Can't Talk. Must Pack.

So we're heading off on our anniversary trip, and I wanted to tell you The Story and everything before we left, but time and copious amounts of fatty foods have gotten the best of me, so you'll just have to wait. But I will give you a final clue to our destination, the site of our betrothal 11 years ago:


Happy New Year!

Feliz Navidad, Y'all

And how are YOU this fine morning? Did you get everything you wanted? T-Bone and I don't give each other gifts but it seems that every year, right around Christmas, we have some sort of emergency and NEED something big, like the ever popular tires I've gotten for two or three Christmases. This year, I thought it was going to be a toilet, but instead, I got a new vacuum. Wheee! Of all the cleaning jobs, vacuuming is my Zen, so I am actually pretty excited to test it out.

Santa did quite well for las ninas, as was evident by their insisting on immediately getting every toy out of its box (and requisite labyrinth of plastic ties and wires. Seriously! I just feel sorry for the person who has THAT job) and reading every book upon opening them. I won't bore you with the complete rundown, but I can say the dollhouse and furniture were a huge hit, especially with Peach (as expected), and Olive couldn't be happier with her gooseneck horse trailer. Just what every good horsewoman needs, right?

Now that the dust has settled, my parents are ROCKIN' out to my mom's new Celine Dion concert DVD (there is something so wrong with the whitest woman in the world belting out, "I Wish," but whatever. They love her.). Peach and Olive are busy creating a world where Polly Pocket and Barbie can live in peace and harmony, and T-Bone is prepping for Tamale Fest '07 tonight. Me? I think I'm gonna do like Barbie do, as styled by Peach:


Blessings to you and yours!

You Can All Relax

The elusive dollhouse furniture has been found, so cancel that APB. I managed to grab the last bedroom set at one of our throwdown Targets, and I didn't even get propositioned in the parking lot or anything. THIS time. So, with the help of dear family members, the quest covered 17 Targets (8 around here, 6 in San Antonio, 3 in other farflung Texas towns), and my extreme hardheadedness actually paid off in this case. In fact, I was so thrilled to find the bedroom set, I bought the last living room set, too. Barbie plays piano, right? As long as Peach and Olive enjoy the dollhouse long enough for me to pay my gas bill, it's all good.

In other news, Peach completed her star-making turn as a Nutcracker mouse and angel, and I was there to witness the dressing room carnage for three out of the four shows last weekend. Seriously, some of these girls had 6 and 7 costume changes, in mere seconds, and all the wardrobe "mistresses" could do is bark at them to "Hurry!" and "Don't get lipstick on anything!" I just got them in and out of there as fast as I could and with as few tears as possible. And it so doesn't have to be that way, but because they've "always done it this way," no one was too impressed by my suggestion to put Velcro in some of the harder to manage costumes. Whatever, we're done. And I got a cute Christmas card picture out of the deal. Except that it's really more of a cute New Year's card picture because I seem to be a bit tardy for the Kodak Gallery's shipping deadlines. Just know that I'm still deeply in love with my children and will be shoving evidence of their delicious cuteness down your throat well into the New Year.

Speaking of, have you guessed where T-Bone and I are going to celebrate our 10th anniversary over New Year's yet? No? Well, A) You are so off the New Year's Card of Adorableness list, and B) To repeat, it's one of my favorite places in the whole world, and we shared a very special moment there oh some 11 years ago. I expect answers post haste in the comment section.

We celebrated Christmas with T-Bone's folks last weekend, and besides the "surprise!" kid-sized "homemade" (as opposed to the much-preferred "handmade" - you know the difference, right?) picnic table they won at some silent auction and proudly presented us with, it was all relatively painless. Is it just me or does this make you terribly sad, for many reasons:


How very unfortunate that it seems to be too big for our porch and that we may have to pawn it off on my BIL.

Peach and Olive finished up with school yesterday, so we're all free and easy for the next two weeks. Even T-Bone! We're headed to San Antonio for a weekend with Mama and Papa Turista, as well as Abuelita Turista, but will be back for the Big Day. Until then, here's ye ol' (new) tannenbaum, which, even though it took me a week to decorate, was so much less painful than the one last year.

Have a great weekend!

Viva Nuestra Senora

And girl, please grant me strength. Like, today, if possible.

Since my last post, we've had four rehearsals, four shows, a teacher conference, a broken toilet, house cleaning, house lighting, tree trimming, and many, MANY trips to many, MANY Targets. Seriously, if you're at Target, and you see the Bedroom Furniture set for the KidKraft So Suite dollhouse, could you hook a sister up? NOT finding it in the immediate three county area, and they don't have it online either. Bastards.

Not only is it imperative I find this set in order to make the Christmas dreams of two darling angels come true, but it also would mean that, short of a couple of gift cards and two things I ordered online, I'm DONE. As in, wrapped, ready, and under the tree. The past two weeks, I've been operating on pure adrenaline and candy canes, but apparently, that works for me. And once the Ball Breaker Tour of 2007 is over on Sunday, I just don't know what I'm going to do with myself next week. Work out, perhaps? Nah. But I may be flying up to Target headquarters to kick some ass for $15 dollhouse furniture.

Hear Me Now And Believe Me Later

I have just entered the Ninth Circle of Hell. It's dress rehearsal week here in Ball Breaker, USA, and Peach and I will be at the theatre every night this week, including four performances this weekend. Next week is about the same. So, you might not hear much outta me these next two weeks, short of gasping and growling. The people, y'all. The everloving PEOPLE I am dealing with. Unbelievable. I'm exhausted just thinking about telling you how exhausted and DONE with them I am. Peach, however, has been having a great time, and she is very much looking forward to the shows. We'll see how it all shakes out in the end, but I have a pretty good feeling we'll be moving on to the big leagues next year and leaving these aliens behind. I mean, ENOUGH with the pageant talk, ya know? Damn.

Showing My Age

You know what I rawked out to in the car this morning? The One Thing by INXS. LOVED that song. WORE OUT my Shabooh Shoobah CASSETTE tape. While shaking my SPIRAL PERM, even.

Then I remembered that I saw INXS headline one of the most random concerts I've ever been to. The supporting acts included Ziggy Marley? And ... Guns 'n Roses! Wait, what?! Yes, friends. Axl and his nasty white football pants were OPENING for Michael Hutchence and all his smoldering hottness. And that really harshed the mellow of the freaky dude a few rows over from us, (the only person in that section, by the way), who kept yelling, "Do you know where you ARE? You're in the JUNGLE, motherfuckers! WHOOO!" I think he finally had to be carried out at some point. It was all so weird.

And the weirdest part of all is that T-Bone was there, too, and can probably remember every band's exact set because he's some kind of savant like that. Somewhere in that teeming mass of humanity, he was there with some of his boyz, and I was there with the biggest asshole I've ever known. But flash forward nearly 20 years, and here we are, about to celebrate 10 years of marital hilarity. More on that later ...

Family Ties

So Thanksgiving with the in-laws was nice, but on the way out there, I got a call from my cousin that my grandmother had fallen and dislocated her shoulder. Truly, after being assured that she was at the hospital and that she was okay, my first thought was, "Please God. Don't let her be wearing that old green nightgown with the ripped out neck that my aunt keeps telling her is too long and is going to trip her up and make her fall and break her hip. Because if she is wearing that damn thing, we will NEVER hear the end of it." If you knew my aunt, you'd understand. Fortunately, my grandmother was in fact NOT wearing the dreaded nightgown at the time (although she had been wearing it earlier - whew) but was dressed up for yet another funeral (she's like a groupie or something), and her shoe just grabbed the rug as she was walking by the buffet. But, ever the thoughtful hostess and responsible Ladies Guild member, even as she waited for my other aunt to take her to the emergency room, she had the wherewithall to call another Guild member and ask her to pick up the chicken she was supposed to bring to the KC hall for after the service. However, our wilted magnolia poured it on a little too thick when she told my aunt on the way home from the hospital, her right arm immobilized in a sling (on the day before Thanksgiving), "Well, I think I can still chop with my left hand." Easy there, Scarlett.

In other medical news, my niece finally decided to grace us with her presence and cooperated rather quickly when my SIL was induced yesterday morning, 9 days overdue. God love her. I spent the morning with the little princess, and she is, as expected, deliciously cute. Now we're four for four in the granddaughter category for T-Bone's folks, so I think it's safe to say that my MIL has sufficient opportunity to indulge any pink and purple fantasies she may have missed out on as the mother of two boys.

