According to my traffic source stats I am attracting a lot of readers from this post. I'm not sure why...wait, yes I am.

Because there is a picture of Jason Statham.

And if I have to whore out my blog with pictures of Jason Statham to get more readers that will grow to love me and my hair, then that's what I'll do.

I need more love...and compliments on my hair. I thrive on it.

Also this...

And...a little bit of this.

But only a little bit...it can be overwhelming.


Amongst Friends

My friend Erin and I were having a conversation regarding a particular dog in her neighborhood that is an asshole. This dog at one point terrorized her and her puppy Kira. There may or may not have been a gang bang involved. This dog = jerk.

We were talking about ways that she could protect herself while walking Kira past this vicious dog’s lair.

Erin: I was thinking of getting mace.

Me: Mace?

Erin: Yeah, and maybe a big stick.

Me: You should get one with a skull on it...

Erin: Yes..

Me: Ooh! Ooh! And with eyes that light up red.

Erin: Mmm hmm.

Me: OOH! And when you pull the skull out, it’s a sword!

Erin: Yes! But it would need D batteries...

Me: For what?

Erin: To light up the eyes...

Me: Erin. The eyes light up because of the sheer power that it possesses.

Erin: That’s right, that’s right. Where have I been?

Me: Get it together.

I was going to put a picture of a scary scull guy...but I don't like scary things. So, then I was going to put this super awesome picture of Kira next to an animal that she ferociously ripped limb by limb...okay, it was a stuffed animal, but still. Anyway, my picture uploading thing isn't working. Sorry friends.


Ow. I Have An Idea.

If there were a list of the most commonly used words/phrases in my vocabulary it would be led by “ow”. Other’s would include: ugh, effffff, get your finger out of your nose, and blerp.

I say “ow” for everything, even when I’m not hurt. I noticed this about myself years ago when I said out loud, “Ow, I’m hungry.”

I’ll give you a minute with that....

I will also say, “Ow. I’m thirsty.”

“Ow. I have an itch.”

“Ow. Hand me that remote.”

Maybe it’s because...hell, I don’t know why. But now you know a little nugget of information about me that you didn’t know yesterday.

We all win. Well, mostly you win.


What Smells? Oh, You Have a Little Shit on Your Face There.

I'm from Louisiana. Have you been there? Did you eat the food? Do you have dreams about the food...do you fantasize about Louisiana food while eating other mediocre food? Do you feel sad and depressed when presented with a plate of food that does not include Crisco as one of its main ingredients? This is normal.

Momma and Jack are visiting Louisiana right now. While I'm here in the snow, and the cold, and the ice, and the misery. Every day she calls me and give me the run down on all the food that they have eaten that day while I drool and fall out of my chair. Earlier today I was on the phone with her and she was telling me all about what they had eaten and before I knew it was rolling around my desk like it was covered in Gumbo. I quickly contained myself and apologized to the person that was in my office at the time.

There is one thing that I would like to mention...though, it has nothing to do with "southern food", but with the difference in getting food here vs. there. There, when you go to a Mexican restaurant and order sopapillas, you get these fluffy pockets of heaven...then you dip them in honey. Promptly pass out, regain consciousness, eat and repeat. They are literally one of the best things ever created.

Here, when you order them, are you ready for this? They are thin...chewy, and covered in cinnamon, sugar, honey...and sometimes chocolate sauce. BLASPHEMY! The first time I ordered them up here and the waiter brought them I laughed...you know, because this shit must be a joke. Right? Right? RIGHT?!

All Momma and I do is brag on our food from home. How delicious it is. How scrumptious it is. How perfect and heavenly it is. If anyone argues with us we promptly punch them in the dick. A couple of nights ago Jack and Momma called to tell me about their day when I overhear Jack say that he has yet to have any good Mexican food (note: it's Louisiana, not Mexico, but I digress.) So, I say, OOOH, what about Zwolle Tamales?!!!?? (note: Zwolle (zah-wall-ee) Tamales are sold out of road side shacks and are fresh and served in a greasy paper bag. In one word: perfect.)

Momma: OHH, YES! We're going to pick some up on the way to Natchitoches! (nak-eh-tesh)

Jack: What? I'm not having any Zwolle Tamales.

Momma: Yes you are. They are perfect and are fresh and you will eat them out of the paper bag and you will love it! (please know that her voice is slightly escalating with each word)

Jack: Yuck. No I'm not. That is disgusting.


Jack: ...silence...

Me: Hold that thought...let me get a pen.


Did I Do That?

If you're not a mom you might not care anything about this post...but maybe you think that I'm entertaining to read, funny and have nice hair. In that case, stick around. Oh, I also have cute shoes. So, there's that.

Ever since Madison was born it has been a non-stop birage of faces, noises, smells, juices, solids, gases, fuzzy things, not fuzzy things, bumps, bruises, staples, big words, small words and a torn frenulum. Oh, and Methicillin-resistant Staph. Don't want to forget that doozy. WAIT! AND ROTAVIRUS! Wait...that was me.

Since that day...the day she was born that is. Since that day, I have called my momma for everything.

"She's making this noise...do you hear it...is that normal...what the hell is it?!"

