For fuck's sakes, I don't know how we had it all in our house to begin with.

Duque is settling in especially well here. He's had a lightness about him, a spring in his step, that I've never seen before. He can play with Gretchen (my mom's Jack Russell terrier), or her abundance of cats. I think he really loves that, so far, he's been sleeping in our bedroom floor instead of his crate.

Reed loves this, loves living at Ma's house, and our only problem with him so far is that he is determined to sleep with Ma every night. We're working on getting him to sleep in his own room, and I'm hoping that's going to happen before we all go crazy.

Anyway, boring post, I know, but that's what's going on over here. What's going on with you?

Cleaning out my text messages.

- So, everyone has nipple hair. I feel so vindicated.

- BE COOL IS IT THE FUZZ

- I wouldn't talk to Alan Hunter about Mtv because I try not to reward people's mediocrity. How sad it must be to have peaked in the 80's.

- This thing is kind of a celebration in kissing your own ass. I've never seen so many self important assholes walking around, smiling smugly at one another.

- I just got Chik Fil A because I was craving it like a business of ferrets.

- I guess my dead Phish spell hasn't quite kicked in yet.

- You have no idea how often I've wished you were here this afternoon specifically to YELL shitty dick at people.

- I AM LIKE CUCUMBER

- I just had a shot of tequila. You people should be concerned.

- 'slam on my breaks'- is that like 'devaining shrimp'?

- I am craving a hillock of beans.

- A hotdog just told me to do the wave.

- My lovecan's wasted.

"Who says I can't get stoned; pick my nose in my house alone."

So, then, here I am at my mom's house. We're about half-way moved in, and everything is hectic and mixed up and every time we need something- clean underwear, socks, toothbrush- we have to figure out if it's here or there.

This is the part I hate about moving: moving.

What's cool about moving in here is that my mom has internet. INTERNET! How I've missed you. It's been right about one year since we lost internet at our house; one year since I've been able to roll out of bed and check my email, or read my favorite blogs, or job search, or write something new here. I'm looking forward to being able to do that again.

Plus, you know, PORN. Gotta love the porn.

Okay, I've got Jason dancing around in his underwear singing John Mayer right now. I've gotta go.

Check me out in Birmingham Magazine!

We'll all float on anyway.

Hm, where to start? I've already written about getting laid off, and about my uncle dying. Let's see; what else?

Well, on Friday we got a letter in the mail that our house has been foreclosed, and that we have ten days (until October 10th) to vacate. PARTY, right? So we've been planning and packing and trying to figure out how to fit all of us into my mother's house. It's not that small of a house, it's just the plan of action, and figuring where to put all our shit- really that should be ALL OUR SHIT EXCLAMATION- once we get there.

So this morning I called the lawyer for the mortgage company to find out if that date, October 10th, was the definite date we had to be out, because if we could get even a couple more days it would make things so much easier for us. The attorney said that we should call our mortgage company and ask for an extended vacate period, that they do that all the time, that it's nothing out of the ordinary. So I called Citimortgage at the number he gave me and spoke to Avery, who had no idea what I was talking about, and that I should call Joe X- I'm not shitting you, JOE X is who I should talk to. So I called the number Avery gave me for JOE X, and Kathy answered and said she had never heard of JOE X, and that the number I called was her direct line and she had never heard of a JOE X and that she doesn't work with loans and I could try Safeguard, the property management company. So I called Safeguard, and the girl there told me they had nothing to do with any of it, and I should talk to my mortgage company. THANKS. So I called the mortgage company again and spoke with a girl who said that there's nothing they could do; had we asked for assistance they might have been able to help us out. I said, "We DID ask for assistance; we filled out your hardship package TWICE and never heard from you guys, and every time we've called we've been told that our case has been turned over to someone else and that someone else is off today so we'll have to call them tomorrow." Then I asked to speak to her supervisor. Her supervisor Ashley informed me that we should call the sheriff's office to find out when we actually have to be out of the house and if we can get and extension. I said, "You're telling me that YOU can't tell me, and no one there at Citimortgage can tell me when we're supposed to be out of the house." She replied, "Yes." So then I said, "Hey, are you guys hiring? Because I need a job and I could come sit down there and not know what I'm doing for ten or twelve dollars an hour." I SERIOUSLY SAID THAT, I AM SUCH A BADASS. So I called the sheriff's department and they had no idea what I was talking about and I spoke to three different people including SMALL CLAIMS (a mortgage? small claims? seriously?) and probate and nobody knew anything about it. So now I've called the attorney again and left a message and I'm waiting to hear back.