Speaking of the proud new papa of two, my BIL, and fellow thespian, has a scene in the Coen brothers' new movie No Country For Old Men, so go see it and look for him in a scene with Javier Bardem, Stephen Root, and a shotgun. That's all I'm saying.

Except for this: Guess who I saw in the candy aisle at Target today? Yes, it seems our pocket-size favorite son has a sweet tooth. Who knew.

I Know It's Early, But This Can't Wait

Because it's my duty to point out the most tasteless and/or creepiest in holiday decor, I need to bring this to your attention, spotted today at the Hallmark store:

Why, it's Chatty Cathy. And I swear to Jeebus that when I pulled the string in back, she screeched, "I hurt myself." I nearly wet MYself from fear.

There's also this prankster:

Just pull his finger, and wait for the magic. And really, just scroll down this whole page, because they got millions of 'em! Including this angry fella:

For the hunter/gatherer/survivalist zealot in your life:

And finally, from the Marie Osmond QVC collection, may I present, "Kissy Under the Mistletoe," or "Something From My Childhood Nightmares:"

Yours for the low low price of $119.25. Plus the cost of YEARS of therapy.

We're off to see the in-laws unless or until my SIL decides to let loose her cervix and let that baby out already. So have a Happy Thanksgiving, y'all!

And I Know Comedy

Ten Things That Made Me Laugh In The Past Five Days:

1. Olive's daily recitations of Cheech and Chong's "Santa Claus and His Old Lady."
2. Peach's fits of laughter as we scrolled through old pictures and made up wacky captions.
3. Finding the first Valentine T-Bone gave me. A la Ralph, he drew a train and heart-shaped smoke puffs that said, "I choo choo choose you to be my Valentine."
4. Finding a note T-Bone passed to me in the law library one time during finals week. It said, "Your epidermis is showing."
5. Karla May's hilarious performance at the aptly-named Mortified show.
6. Olive's insistence that a horse's nose and mouth area is called a "muskin."
7. Peach's shopping cart driving (crashing) abilities.
8. My mom recalling when she had to explain to my nosy grandmother why the fabulous Brit named Nigel they met on their cruise might want to buy a jockstrap with a donkey tail attached to it in Ketchikan, Alaska.
9. My MOM saying the phrase "jockstrap with a donkey tail attached to it."
10. Revisiting Diversity Day at Dunder Mifflin.

To Be Fair

Speaking of private parts (Wait, were we?), I was driving behind an SUV today that was covered in those "My Kid is #9 on the Synchronized Bullshitting Team" or whatever, and I noticed that one of the stick figures in the family portrait in the right-hand corner was a cheerleader. And then I found her corresponding sticker in the left-hand corner. It was a megaphone sitting on the ground with a pom pom on either side of it. Think about it. Draw it out if you must. Now, you ain't gotta be a 12 year old boy to figure out what THAT looks like. And it had Mhykayelah's name on it, too. Ewww.

Tickling The Ivories

When we moved into our house two years ago, we finally had enough room for the baby grand piano from my parents' house, and Peach and Olive have been fascinated with it ever since. We've spent a lot of time banging around and playing chopsticks and the like, but I've also been giving Peach actual lessons here and there. My mom saved every bit of music I ever played, so the piano bench is a virtual time capsule of all of my old song books, theory books, and sheet music. Oh, the sheet music.

My piano teacher was the sweetest little grandma lady you'd ever want to meet, and I loved going to her house for lessons because she had hard candy all over the place, and she always kept her pencils perfectly sharpened. Every once in a while, she would take suggestions from me on songs I might like to learn, and she would get me the sheet music. So, unearthed from the piano bench, here are some of my brilliant suggestions:

What can I say. It was the 70s, and I liked that commercial. I never did quite master playing it, but I could sing the shit out of it. Speaking of ...

Kinda ashamed to admit this, but I've never seen the whole movie. Same thing with the Babs version of A Star is Born, but I wore out my parents' soundtrack album anyway. Yes, children of today, ALBUM.

I was really more of a Blue Lagoon gal, so I've never seen this movie either, but apparently I could not resist the lyrical genius of one Mr. Lionel Richie. How else can I explain this:

Holy shit. I can't believe I ever actually said, "Um, I think I'd like to learn, "Lady" by Kenny Rogers." He's so HAIRY. And friggin OLD. And CREEPY. Nice suit, though.

Now this one, I KNOW I asked for because I loved that movie. I can still see myself at the piano, wearing my headgear and rainbow terrycloth romper, quietly weeping as I think about how Robby Benson's love helped Lexie learn to skate again. Need a picture? Here:

Hey, Little Girl. Want Some Candy?

I've got bags full. Three gallon size Ziploc bags full. What with the haul Peach and Olive came home with on Halloween, and the half full giant bag of DumDums I bought for trick-or-treaters, we're pretty flush in the sugar department over here. And as much as they covet dessert and all things sweet, Peach and Olive really enjoy the idea of it all more than the real deal. We still had candy from last Halloween at Easter, we never get all the way through a batch of homemade cookies before they have to be tossed, and the birthday cake they nearly lost their minds planning and preparing for T-Bone sits half-eaten in the icebox. And it's not even like they forget about it. It's more like, "Oh yeah, there's the cake. So can I pleeeeeze have a chocolate kiss?" Really - that's all it takes. One, and they act like they've just won the food lottery. But their mama, on the other hand, is all about that birthday cake drying out in the icebox and figuring out how soon I can finish it off. This, ladies and gentleman, is how I keep my girlish figure, and by "girlish" I mean "how far along is she?"

And even though last week I was cursing the retail industry for shoving Thanksgiving aside and plowing on through to Christmas, the cooler weather has started giving me The Fevah, and I've already planned out when I'm going to start decorating. If all goes well, and barring any Nutcracker crises, I should be done by December 2nd. I'm weak, I know, but something about Peach and Olive asking to hear "that CheeChiChong Christmas thing" on the way to school today put me over the edge. I mean, how can I resist Olive, in her best Cheech voice, saying, "Yeah - Santa's old lady was reeely fine. And she made the BEST brownies."* Come on, Beto!

* Clearly, she is completely unaware of what that actually implies, so calm down. But again, it's the dessert thing.

NoMoNaBloPoMo

I did it! I successfully fought the urge to post yesterday and thereby guaranteed that I would not fail in any misguided attempt to participate in NaBloPoMo. Because really, who are we kidding? I'm not capable of posting every day for a week, much less a month. So that's it. Moving on ...

Let's see, what else? I made it through the week, which included 4,000 loads of laundry today and three fruitless trips to various nurseries in search of the Tuscan Blue variety of rosemary. I mean, come on - NObody has it? Also, my SIL refused to cooperate and have that baby yesterday, so we're still waiting. My car just hit the 200K mile mark, and I've got to drive it 'til the wheels fall off, or T-Bone will guilt me into getting something smaller. We have a family of owls in the trees right next to us, and man, those guys are LOUD with all the hooting. Oh, and I'm pretty sure our house is haunted.

Have a great weekend!

We Can Do It

At least that's what I keep telling myself as I look ahead to the second half of this most busy week. Lots and lots of driving. I realize things crank up during "the holidays," but is Halloween now considered the start of all that insanity? And poor Thanksgiving. What happened to Thanksgiving? The stores have been putting out Christmas stuff next to the Halloween stuff for weeks, leaving a little room for some headless pilgrims and sad looking gourds left over from last year. I'm not a big scarecrow fan, and since we don't actually have "fall" around here, I never really decorate for Thanksgiving, so whatever. But today? I actually half-considered buying a new Christmas tree. I'm such a sheep. Like I have TIME to obsess about the tree already. Por ejemplo:

• Monday - I got Olive's birthday picture made at the mall. Will I ever learn? Later, it was wear-your-Halloween-costume-to-dance-class for both of them, so poor Olive was changing in the car all day.
• Tuesday - I helped with Olive's Halloween party at school, to which I took delicious pumpkin chocolate chip muffins I made my owndamnself. Yeah, you read that right.
• Wednesday - Why, that's today! Happy Halloween, y'all! We started the morning with Ghosts of the Past at Peach's school. Each kid comes dressed as a notable figure in history, and they do a short presentation about that person for the whole school. Peach decided she wanted to be Rosie the Riveter, and we managed to find a real woman who was closely identified with the character because: a) she appeared in war bond promo films; b) she was a real riveter; and c) yep, her name was Rose. Anyway, Peach looked adorable, and she did very well with her presentation. Tonight, Karla May and the Geej will be here for tricks, treats, and pizza.
• Thursday - Olive is doing a little thing for chapel at school, so I'll be there with cameras at the ready. Plus, it's T-Bone's birthday! And my SIL's birthday! The one who's due any minute with her second girl, who we're hoping is born tomorrow so everybody in their family will have birthdays on the first of the month! Because we think about things like that! I'm going to encourage lots of Halloween sex to get the ball rolling, but something tells me, she may not be up for it.
• Friday - Nothing in particular on the schedule yet, just Baby Watch '07 and probably some yard work.
• Saturday - Peach has Nutcracker rehearsal, and this week, we're in charge of cleaning up the dressing room afterwards. Joy.
• Sunday - I'll be writing yet another Nutcracker-related check for pictures, which are supposed to take about THREE HOURS, what with all the group and individual combinations. Kinda like at your wedding. And we all know how fun that is.