"Smell that. Is that normal?"

"Look at this. Is this normal?"

"Feel that...is it supposed to feel like that. Is it normal?"

Then, as Madison got older the questions changed a bit. More of a "what do I do when..."

"She's hitting, what do I do?"

"She's not eating, what do I do?"

"She's not going to sleep, what do I do?"

Momma has always been the best assistance in these situations. I feel like I turned out alright...right? RIGHT? Then who else would I ask these questions of? Duh. Geez.

Now that Madison is still growing...God. The questions have turned to more of a..."did I do that...?" kind of question.

"She never stops moving...did I do that?"

"She talks and talks and talks and talks...did I do that?"

"She does this thing with her face...did I do that?"

"She cries over the littlest things...did I do that?"

And surprise, surprise. The answers to all those questions are....well, I'm not totally sure. I think the answer is yes. I can't really make out what she's saying over the laughter.

I don't even want to think about what the teenage questions are going to be like. Probably screaming and crying...I might even get the chance to ask a question or two.

If you'd like someone to compare my momma to, it's Kathy Bates.
They are most definitely one in the same.
Also, watch Harry's Law.


Smack...Right On The Kissah

It's winter. It's Alaska. It's dry. Do you know what that means?


Static electricity.

And it fucking hurts. Whatever I touch, ZAP! God forbid I need to turn on a light...or turn off a light. I mainly just walk around in the dark to avoid having to deal with the switches all together. I have a lot of bruises.

I've also made it a habit of touching things with the back of my hand or with my forearm first. That hurts less than the fingertips. Not that it diminishes my anger. Oh, did you forget my typical "get angry over the smallest things" thing?  I hate it that it affects me that deeply but geez louise. That's right. I said it. Geez Louise.

Everything that we touch shocks us. After touching 348 things it just begins to get ridiculous. When the kids aren't around I let the words fly. When they are around I just throw things. They have learned to duck.

Guess what else hurts? Kissing. I have kids and they love to give kisses and get kisses. Everybeen shocked on the lips? No. Get a pair of tweezers...trust me....get a pair of tweezers, grasp a small piece of your top or bottom lip (your choice) and PINCH quick and hard.

Now multiply that times 73. That's almost how bad it feels. Now imagine having that reaction to that pain right after your 1 year old gives you a sweet kiss. You think he'll be back to kiss you again?

I'm still waiting. I say "Give momma a kiss", and he screams and pulls his hair.

Remember how I said that using the back of your hand or forearm hurts less then fingertips? Well, fingertips hurt less than lips. Knowing that, we have (I have) a method for kisses.

First, I touch their face.

Yes, I realize that this shocks also. In fact, it shocks their cheek. Which hurts. Probably more than it hurts my fingertip.

But, it doesn't hurt nearly as bad as the lips.

This diagram is supposed to display some sort of static electricity thing....
but, I can't help but notice that the pair of balloons look like balls.
Oh God. Could you imagine getting shocked on your balls?


Do I Know You?

There I am, at Fred Meyer. Standing in line for the ATM. In all my glory. I'm looking around, taking in my surroundings, silently judging people based on what they are wearing or how they smell. Just kidding. Maybe. Then I see someone that I recognize coming towards me.

I recognize her as another Girl Scout troop leader, I've seen her at the leader meetings. I don't know her by any means...I don't even know her name.

I stand there and she's walking towards me. She gets closer and then stops in front of me....

I smile. She smiles. I keep on smiling. She smiles a little smaller. I'm smiling as big as ever. She's smiling but it's looking a little forced by now.

This is when I come to the realization...I'm in her way.

She doesn't recognize me, and if she did she obviously doesn't give a shit. She's trying to get through and here I am just standing here grinning like some kind of maniac.

I duck my head and move.

Needless to say, I did not attend the next leader meeting...

"Hey look everyone, there's that moron that blocked my way for a good 5 minutes. Revoke her cookies!"


Ringing It In

It seems like every New Year I make the same resolutions. Lose weight, eat better, work out, don't get eaten by zombie bears. I'm doing really great on one of those things, try and guess which one. On an unrelated note I am wearing my stretchy pants today and I ate bacon pizza for lunch.

This year I was thinking that I would do something different. Since my resolutions to eat better and work out never work I'm just going to make that my standard everyday demand on myself. I'm not a good listener, but I'm seriously going to try. Tomorrow.

What will my resolution be though? My real one, not the zombie bear thing...though that is really serious.

What should a resolution be? I think it should be something fun. Something that at least has a chance to survive in day to day life. Something that contributes to life becoming better.

I am going to interrupt this deep, thought provoking post to tell you that my dog is practically shitting his pants right now. I can barely stand to sit here. I will return momentarily...

Alright. I'm back. So. Resolutions.

My resolution will be to do something everyday...okay, 4 times a week, that contributes to my main life goal...or goals. (Wanna know what the goals are? Too bad. I'm not sharing that right now.) I don't quite know what these daily tasks are going to be but it won't be too hard and it will be enjoyable...maybe.

And that zombie bear thing.

This zombie bear breathes fire. It's not too late to edit your own resolution list...
I'll hold him off while you find a pen.