DO NOT, FOR THE LOVE, EVER GET A MORTGAGE THROUGH CITIMORTGAGE. PLEASE. FOR YOUR OWN SAKE, DON'T DO IT.

Also, last night, Jason's ex-wife's husband started sending him threatening text messages about how he's coming to our house and Jason is a "jackass" and a "sorry ass". Oh, and I haven't even told you the half of what's been going on. I've been debating how much I'm going to write here about what's been going on with Jason's kids, so suffice it to say that everything is all messed up and the blame falls on me, on my being scary and threatening, and now my husband can't spend time with his kids and my son can't spend time with his brothers because of it.

All else I know to say on that is, 1) I am proud of this blog. I love to write, and I like everything I've written here. I enjoy every one's comments, whether good or bad, and I like knowing that people are looking at this blog. I don't regret the things I've written here because I am allowed to express love and exasperation and I am allowed to use sarcasm and exaggeration when I do it; I am allowed an opinion. If you don't like my opinion, don't read my blog. 2) I love Kane and Jude, tons and tons, more than I am capable of expressing here, and I have always treated them with love and respect and the things that I've written here about them speak to how deep and real that love is. Sometimes I write about day-to-day things like SOCKS! and COATS!, but I haven't written anything on this blog about any of that stuff that I haven't said out loud to Kane and Jude. And 3) I don't write this blog for children to read. The internet is a big, scary place and there is a lot of stuff out there that isn't for children. My blog certainly isn't the worst of it; there are all kinds of things scarier like PORN and CARROT TOP and REPUBLICANISM that kids could be looking at, but all the same, this blog is not for kids.

So, I think that about gets us up to speed. Thoughts? Questions? 'Ludes?

I wrote here not too long ago about the horrific slaughter of dolphins that has been occuring and the documentary that has come out about it, The Cove. My mom has a spiritual and sentimental attachment to dolphins that I'm not going to go into here; suffice it to say that the subject feels very close to home for me.

I've just watched a documentary called Sharkwater, and it too was horrific. Did you know that Taiwan pays Costa Rica huge amounts of money for fishermen to illegally fish sharks, cut their fins off, and send them to Taiwan for soups, pills, etc.? Costa Rica is a country that makes a lot of money off of ecotourism, and shark fishing is technically illegal, yet hundreds of thousands of sharks die there in the waters around Cocos every year. Did you also know that, as a result of intense pressure from fishermen, Galapagos allowed longline fishing of sharks for a time? It has since become illegal again, but for fuck's sakes, Galapagos! It's a place that's known for being home to some of the most rare and interesting animals on earth, and one of the biggest threats in Galapagos now is illegal shark fishing (The most pressing threat to the Marine Reserve comes from local, mainland and foreign fishing targeting marine life illegally within the Reserve, such as sharks (hammerheads and other species) for their fins, and the harvest of sea cucumbers out of season.)

Have you ever watched fishermen catch sharks and "obtain" the fins? They use long lines, miles and miles long, with lots of hooks attached all along the line. When they haul the sharks onto the boats, sometimes they're already dead, but sometimes they're still alive. They slice off all the fins including the tail (even with the live ones) and toss the body back into the ocean. Fishing in this manner means that they catch all sorts of things, sailfish and other species that they aren't looking for, and all different kinds of sharks including hammerheads and tiger sharks and even whale sharks, a species that has no teeth and filter feeds, eating things like algae and krill.