That's all I've got for now. Except for this - at the gas station and at Whataburger today (I had to get my taquito on), I saw signs that asked people to remove their masks. This is a problem that warrants professionally printed signs? The Whataburger one kinda freaked me out because it was worded just like this:

For the Safety ... of our customers and our team members

Please remove ... your Halloween mask at this time

I'm so glad they clarified what we're supposed to remove because that poorly placed ellipsis had me thinking of all kinds of possibilities.

The gas station was pretty straightforward:

No MASKS in the store at any time. NO exceptions.

So, superheroes, Haz-Mat guys, astronauts - stay the hell out of the Shell station on Barton Springs.

Have fun tonight!

Mixed Bag of Tricks and Treats

• T-Bone went to Curriculum Instruction Night at GGMS on Tuesday so he could see how they're teaching our second grader ALGEBRA.
• Olive's teacher reported that during "free coloring time" on Thursday, while all the other kids were coloring pumpkins, bats, and ghosts, Olive decided to draw and color the Great Wall of China.
• T-Bone and I heartily enjoyed the big-time fundraiser (mostly the open bar) at Olive's school on Thursday night. We love to watch The Haves and The Have Mores go at it during the live auction, but sadly, T-Bone's dream of a trip to an exotic game ranch will have to wait another year. And the dinner party for 8 prepared by a Hollywood chef I was hoping to snag for our anniversary party slipped right through my fingers. I guess 20 bucks just doesn't go as far as it used to ...
• You do know I'm kidding, right?
• Coming back to reality, the best part of the night was when we stopped by one of my all-time favorite joints, and split a tall, cold pitcher while listening to the awesome jukebox. Seriously, where else can you hear "Let's Pretend We're Married," "Stranglehold," and "A Taste of Honey" all in one sitting? Nowhere, my friend. Nowhere.
• Yesterday was the final day of my housecleaning bender. I always get so inspired to talk to you people while I'm cleaning, but do you really want to know about my love for vacuuming or my tricks for getting the schmutz off the top of the microwave? I'll just say that, short of moving the icebox and the stove, I touched every single inch of this place, and I'm spent. Something about the cold snap got me all giddy, I guess.
• Today is GGMS's Halloween Festival, and although Peach and Olive decided long ago to be a 50s girl and a cowgirl for Halloween, today's event seems to require a different costume (a girl can't wear the same thing twice, right?), so it looks like we're taking a princess and a bat with us.
• Finally, I want to send out a big wag-of-the-finger and a hearty, "F*** You" (there are children present) to the Four A-Hole Moms who were letting their heathens terrorize every kid on the restaurant playground last night as they drank, chatted, and took pictures of each other. The much older hooligans were climbing on the outside of the equipment that was straining to hold them up, flinging each other around and into other people, including adults, and literally mowing over anyone in their path of destruction. Twice I said in my best camp counselor voice, "Slow down" and "Get off," but of course, they were too possessed to hear or care. When I finally figured out who they belonged to, my Laser Stare of Death was powerless against those bitches, and we were called to our table shortly after. So, way to go A-Holes! You won!

I Need Your Help

Right now, T-Bone, the love of my life, is downstairs watching Cavemen, and, y'all, he's laughing. Out loud. Holy shit. Seriously, how did this happen? A 30 second commercial with those guys is one thing, but an entire show?! Which he insists on recording because God forbid he miss an episode?! I watched the first one with him just to be, you know, supportive, and it was just as stupid as I thought it would be, so I told him that if he was going to keep watching that shit, I didn't want to know anything about it unless he was telling me that it was cancelled. So here I sit, contemplating legal action against those sumbitches at GEICO for ruining my marriage and poisoning my hub's heretofore brilliant sense of humor.

Also? I've got to get the house clean for my mom on Thursday and my in-laws this weekend, so if you could just start with the kitchen and the bathrooms, that would be grrrrreat. Thanks!

Peach For President

Overheard from the backseat as we passed yet another lot cleared and ready for commercial construction on the former "country" backroad to our neighborhood:

If I'm ever President, we're going to have five years of no building, just planting trees and flowers. And no one can eat any meat either. It's going to be the healthiest five years in the history of The United States.

Sounds like a plan.

Monday Monday

So I made it through The Nutcracker fundraiser this weekend with my balls intact. There were a few tense moments, like when somebody snuck in a final bid right after the silent auction closed (for shame!), and the powers-that-be had to confer and decide whether or not to let the cheatercheaterpunkineater have the GAWDawful western-themed tabletop Christmas tree she seemed so willing to go straight to hell for. I voted to let her take the piece of shit because: 1) then I wouldn't have to look at it anymore; and 2) we get five more bucks for it. So, win/win, right? Word. Now I think I can coast until we start dress rehearsals, which I'm sure will be a barrel of fun, and then more volunteering backstage during the production run, which I am actually really looking forward to, being an old dancin' machine and thespian meself. Plus, I'm a Leo.

But here's what I'm really thinking about today: quintuplets. I read an article about this family in a local mag, and God love the nine of them, I freaked when I saw that the two older children are the exact same age as Peach and Olive. So it would be like me walking in with FIVE newborns, right friggin' now. FIVE. All at once. I had a hard enough time deciding whether or not I could tear myself away from Peach long enough to have a second baby, and once I decided expanding our little family was something we were doing FOR her and not TO her, I was lucky enough to get pregnant with Olive right away, and the rest is blissfully happy history. But tending to F-I-V-E babies? Plus the older two? I guess you just do what you've gotta do, and this couple seems to be handling it well so far, but dang. Five. I will say though that I am totally jealous of the mama's amazing color-coordinated organization system - assigned colors for each tot's clothes, bedding, and feeding and diaper charts. Sweet.

Now, here's the Good News/Bad News for today. Good News: They just opened a Super Target down the street from my house. Bad News: They ju$t opened a $uper Target down the $treet from my hou$e. $hit.

That's What She Said

Lookee what I got from The Dollar Stop at Target today:


I love that show. And Target. They had a bunch of stuff, but I had to get something Dwight for T-Bone (it says, "Tasks, Time Wasters, Excuses, Complaints") and something Jim for me, so there you go. And you better hurry up and getcha some for your ownself before it's too late. I'm talking to you, Mrs. Squirrel.

Also, I had the pleasure of driving behind a lovely young lass in a jacked-up Ford pickup as she was tearing ass down the road. She had North Carolina plates, a Rebel Flag sticker that said, "It's a Southern THANG," Rebel Flag visor covers, and Rebel Flag fuzzy dice(?!) hanging from the mirror. She also had a Ford sticker that said, "Foot On the Gas and Kicking Ass." Oh, and somebody keyed the shit out of the side of the bed, so that was a nice touch. And don't worry, I told your sister you said, "Hey."

I Can't Imagine WHERE She Gets It

I took Olive to the doctor today for her 4 year old well check, and when asked what her favorite food was, she said, "Sandwiches." Umm - what? She has a sandwich like once a week, maybe, so I'm not sure where that came from. Kinda like that time in college I ran into an old friend, and when she asked me what I had been up to, I said, "Oh - the usual. Ya know, school ... tennis. Wait. Did I just say tennis? Because I haven't played tennis in like 10 years." No idea where that came from.

We made it through the appointment completely unscathed until The Shots. Both of mine have always been champs when it comes to The Shots. We always discuss The Shots and why we have to get them and that, yes, they hurt for a second, but then it goes away, and everybody has to get shots, even Mommy, etc.. That has always eased the pain somewhat, as it did today, with just a minimum of whimpering (from both of us, ahem) after each of The (three) Shots. THEN, we got ready to check out, and Olive informed me that neither her freshly punctured legs nor her right arm were working. I had already said I would carry her to the car because, really, pumping that stuff into tiny little bodies does hurt, but when I went to pick her up, she went completely stiff and took the shape of either a 37 lb. starfish or this, minus the penguin and the umbrella. So that was fun, especially getting her in the booster seat. And I'm so paranoid that the more she said her arm and legs didn't work, the more I started to think, "Wait. Maybe they really DON'T work! Oh my God! Should I try to suck the vaccine out like a snake bite?!" Really, THAT paranoid.

Anywho, by the time we got home, her legs were miraculously functioning again, but her arm was pretty sore - mostly because she had been holding it straight out in front of her for the better part of 30 minutes. Even still, it's amazing what a little liedown on the couch, with your favorite blanket and Toy Story 2, can do. So, hysterical paralysis crisis over.

Now for the Good News/Bad News portion of this post. Good News: Wayne "The Pain(ful to look at)" Newton got voted off DWTS last night. Yeah, I watch it. Bad News: Mark "The Boob(an)" Cuban is still hanging on, which means I have to fast forward every time his fugly mug is onscreen. I hate that mofo. Go Spurs Go!

SGLj*#nfgp-3%#5

Sorry - my hands are numb. I've spent the last two hours cutting out 46 pumpkins, 46 ghosts, and 46 cats for Peach's class sewing project. Pretty sure I've suffered permanent damage, but won't the classroom look cute?

Speaking of, we had Olive's cowgirl party yesterday at - wait for it - The Little Buckaroo Ranch, and it was a huge success. There were miniature horses to groom, ponies to ride, and every kind of barnyard animal you can imagine, including, of course, Little Buckarooster. The Geej and Her Majesty joined us in all their cowgirl finery, and if I weren't in the Blogger Witness Protection Program, I'd post some precious pictures. That said, I can assure you no one came dressed like this:

Must go ice my knuckles.

Nutcracker, Indeed.

I swear, if I was a guy, this Nutcracker biz would be, literally, breaking my balls right about now. Every few days, I get another email, with LOTS of exclamation points and LOTS of ALL CAPS, reminding us all, yet again, that this is a non-profit company, and the success of this production depends on our efforts in fundraising, and so where is your GD ticket money for the silent auction, and why haven't you given us 20 names of those near and dear to you so we can hit them up for sponsorships, and if this all goes to hell in a handbasket, it will be YOUR fault, breaking the hearts of many little girls and ruining their ballet dreams forever. And for the record, I HAVE turned in my GD ticket money and contacted potential sponsors on my own and bought an ad for the program AND volunteered to help with the silent auction, so BACK OFF. Seriously, it's getting pretty hostile over there. Meanwhile, Peach is having the time of her life, and T-Bone and I have been taking turns making the long trek to the studio every weekend. So, it's all (mostly) good.

You know what else is good? I made flight reservations for our anniversary trip! Celebrating 10 years, y'all - amazing how time flies. I told T-Bone a long time ago that I thought he was either easily impressed or easily amused, and I still haven't figured out which it is. I'm just so looking forward to spending a few days with him in one of my favorite cities on the planet, which happens to be just a short plane ride away. Bonus points if you can guess where we're going ...

Happy Birthday Dear Olive

I have no idea how this happened, but my BABY turned 4 yesterday. I'm still trying to process it all, and when I asked her today if she felt 4 yet, she inspected her little freshly bathed body and said, "Well, my legs are longer, my feet are bigger, my tummy's bigger, and my brain is smarter, so yes, I think I feel it." When it's all over, we'll have been celebrating for a full week, including a family shindig/scavenger hunt this past Sunday, more presents and a cake on Monday, cupcakes at school today, and a proper cowgirl party this coming Sunday. I should weigh about 500 pounds in the end, but it will all be worth it since I've gotten some great shots of her in this:

So very Ya-Ya, no?

Also, here's something I learned this week after hearing Bye Bye Bye twice in two days: It's WAY easier to bust out all the moves from the video while shopping in Toys 'R Us than it is to try and break it down in the car. Now you know.

Here We Go Again

Olive is well on her way to Peach-like genius, or so said her preschool teacher at our first parent conference today. I can't take any credit for their incredible attention spans and true desire to learn because I think those things just come about by the luck of the draw, but I sure love watching them tackle and master educational and creative pursuits technically beyond their years. No fear with these two, just constant questions, and it really is exciting to see the lightbulbs go on when they learn something new.

Olive is also apparently quite the social butterfly but very serious when it comes to her work, especially puzzles and blocks. I swear the child is going to be an engineer or an architect - or do all almost-4-year-olds like to draw out floorplans? And discuss the pros and cons of different types of "structures" (her word). And lest we forget the interior design of her creations - she told me recently that the pillows we have in the gameroom are too bright for that room (they are) and that we need either some "reddish-brown" or "greenish" ones (we do). It so reminds me of a 3 year old Peach chastising the homeowners' paint color choices on Trading Spaces ("That color is too dark for a kitchen. It looks like a bat cave."). Again, right on the money.

Speaking of money, will you buy me this? If not, I think I know a couple of darling gals who could design, build, and decorate it for me.

Pottery Barn Kills

Trees. Lots and lots of trees. I know this because I get a catalog from them nearly once a week, and they are always friggin' huge. And still, I look through every one of them, diligently scanning every page, and here and there, I order something if I can't get it in the store. Cut to today, when my new pillow cases arrived, and I saw that they charged me $12 for "shipping and processing." For two pillow cases? That were listed as "free shipping" items? I got on the horn to customer service, and the lovely woman I talked to corrected the mistake, but I still have to wonder if $12 isn't a bit steep for shipping two pieces of fabric in a glorified Ziploc baggy that my mail carrier shoves so far into my shoebox size mailbox that it takes two hands and sometimes a foot to get it out. It would appear the $12 is to cover the cost of shipping the TWO giant catalogs they loaded the package down with, one of which was the very one I ordered the damn pillow cases out of in the first place. So that's how I contributed to the destruction of our planet's natural resources today. And you?

I Am Worthless

Today, anyway. I've got the beginnings of the second major head cold/cough/general feeling of walking death I get about twice a year, BUT it usually means the weather is about to change from the first to the second of the two seasons we have here in Tejas, so at least there's that. Or I could just have the monkey flu, whothehellknows. So I didn't do jackshit today, unless sitting on the couch and staring at the Travel Channel for about three hours is something. That Samantha Brown has a sweetass gig, don't she? But I kinda think she hates kids.

I was quite industrious out in the yard on Friday, but I had to stop myself before I completely ripped out the front bed - the only one the builder's "landscapers" put in. I've taken a lot out of there already, but as soon as it gets a little cooler, say somewhere in the 80s, I'm going medieval on all that mismatched, bargain basement, totally predictable crap they threw in there. God only knows what I'll find when I start digging, but I'm betting it won't be money.

Saturday we had a great dinner with my best homegirl from high school and Karla May and the Geej. All the kids made great use of the restaurant's play area, and due to the impending plague invading my body, I didn't even freak about all the sand. I hate sand. Especially around food. We were also entertained by T-Bone's homeboys' band, and they even managed to NOT break up in between sets, as is usually the case. I thought for sure my dirty birds would crash on the way home, but thankfully they made it in the house and in and out of the bath before toddling off to bed. And then I also toddled off at the stroke of 10, and in the bed I stayed until about 7:30 this morning.

Which brings me to today, and the worthlessness detailed above. Now, just reviewing my lameness has exhausted me, and I'm heading back to the couch. Night, y'all.

I Love Boys

I do, I really do. But I happen to have two girls, and I'm crazy about them, and I'm getting a little tired of being asked if we're ever going to "try for a boy." As if the two precious angels I have are some sort of consolation prizes. Really. I've heard it a lot since Olive was born, even within hours of her birth. And lately, every time we've been out with my darling 4 month old nephew, and I'm totally loving him up with Peach and Olive at my side, people (always men) assume he's mine and feel compelled to say (always to T-Bone), "So you kept trying 'til you finally got a boy!" Just what am I supposed to say to that? "Yes, yes we did! Thank GOD! And with any luck, he won't grow up to be a misogynistic asshole like you." Does that sound about right?