We humans get the majority of our oxygen (that we need to survive) from the ocean. This shark fishing is rapidly killing off the animal that is at the top of the food chain in the ocean, and no one knows how badly this will upset ocean ecology, marine life as a whole when there are no more (or just drastically less) sharks. Sharks are the oldest living animal on this planet, older than dinosaurs, and they've survived and thrived for this long in nature, until now we're killing them off, obliterating them.

The man who made the documentary Sharkwater, Rob Stewart, talks about how he's always been drawn to sharks, how watching them die is like watching his family die. His intense concern for sharks reminds me a lot of my mother's connection with dolphins.

I realize that there are terrible things happening all over the world, that there are fifty million different causes to be concerned about, but I think the first step to change is to talk about these problems, to get the word out. In the film Sharkwater it is said that to make change, you don't need everyone in the world to fight for change, you really only need a few people who are really passionate about it. So I'm just trying to help get the word out.

Cleaning out my text messages.

- So many douchebags, so little time.

- I FOLLOW THROUGH WITH MY HYPERBOLE, BITCH!

- Can you or would you be willing to ghostbust?

- BUFFY. There's a girl in Wal-Mart who is the TRUE embodiment of 10 lbs of shit in a 5 lb bag.

- Why do good hair days only happen on days when you have nothing to do but watch Gilmore Girls and eat slices of turkey lunch meat?

- I want a baby. What? Did that come out?

- My mom watches some dumbass soap opera and she's watching it now and I looked up and there's Kevin Arnold's mom, being a skanky ho.

- I am wearing shorts with a one-inch inseam and a Snapped t shirt. I think this qualifies as letting oneself go. I had an icecream sandwich for lunch.

- You can just lick the doorknob.

- Is she a Republican? Does she like Nickelback?

- I feel like a big dirty whore most of the time. I embrace my big dirty whoreness.

- I just folded your dumbass linens. I should be getting paid.

- I am dismayed by the youth.

- I feel like a prized asshole.

- Your lame leg is somebody else's pot o' gold!

- Gutter is a tool! Gutter is a tool!

- Hangover, I am your bitch lover.

- Dick Cheney: still a douche.

"Things that we learn are no longer enough."

Hoo, boy, I don't even know where to start. Not that much exciting has been happening anyway, so there probably isn't actually even that much to say.

Life has been weird, difficult, trying, unpredictable.

So, you know, pretty much like any other time in my life.

I keep thinking of ways to make things better, steps to take, and I can't seem to muster any motivation when it counts. I'm having a lot, A LOT, of trouble getting things done, finding the persistence to work on my life.

I've been reading a lot, watching movies, the usual modes of procrastination. I've also been using a lot of energy just to get through each day without whacking myself in the face with a hammer, whac-a-mole style.

Again, like any other day.

I really hope I can get things going again on this blog soon. I am really very proud of a lot of the things I've written here, and I don't want to let it go by the wayside. It's been suggested to me recently that this blog has caused me so much trouble that I ought to just take the whole thing down, and that idea made me so sad, really really depressed, so I think I'm going to stick with it a while longer and see what happens. Selfish, maybe; it's just that it has really meant a lot to me, really gotten me through a lot of things to be able to document them here. I enjoy getting it out, working things out in type, and I love and appreciate everyone's comments, advice, encouragement.

There have been times when this blog has been all that has gotten me through the day. I'm just not willing to toss it out yet. Thanks to those of you who are sticking with it with me. I love y'all.

Ring Bearer.

Ring Bearer.
Originally uploaded by buffpuff

Here is a photo of Reed when he was in Kristi and Chris' wedding a few weeks ago.

So cute.

In Memory.

File0103.jpg
Originally uploaded by buffpuff

My sweet Uncle Vann passed away yesterday. Somewhere I have a recent picture of Vann with Reed in his lap. When I find it, I'll post it.

We all love and miss you.

I don't have the energy to title.

Okay, I'm very sorry I haven't written much here lately. We still don't have internet at the house, so it's kind of difficult for me to get around to writing these days.