The Festabul* Report

So I made it out alive. Which, considering the fires, the heat, and the "poot-a-potties" (another Olivism), is no small feat. We were there the moment the gates opened on Friday, Star Wars theme music and all, and T-Bone and I shut her down last night with Mr. Zimmerman, and I have to say, the whole experience was way better than two years ago, aka Dust Bowl 2005.

Las ninas take on the whole thing? Well, they LOVED riding the shuttle bus, they loved the kids' activities (save for "the beach," thankfully), and they loved hanging out under the trees and having some snacks and snowcones. The one thing they didn't really love? The MUSIC. I have to agree, it was a little loud over there on the Kiddie Limits stage. Really, they love Sara Hickman. Just not when she seems to be screaming at them. But Asleep at The Wheel from 200 yards away? That was okay. As was the battle of the mariachi bands when we got back to the Republic Square shuttle stop. And, as a bonus, we got the last few pictures we needed to complete our Guitartown collection, so all in all, it was three hours well spent.

Here's the calm before the storm:

Now some words of advice for fellow festival goers:

To the parents of small babies, say, NEWBORNS: In case you hadn't noticed, your life has CHANGED. Get over yourself. If I saw one sweaty, miserable baby being lugged around against his or her will, I saw 100. People, it is too damn hot, there are too damn many people around, bumping into you, and it is too damn loud to have your precious cherub up next to the stage just so you and your selfish ass can rock out to Arcade Fire or whoever the hell. If you can't afford a ticket AND a babysitter, stay the hell home. And if you do (stupidly) decide to come and camp out in front of the AT&T stage, and then decide in the middle of Bob Dylan's set that it's time for you to push your stroller upstream and out of the crowd of 50K+, get your dipshit old man or whoever you came with to get off their ass and run interference for you so I don't have to.

To the kids today: Look, I'm not your mother, so I can't tell you what to do or what not to do, but I CAN tell you that if you're going to drink alcohol or do drugs to look cool, the more you TALK about it and the more buzz words you throw in and the more bragging you do, the more you look like a complete tool. Just drink it or smoke it or whatever and shut the hell up about it. Yes, I guess your bong is beautiful, and I'm sure it "rips" better than the one you had two or three years ago (even though you look to be about 16), and I'm sure the "herb" you bought from that dude at the coffee shop was quite "juicy," but when you start puking 30 seconds into "BobEffinDylan"'s first song, you really look like an asshole.

And finally, a few awards:

Best Dressed: The 50ish woman rockin' out to Queens of the Stone Age in her cutoffs. And that's it. No shoes. No shirt. No kidding.

Honorable Mention(s): The really sunburned, really drunk whirling dervish at Wilco in the T-shirt that said, "It's not a bender. It's a lifestyle." I also liked the pasty white giant dude with the fro and the T-shirt that said, "I seen aliens."

Best Piece of Art:

Thanks again, M!

* Pronunciation courtesy of Olive.

Is It Thursday Already?

Just don't even say it. IknowIknowIknow. It's been a week since my last post. And not that much has been going on, so it's not like I was somehow prevented from posting due to my incredibly glamorous and busy life. Unless you call getting interviewed today by a writer from Health Magazine (Hi Leslie!) incredibly glamorous. What? When you think of health and fitness, you don't automatically think of me? The one who likes to eat cake frosting straight out of the can? Okay, so she read this post and was contacting me about my incredibly glamorous allergy to Neosporin, so what of it?

In other news, Mama's gots to get her sleeps tonight because the whole famdamily is heading to the ACL Fest bright and early in the morning. It seems my dear friend M (of Vegas fame) has bestowed 3-day passes upon T-Bone and me, overnighted from St. Louie, even, because that's how much she rawks and rolls. Can you see me grinning? I'm a lucky girl, permanent-scar-the-size-of-a-tennis-ball (really)-as-a-result-of-bizarre-polysporin-allergy, notwithstanding.

Last Night's Makeup

Thanks to the lovely and talented Mrs. Squirrel for the rockin' props, and boy did I live up to that moniker last night. JC, y'all. How much do I love The Black Crowes? And how much did my boyfriend Chris bring the RAWK? T-Bone and I had a bang up time at The Backyard, even though it was 1000 degrees with 457 percent humidity. Luckily, the crowd was light on the Assholes with Cellphones count, but I think you might need to tell your mom to hang up the Bella Donna outfit because her free flying ninnies were drooping all the way to her pushed down head boots. That's kinda over for you, my dear. Like 28 years and four kids ago.

After finally coming down from the total awesomeness that was the show, I was sticky and stinky and DONE, so I took three Excedrin and hit the biscuit as soon as we got home. This morning, I woke up sore as shit from all the headbangin' and confused as to whether or not I actually saw my ex-beau at the show or just dreamed that I did (jury's still out). Also, in my haste to get to bed, I neglected to wash my face, so I woke up looking like Amy Winehouse's bloated older sister. Yow. On the upside, my frightful appearance inspired me to write a sad sack country song, and I just know it'll be a hit. So far, all I've got is the chorus:

You told me you'd be true
You said we never would break up
But when I woke up, I was all alone
Wearing nothin' but last night's makeup

Have a ROCKIN' weekend, y'all.

An Intervention

I am not, nor have I ever claimed to be, any kind of fashion plate. I put my sweatpants on one ragged leg at a time, just like everybody else. However, I have noticed an emerging trend that I feel it is my duty to expose, dismantle, and send packing to the nether regions of Fashion Hades. In a word: Scrubs.

Now, I actually like the idea of wearing scrubs to work, what with their comfortable, sloppy fit and low maintenance care requirements. They take the stress out of deciding what to wear to work, and I'm envious of people like my cousin the dentist, who has a different set for every day of the week. And lots of backups for the blood and whatnot. But alas, I went to law school instead of medical school because I hate math, and thus, I haven't had, nor will I ever have, a job that allows me to wear scrubs to work.

Which brings me to you poor victims of your own laziness. In case you didn't get the memo, scrubs are NOT your go-to everyday wear UNLESS you are actually working in the medical or dental fields. Perhaps a shampoo professional in a hair salon. Hell, I'll even give you a day care worker, but that's really stretching it. If you do not belong in one of these categories, put down the chili pepper scrubs and WALK AWAY. I know they're comfy. I know they're cheap. And God knows they hide every figure flaw we big girls have to offer. But please. You know you're not a doctor. We know you're not a doctor. So you're not fooling anybody when you show up at HEB on a Sunday morning (yeah, I saw you and all your nasty fishsticks) in your dirtiest scuffs and something like this:

And I don't care that it has a matching scrunchy. Or that it also comes in this:

And I may be speaking out of my area of law here, but I'm pretty sure you'd have grounds for a malpractice suit if your doc showed up for surgery in this:

I'm just saying, enough is enough. I've seen more than a few of you out there lately, and it's starting to make me nervous. And very very sad for you. Just know that there are alternatives - perhaps something from this collection?

Can't See The Forest For The Trees

So the first week of school was a great success all the way around. Peach jumped right back into the swing at her beloved GGMS, and Olive had absolutely no problem leaving the warmth of her mother's bosom for greener pastures and an awesome pony puzzle at her precious preschool. I now have a second grader and a preschooler - when did that happen?

Tonight, we took a family hike around our neighborhood after dinner. The hike and bike trail is literally steps away from our front door, and it circles the entire neighborhood for a lovely 2 mile walk. This is old ranch property, so there are lots of big old trees around the perimeter, and the trail winds through them in a very magical, Secret Garden kinda way. Peach and Olive have new metal walking sticks, and while they beg to take them every time, somewhere after about 15 minutes, when they realize it's easier to run and pick up rocks without them, T-Bone and I usually end up with them. Tonight was no different, and as we hit the homestretch, I had Olive by one hand and a stick in the other, and 50 yards behind me, T-Bone had Peach by one hand and a stick in the other. We walked by the park up the street, and there was a group of teen and tween boys at the pavilion, all on bikes and skateboards, having a rap session or a jam session or whatever it is the kids do these days. As Olive and I passed, the ringleader said, "Hi," while the others just stared me down. I said, "Hi," and we kept on trucking. A few steps later, he said, "Don't go to the left. There's trees." Or at least I thought that's what he said. I just kind of nodded and kept on, trying to figure out if he was forbidding me from coming into the park or if he was being sarcastic or if he was just a freak. Again he said, "Don't go to the left. There's trees on the left." Thinking surely I had heard him wrong, I said, "There are trees? What?" And he said, "On the left." I said, "Okay," and never looked back or stopped.

A few seconds later, when T-Bone and Peach crossed the hooligans' path, the ringleader said, "Hi," and T-Bone responded in kind, but he also waved. I heard some murmuring and then, "Sir? Hey, sir? Are you blind?" Yeah. The kid thought we were blind and being led around the neighborhood by small children. Okay - so we had the sticks, and I probably seemed (and was) totally confused by his repeated warnings of the dreaded trees. And it probably didn't help that it was getting dark and I still had my sunglasses on, but they're prescription lenses, and I really WOULD need a stick and a companion to get me around if I took them off. But a 3 year old? Come on, dude.

We Interrupt This Nonsense ... Updated!

For a dose of reality. In a former life, I clerked for a judge on the highest criminal law court in the state. By default, I was assigned all the capital cases that came through our office and wrote the opinions that affirmed the convictions, and thereby the death sentences, in those cases. Fun. One case that I particularly struggled with has been in the news lately, and unless Governor Hairdo does something completely out of character, Kenneth's time is up tomorrow.

In law school, I worked on the final appeal and last-minute request for clemency in another capital case (which The Supremes and W denied, thankyouverymuch), and I visited my client on Death Row in Huntsville the week before he was executed. Charlie saw the writing on the wall, and he told me with a smile that he was looking forward to getting a good clean shave before his family saw him for the last time. It is still one of the most unnerving and incredibly valuable experiences I've ever had, and I'm so glad I had the chance to do it. Ditto my visit to the women's death row unit in Gatesville.

Flash forward to my time as a clerk, where my very conservative judge once again listened patiently to my impassioned pleas to reconsider the trial court's decision and then said, "Thanks for the great work, but no." See, here in Tejas, capital convictions are automatically appealed, BUT, basically, unless the applicable law has changed between trial and appeal (yeah, right), or you have some newly discovered and extremely compelling evidence (like DNA), or there was some really egregious misconduct from either counsel table, or some such other rare instance, you're pretty much SOL at the state level and have to hope for bigger and better things higher up the food chain.

Which is how I got through the tough opinions, hoping that someone wiser and more powerful (paging Madam Ginsberg and Co.) would see the light and put the brakes on this runaway train. So far, that hasn't happened, but this case would be a great one to effect change in the system, if only by exposing the Law of Parties as the bullshit legislative lipservice that it is.

Google Kenneth's name if you're interested because there's a lot of information flying around out there right now. In the meantime, I'm going to wash my hands.

Update: Miracle of miracles, Governor Hairdo actually came through. Amazing. So now Kenneth will spend the rest of his life in prison, and we'll only execute two people this week instead of three.

Back-to-What Now?

Somehow, the entire summer has flown by, and here we are on the eve of a new school year already. I don't get it. It seems like only yesterday I was making my project list for the summer, which I mostly completed, and now I'm looking at calendars and save-the-date cards that run straight through the holidays. Yes, our Saturdays are now booked through December because the lovely and graceful Peach has been selected to perform in a production of The Nutcracker, and yours truly will be driving her 30 miles (each way) to rehearsal every week. Because they want the parents to drop the kids off and am-scray, I'm going to have several hours to kill, so I'm thinking of bringing a portable fan and a cot and just napping in the parking lot. Seriously.

In other news, as I am on a real self-inflicted injury tear lately, I cut the everloving crap out of my finger last night while cleaning a bigass knife. If it had just been T-Bone and me, I would have made him take me to get stitches, but, honestly, the thought of dropping everything and packing everybody up in the car right before bedtime was just all too exhausting. So I winced, wrapped it in a towel, and finished the dishes with my bad arm up over my head. Damn, fingers can bleed, y'all!

So Peach has had her clothes picked out for a week, and Olive has been wearing her new pony backpack everywhere. She starts on Tuesday. OMG. She is WAY more ready for it than I am. And with the way things have been going lately, I'm not sure I trust myself to be alone in the house for too long. Maybe I should get one of these in case I fall and I can't get up.

It's Over

Dear Luby's,

We've been together nearly 40 years now, and while I've noticed a growing distance between us in the last few years, I really always thought we'd work it out and go the distance. I've forgiven your recent attempts to bolster lagging sales by scrapping the traditional cafeteria routine in some locations for a self-serve, all-you-care-to-shove-in-your-piehole format, which I loathe with every fiber of my being. I've excused the ridiculous decision to replace the tea cart ladies with individual "servers" at each table, who I am now guilted into tipping just for bringing me a straw. And I've even overlooked the baffling disappearance of the darling little boats you used to serve the shrimp cocktail in. But after last night's Kids-Eat-Free-on-Wednesdays debacle, I've had alls I can stands, and I can't stands no more. And in this case, it really is YOU, not me.

Not that I don't like to save a buck or ten, but any free event, especially involving kids, usually gives me pause because do I really want to be in a confined space with a bunch of other jackasses' screaming kids? In a word, fuckno. But there we were last night, in line with about 200 other assholes, dreaming of the best macaroni and cheese in the history of the world, and I knew it was over. I knew because I immediately wanted to get the hell right out of there, sweet comfort food or no. I knew because instead of being served by the sweet Luby Ladies of yore, the ones who would smile and call me "mija" when they scooped me up an extra hardy helping of fried okra, I was met with sweaty, mumbling, openly hostile burnouts who seemed to think it was MY fault that they were out of black-eyed peas. And I'm pretty sure one of that dude's jailhouse tats was infected, so I didn't eat the squash he forced on me anyway. Nice try.

And then, THEN, the everloving mac n cheese of the gods SUCKED. And I hate that word. That's how bad it was. And that's how OVER this is. Cold, plain pasta with cheddar cheese melted on it two days ago does not cut the mustard, and back in the day, you would have never let that shit fly. I just don't even know you anymore.

So, I'm out. For good this time.

Kiss my grits,
LT

P.S. And just so you know, you were my second choice last night as this place was closed for filming. Oh, quit your crying, you big baby.

Winding Down

Or is it winding up? Whatever - this is the last week of summer, and we've got shitloads of fun to cram in here real quick before the school bell rings on Monday. Here's what's on tap for the rest of the week:

Wednesday - pottery painting with friends we haven't seen in over a year. Friends who live like 15 minutes away. Friends whose baby we haven't even seen yet, and he's 13 months old already. I swear my life is not THAT busy, so this is just ridiculous. I am a terrible friend.

Thursday - hitting the mall for a little back-to-school shopping and a long-awaited trip to Build-Un-Oso. That place always reminds me of the dress-up Snoopy I had many moons ago, a toy that was so etched in my memory that once, during a particularly drunken game of Taboo a few years back, "Snoopy" was the taboo word, and I guess I flashed on an image of him in the railroad outfit because here was my description - "Okay! This guy is CRAZY! He wears a little engineer hat, and he has a crazy little bird friend! You know! He's CRAZY!" I can only recall this verbatim because my partner that night, my best friend in law school, still gives me shit about it to this day. And no, she didn't guess "Snoopy."

Friday - touring and eating my way through the Blue Bell Creamery in Brenham. We've been meaning to go during this 100th anniversary celebration, and we almost went last Friday but opted to go bowling instead. And oh yeah, I'm still SORE from the bowling. One frigging game, almost a week ago. Pathetic.

Saturday - TBD. Any ideas?

Sunday - machete-ing(?) my way through the weeds in my back bed, snakes be damned, and whacking the shit out of the privet and rose bushes that are taking over my front yard. And since I know you've been concerned about the GD scorpions infesting my house, I can tell you that the bug guy came yesterday and put the hammer down on those mofos. I already saw a dead one in the driveway this morning, and I'm leaving the little bastard there as a warning to his friends. Boo-yeah!

And THEN, Peach starts school on Monday, and Olive starts on Tuesday. More on that later ...

Finally, as I was sweating my way through a misguided attempt to navigate the outlets last Saturday - had to save that GD 8 percent, right? - I saw this T-shirt and thought of you: It is better to have loved and lost than to live with the psycho for the rest of your life.

True, true.

Rockin' Out

Olive loves nothing more than digging in the dirt and collecting rocks. She has filled a set of cans with a variety of "real" rocks, glass rocks, and a couple of what I'm pretty sure are just clods of dirt. Every one of them has a name, so we have friends like Stripey, Bubble Gum, Big Guy, and Corrina, and she neatly lines them up as she does her daily address. She has proclaimed on many occasions that she wants to be a scientist/artist when she grows up, so imagine my surprise when she told me this:

O: Mommy? Remember how I want to be a scientist when I get big?
LT: Yes. We've talked about you being a geologist so you can study rocks.
O: Well, I changed my mind. I think I want to be in a band instead.