I've applied for unemployment, so hopefully that will come through in the next couple of weeks. Hell, hopefully I'll get a job. But I try not to dream too big.

If I'm going to be totally honest, I have to tell you that life has been hell this past couple of weeks. Really, life has been hell for this last couple of years. But hey, tomato, tomahto.

I can't go into too much, but I fear that we won't be seeing Kane and Jude for a while. It's really sad, because regardless of how much I miss them, miss seeing them and hearing how their lives are going, Jason misses the hell out of them, and I can't even tell you how frequently Reed asks where they are, when they're coming back, when he'll see them again. Right now we haven't seen them in about a month, and they haven't stayed at our house in about six weeks. I've written here on more than one occasion how much Reed loves them, how I worry, how much I love them.

I guess I should say again how much I really, really love them, have always loved them, have always tried my best to be there for them, take care of them, and provide them with a safe and happy place to call home.

This coming Monday is the third birthday of this blog. HAPPY FREAKING BIRTHDAY, VELVETEEN INDIAN. Maybe one day I'll be real.

First Dance.

First Dance.
Originally uploaded by buffpuff

Much fun has been had, and times are weird. But this is lovely, so look upon it and know that everything will be as it should, if not now, then soon.

Right.

Things have gone kind of quiet over here. I intended to use this day to clean my house, but then Jason did most of it last night so here I am, wasting my day, listening to the sounds of the house and my dog and the ceiling fans.

I got laid! No, wait; I got laid OFF. On July 31st they informed me that because of the economy and these hard times the company had decided to cut my position.

My best friend Kristi got married two days ago, and the days leading up to it were an emotional roller coaster for ME, I can't even imagine how it must have all felt for Kristi.

My dad is crazy. My mom is crazy. I certainly never had a chance.

Hello, you've reached the winter of our discontent.

I am absolutely shaken.

I heard this story about dolphin slaughter in Japan yesterday on NPR, and I am sick about it.

Click here for the story, here for a review of the documentary film, and go here for the trailer for said documentary called The Cove that is coming out about this.

Please go here to help.

Okay, really, I just have to say something. I don't know if any of you keep up with my little section over there called "Search Engine Terms That Bring People Here", and I don't know if you understand what that means or how it works. Here's a short explanation from a person who is pretty much a tech-dumby (me): let's say you go to Google and search for Etsy, and the first link that comes up is Etsy and you click on it and it takes you to Etsy. Okay, let's say you type in something less specific, like "boot cut jeans". After a few sponsored links, there's a link to an article on Wikipedia called "jeans" and then a link to the Levi's website, etc. etc. etc.

Well, apparently if you search "sexy old ladies" or "porn appendectomy" or "flu sex", one of the links in the list that comes up is to this blog, this one right here, and someone somewhere has actually searched these terms and ended up at my blog.

So I'm looking through this morning for anything new or interesting that all you FUCKED UP weirdos have been looking for on the World Wide Web, and someone is looking for "sexy douche pictures". And, you know, I figured I'd help a brotha out (It has to be a dude, right?).

Looking for a sexy douche can be a tricky, tricky thing.

Perhaps you're looking for the douche who might need help turning door-knobs:



Or maybe a gap-toothed douche:



Black douche:



A couple of white douchi:



Many, many douchi:



A very rich douche:



An inexperienced, future-rich douche:



Two of the stupidest douchi you've ever seen:



A couple of ironic douchi:



No really:



And then of course there is the reigning Doucho Supremo:



Sexy douche pictures: you're welcome. I like to be helpful.

"I am a pig-eyed horse-frightener with an electronic part. Hear me sit down."

This had me laughing out loud at work.

Keep on.

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

Also...

Today is my mom's birthday.

Tomorrow is Leonard Peltier's parole hearing.

And today through Wednesday Kristi and Chris are taking the bar exam.



Let's think some good thoughts, people!

Irritated.

So a fellow I went to high school with put the following up as a status update on Facebook:

Please disagree with Obama's health care plan. Unless you agree with free abortions and euthanasia. Are we in the twilight zone?