Not to be outdone, Peach chimed in, "Well - at least you could be in a ROCK band! Get it? A ROCK band?"

We really could go on the road with this act.

TCB4EAP

Thirty years ago today, I was sitting in a GAS LINE ('member those?) at a service station in Houston when we heard on the radio that Elvis had permanently left the building. I've spoken of my love for E here and here and probably somewhere else, too, but today, as I sit here in my Tribute to The King t-shirt, I just want to share this.

Long live The King, and God bless all those poor sweaty bastards at Graceland.

Wash That Guilt Right Outta My Hair

I did it. For the first time in nearly eight years, I decided I needed, nay, deserved, a few minutes alone, and I LOCKED the bathroom door while I took a shower. What is it about my weekly (yes) shower that brings about such urgent issues as a lost tap shoe, a dead bug under the couch, or a strange cat walking across our front yard? Especially when there is a non-showering adult in the next room that can surely handle any and all of these "emergencies?" I just needed to rest my brain - and my vocal chords - for five minutes, and guess what? The house didn't burn down. The family was just as I left them, picking out PJs and bedtime books. And the world kept spinning round and round. So don't judge.

In addition, all is really right in T-Bone's little corner of the world as he is the proud owner of brand new Big Ass TV, AND we met a real live NASA physicist this weekend who promised to take us on a behind-the-scenes tour the next time we're in Houston. She's a real uppity-up over there and has all kinds of security clearance, so they spent the better part of Saturday talking missions past and future, trajectories, and, of course, space diapers. He had a ball and was really glad I dragged him to spend a day in the country with my crazy ass family.

So just look at me and T-Bone, doing it for ourselves up in this mutha.

In The News

A couple of items that caught my eye recently:

Reason # 4527 I Love This GD Town

A state trooper was being interviewed about an accident involving a naked driver and her naked passenger, a first for him, and he said, " But she's from Austin, and I figure Austin folks are a little different."

Reason # 862 I Love Criminal Law

I've observed some incredible defense lawyers, but this guy is a legend, and if I'd known he was in the area, I would've gone to gawk. How can you not love this strategy: "Say you sue me because you say my dog bit you. Well, now this is my defense: My dog doesn't bite. And second, in the alternative, my dog was tied up that night. And third, I don't believe you really got bit. And fourth, I don't have a dog."

Alpha Bravo Charlie

T-Bone is so good about taping all kinds of documentaries and specials from all those smartypants educational channels in an effort to further build our children's brains. He scans the schedule every Sunday and then previews whatever he tapes before sharing it with Peach and Olive. I've learned more about history in the 12 years I've known him than in all my years of schoolin', and Peach especially loves watching the shows and discussing them afterward. She's a sponge, y'all. It's so awesome.

T-Bone has a particular interest in the space program, so we've seen quite a few things on that subject, and I've decided something: I love all that astronaut lingo. Like, Roger this, copy that. Go, no go. T minus 5, 4, 3 ... You know what I mean. Sorta military, sorta not. From now on, I think I'm going to start saying, "We're go for launch!" every time I back out of the driveway. Because I am just that GD cool.

(Insert Some Witty Title That Ties This Shit Together Because I'm Spent, Y'all)

As if it's not bad enough that The Blogging Muse, that bitch, has packed up and left me this summer, now I'm getting berated in my comments for not posting this week. Well, if you lived the thrill-a-friggin-minute life I lead, you'd be slacking, too, pal. Por ejemplo:

Last weekend's trip didn't pan out exactly as I'd planned, seeing as one of my in-laws' best friends died unexpectedly on Friday morning, and Peach was right there in the thick of things when T-Bone's mom got the call. We lit out of here as quick as we could and arrived to find Peach handling everything very well. She had had a "ladies' lunch" with T-Bone's mom and several of her friends, including the dear woman who died, just the day before, so she was understandably shocked (as we all were) and sad (ditto), but the poor baby was hanging in there like a champ. I was SO glad to see her.

The whirlwind trip was just enough to distract me from the fact that I was late, like, you know, LATE. Very late. Because you asked, I'm a 23 day cycle girl, so, yes, I get the pleasure of being a complete bitch every three weeks, instead of four. So you can imagine when Day 35(!) rolled around, I was ready to explode. The best part was when I called my doc and talked to the nurse:

LT: Hi, (nurse). I'm 12 days late, and I thought if I called, it would inevitably get things moving. I'm not pregnant.
Nurse: Well, are you pregnant?
LT: Again, I'm not pregnant. Just REALLY late. And cranky.
Nurse: Have you taken a test?
LT: Five since Day 26. All negative. I'm not pregnant.
Nurse: Because we could do bloodwork. Because the tests might be wrong.
LT: They're not. I'm not pregnant.
Nurse: Well, hmmm. Are you sure you counted right?
LT: Yes. Usually I'm somewhere around 23 days so ...
Nurse: 23! Oh my god! Are you sure you're counting right?
LT: (ok, so this part was only in my head) Well, let's see. I've been menstruating for 25 years now, I've berfed two children, and I'm technically a doctor, so, yeah, I think I'm counting right.

After more dumb questions and munching sounds since I think she called me back on her lunch break, we decided to take a "wait and see" approach. So I waited, and five hours later, I saw my long lost Aunt Flo. And now the old hag refuses to leave ...

Other beings who refuse to leave are the GD scorpions who have taken up residence in about a 3' x 3' area at the top of my stairs. Seriously, W.T.everlovin.F.?! I have killed four of them in the last month, all in that same spot, which leads me to believe that there is obviously a nest or a kingdom or a coven or whatever somewhere around there. And guess what color my carpet is? Scorpion color! The other day, one of them somehow made it into Peach and Olive's bathroom, and when I picked up the trashcan to sweep, there he was. I really didn't want to freak them out, so I quickly tried to squish it with the trashcan. No luck. (And before you say, "catch and release" or "it's one of God's creatures" or some such bullshit, I say, if they breach my borders, all bets are off. They will be killed. Period.). Next, I grabbed the closest thing, which happened to be Windex, and while I think I stunned him a little, it just wasn't toxic enough. Finally, I ran to the utility room and grabbed the spray starch. Of course. I got to spraying, and the second I saw him start to struggle, I poured it on, quietly chanting "Die you motherfucker" through my very clenched teeth. I hate 'em, y'all! SO much. I stepped on one during a fifth grade slumber party beauty pageant, and I've never forgiven the whole species. At 1o years old, I thought scorpion=poison=instant death, so I totally lost my shit, along with the rest of the contestants, the judges, and the emcee. It was not pretty. I did end up winning the crown, but I think it was just because they felt sorry for me.

And now I feel sorry for you for having to read this crap. I'd write more, but my mutilated wrist is throbbing, so I must go ice it down. Or cut my arm off and be done with it. Whichever.

39 and Holding

So, for the rest of the year, will people automatically assume I'm lying when I tell them my age? Not that anyone really asks that much, and not that I give a shit either way. Just curious.

My birthday was lovely, although it was strange to be celebrating without Peach. She's with T-Bone's folks this week, and we'll go fetch her after yet another quick trip to San Antonio on Friday. One of my best friends from high school has a birthday the day after mine, and since she's FINALLY back in the Lone Star State after far too many years in Cali, we want to toss back a few to mark the end of our 30s - and start planning a righteous 40th bash for next year.

Karla May and the Geej, who is once again under my superb care for a few weeks, brought me beautiful flowers and delicious cupcakes, which the Geej nearly threatened to take back after it started raining AGAIN. She told me, "We have enough rain at your house. We have enough." Yes, we do, little one. Yes, we do. But truthfully, as long as it hasn't been 100 years since the creek that runs next to my house flooded, I'll take the wet stuff over the 1,000 degree days anytime. Yeah, so, it doesn't seem like summer. So what. We're all bitching about the rain as much as we usually bitch about the heat, but at least we're comfortable. I could however do without the moss growing on my sidewalk and the bugs that are sadly mistaken in thinking they can seek refuge from the deluge (hey!) in my humble abode. Hear that, frigging scorpions? I'm talking to you, assholes.

And although I need a dish or odd piece of china like a hole in the head (it's an illness, really, this dish fetish I have), Mama Turista surprised me with some pieces of my Blue Italian, including the much coveted:

I got the requisite phone calls from Peach, the in-laws, and my grandmothers, as well as delightful cards from my insurance agent and an airline. So sweet.

T-Bone, once again showing how confident he is in his manhood, arranged another date in September for me and my boyfriend:

He's even going with me to watch. OK, so maybe so are a few thousand other people. No matter. Chrissy will feel me - in his heart ...

I'm still tending to my nasty burn, which has only gotten nastier since I've been putting Neosporin on it for a week because guess what? I'm allergic to that shit! And I knew that! So now I have an oozing rash to go with my second degree burn! The good news? While getting my teeth cleaned yesterday, my dentist overheard me telling the hygienist about my misfortune and disfigurement, and he gave me a prescription for some hardcore burn cream that you can't get on your hands or your clothes or anywhere BUT the nasty burn because it has mercury or poison or cocaine or something in it. Anyway, it seems to be helping, but I fear that my days as a wrist model are over. And I'm not even 40.

Gotcha

So, tomorrow's the big day, and I tell you this only so I can tell you how I used that fact to scare the hell out of my mom this weekend. On Thursday, I burned the living shit out of my wrist on the toaster oven, and, because I'm an idiot, I forgot about it when I took a shower Friday morning and accidentally scraped off the blister or scab or whatever, leaving a giant, open wound - nice, right? I happened to have a giant bandaid/patch affair for just such an occasion, so I doctored myself up, and Olive and I headed down to San Antonio. On the way there, I hatched a plan, and here's the conversation I had with Mama Turista within the first five minutes we were there:

MT: What did you do to your wrist?
LT: (smiling) Nothing.
MT: WHAT did you do?
LT: (smiling) Nothing!
MT: Well, what is that? What did you ... Oh my GOD! Did you get a tattoo?!
LT: Yes.
MT: WHAT? WHY?!
LT: It's just something I always wanted to do before I turned 40.
MT: Oh my God. I can't believe you did that. And WHY did you do it there? You always said you would do it where the judge wouldn't see it. Oh my GOD! And just what in the hell did you get?
LT: Um, just a heart and some flowers. (Not at all what I would actually get, but that's another story.)
MT: (pause) I just can't believe you did that. (pause) Did you really?
LT: No, I burned it on the toaster oven.
MT: Well, thanks for just about giving me a frigginass heart attack.

Oh, and the whole exchange took place while she was on the phone.

Later, she admitted that I had gotten her but good, and that, in the grand scheme of things, a tattoo isn't really that big of a deal. Yeah, right.

The Devil and Sandy Bullock

Webkinz are The Devil. I am convinced. Peach received one from a friend when she was suffering from The Fevah, and she and Olive both fell so in love with it, I actually plunked down $15 to get one for Olive. Half the draw of these Spawn of Satan is their fluffy, snugly cuteness, and the other half is going online to feed them, dress them, and decorate rooms for them, "paid for" by doing jobs and/or playing games. Since I firmly believe that computer games and online gaming are evil and destroying civilized society as we know it, we have exposed las ninas to nothing more computer-related than looking at our family pictures and the occasional email. Peach has done some limited research and animation projects at school, but she wouldn't know an X-box from a mailbox, and, for that matter, neither would I. Hate. that. shit. and how fat and anti-social it's making kids today. And, before you say it, even if I had boys, clearly the preferred audience for that crap, I would feel the same way and the household ban would still apply.

Anywho, Webkins. Sorry, WebkinZ. Yeah. So, because Peach knows nothing about the games, and Olive, of course, knows nothing about the games, and T-Bone's computer time these days is spent scouring the Internet for deals on TVs, guess who's the sole breadwinner, or "Kinzcash" winner around here? It's insane, y'all. All my blogging time lately has been spent trying to keep these damn things alive and clothed and swimming in their POOLS and watching their own giant flat screen TVs. All because I am a chicken shit and don't want to have to explain my way through some kind of lesson on virtual death. And I really don't want T-Bone coming home one day to hear, "Daddy! Mommy killed Princess! And Pixie, too! Because she can't play the games with the arrow keys! And now our Webkinz are DEAD!" Beware.

Another thing to beware of? The DVD of Premonition that's out now. Damn, y'all. I actually went to see it at the theatre because I enjoy Ms. B's films on occasion, and I enjoy Mr. McMahon on every occasion (rowrrr). I wish someone had had a premonition about how shitty it was going to be because I'm totally superstitious and would have totally heeded the warning. Gawd. Olive's never-ending, nonsensical, typical 3 year old stories have fewer plot holes than this stinker. I'm telling you, it's confusing and inconsistent, and you wonder afterwards, "Am I really stupid? Or did they just THINK I'm really stupid?" Don't buy it. Don't even rent it. Don't even watch it when they start playing it 5,000 times on TNT once their print of Shawshank Redemption finally burns up. It's that bad. Trust me. Love the restaurant though, Sandy.

Senior Trip

Well, that was nice. Mama Turista's official retirement started off with a bang and a margarita or three, and the train kept a rollin' all the way through Sunday. The River Walk was predictably abuzz Friday night, but it's fun to play tourist (hey!) every now and again. The highlight of the evening had to be Olive's impromptu dance performance with the strolling mariachis, complete with skirt swishing, panty flashing, and arm moves that can only be compared to Uma Thurman's in the dance scene in Pulp Fiction. And who knew Peach knew when to shout, "Tequila!" We sang. People stopped and stared. And applauded. And Olive bowed. Repeatedly. I just can't imagine where she gets it.

On Saturday, we took in the Botero exhibit at the San Antonio Museum of Art - the site of a most festive wedding reception nearly 10 years ago, if memory serves ... sigh. Peach and Mama Turista participated in a real live drawing class, which was part of the museum's family activity series, and while the three other kids in the class chose to sketch a still life of a giant pear, Peach chose this:

The other kids were done in 15 minutes, pastel shading and all. My little artiste? Almost an hour. Aside from the portraits, that was the most detailed work she could have chosen, and the teacher admired her attention to every. little. flower.

On Sunday, we had lunch with the darling Opie and sufficiently smothered his strawberry blond head (emphasis on the strawberry) with shugah. How sweet do bambinos smell? Love it.

All in all, a great weekend, and Mama Turista enjoyed her first days of freedom immensely. I remember when my granddaddy (her dad) retired from the plant, gold watch and all, and he seemed so much older than she does. However, she and my grandmother are going on one of those cruises to Alaska this summer, with about a bajillion other blue-haired Catholics, and she's just sure that with her shoulder trouble and dietary restrictions, she'll fit right in. Good Lord.

P.S. I have had the majority of this typed out TWICE since I've been home, and stupid Blogger keeps LYING about automatically saving it for me. So the staleness is totally stupid Blogger's fault. Not mine. So there.

The Doctor is Out

Today is Mama Turista's last day as a working girl, and although Peach and Olive are a bit upset about the whole thing, I'm sure some Mexican food and a boat ride will lessen the sting. It will be weird when she closes the door for the last time, but again, it's a good thing. Besides missing her incredible design magic, I know some of her customers will also be missing her daily drop-in therapy sessions. No, she's not a licensed therapist, but you would not BELIEVE the shit people feel compelled to tell her on any given day. In the middle of the French soaps display! Bizarre. She says she feels like she's solved the world's problems from behind that little counter and that she should have had a setup like this:

Speaking of doctors, I get lawyerly stuff in the mail all the time, and it cracks me up when it's addressed to "Dr. (Turista)." Yes, I have a Juris Doctor, so, yes, technically I'm a "doctor." But seriously, only an asshole lawyer calls himself a doctor. Like this one asshole that I worked with at LawNerds who always signed his emails, "Dr. (Asshole), Esquire, Attorney at Law." Really, genius? So is everybody you're sending these emails to, asshole. Impressive. And that whole Attorney "at Law" thing has always bugged me, too. What else could you be? An Attorney "at Will?" "at Risk?" "at Random?" Just take off the powdered wig, dude, and CHILLAX already.

Maxin' and chillaxin' is what I'd like to be doing right now, but this is the second of five weekends in a row that I'll be out of town - including four trips to San Antonio. Thankfully, it's not that far, but damn! We were supposed to be "taking it easy" this summer. What the hell?

No rest for the weary, I guess, especially since I've finally found the perfect exercise routine for my ever-expanding gut and assular area, so I'm off to "oxnegate" my blood.