So I have to admit that I don't know as much about Obama's plans for health care reform as I should, but somebody please elaborate on this: what's the deal? I am going to just go ahead and assume that this is a blatant exaggeration in order to stir up anti-Obama sentiment, but somebody help me understand where this is coming from.

On an early grave.

Last night Reed and I were riding along in the car and I said, "Hey, guess who's coming tomorrow? Kane and Jude!"

He said, "Ahhhhhhh, yay! That makes my life feel happy."

I honestly had to turn away and shed a little tear because it was just so sweet.

In other news, THAT CHILD MAKES ME WANT TO THROW MYSELF INTO A MEAT GRINDER SOME TIMES. For pete's sakes, I can't even relate to you how awful it can be trying to deal with a screaming, writhing, obstinate, raging MESS like he can be sometimes. I might as well be pinching him and stomping his toes, he has the same horrified reaction to my saying "Let's go to Whole Foods for dinner", and the best part is he loves Whole Foods, loves going there and eating there and hanging out there, but he wanted to hang out at Ma's for another FOR-FUCKING-EVER and then go to Whole Foods, while I wanted to go BEFORE THE END OF TIME AND EXISTENCE. So we proceeded to fight and slam and stomp and scream and cry, both of us, don't you for a second think I'm above acting like my almost-four-year-old son, because NO I am not.

I go through these (very short) periods in which I think THAT'S IT, I'm cured, the Prozac fixed everything, God bless it! But, people, there is not enough Prozac in the WORLD to make me capable of dealing with Reed "Bull In A Goddamned China Shop" Agan when he goes on a tear, starts throwing things and stomping and screaming and calling me a butthead.

Last night my mom tried to calm me by saying "Sometimes people just get too tired, and it makes them act like this." It occurs to me today that she might have been referring to me just as much as to Reed.

But at the time I just thought, "Yes, sometimes people get too tired, and sometimes people get locked in the trunk while people's moms try some of that new high-alcohol beer."

Hey, I said sometimes.

I have found myself without much to say these past few days, I've been just kind of hanging about, waiting for something to bubble up.

So far I got nothin'.

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



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



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



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



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



Ooo, shiny!

Man, this life sure does get weird. I realize that I just said that, but I am forced to say it again as life continues to chug happily down the road toward OFF THE DEEP END.

I've been feeling kind of melancholy lately; nothing serious, just a constant, nagging, sort of wah-wah that hangs around in the back of my mind. I am hoping that it is a side-affect of going off birth control pills. That and the red sea that I have going on down there in my pants these past few days.

OOO, BURN. Slipped one in there on you guys. Let's just say Tampax ought to be paying ME at this point, as I am single-handedly keeping them in business, I'm pretty sure.

Next week will be a nutty one at work. Both my bosses are going to San Antonio, so I'll be handling all this stuff by myself, and by "this stuff" I mean not only will I have to do my blogging and online shopping, but I'll also have to handle the watching of the drum videos and making of crude jokes. WOOPS! I kid. Wow. I am headed straight for getting fired again, aren't I? We really do a lot of work, and it is twice as busy when I'm alone in taking care of everything.

I am really starting to have some very serious I-wish-it-would-just-go-away-already feelings about a few of the things I've been through. Clearly one cannot just choose these things; I've tried attacking these feelings with the whole spectrum of emotions from anger, to indifference, to hopefulness, to sadness, guilt, regret, contentment, indignance, relief, to pretending that the feelings don't exist at all.

Next weekend we're going to see the Pine Hill Haints at Bottletree, and then it's WEDDING TIME until August 8th. Not mine, of course; Kristi and Chris are getting married on August 8th. Jason is making the groom's cake and is the photographer and is making the wedding cake topper, and I'm the matron of honor and Reed is the ring bearer. It's a family event, folks! We gon' be wo' out by the end of it, I'm pretty sure, but I sure am excited, too.

I've got to get on planning the bachelorette party, including finding a good stripper; does anybody know if David Bowie can dress up as Jareth and take care of that for us?

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.