Diet Soda

I stole this from Brian. I'm not illegally linking to him again. If it's that important, well, look in the comments or something. :)

1. How many credit cards do you own? Are they paid off?

Zero! Zero credit cards! (Only to be read in the voice of the Count from Sesame Street.)

2. Can you be in love with someone you don't trust?

Yes. And it sucks.

3. Should prostitution be legal?

The oldest profession? If the people involved were given the same benefits as everyone else, health insurance and so on, sure. I'm not sure how you would assign stock options, however.

4. On a scale of 1-10, how good of a lover do you think you are? (1 is lowest, 10 is highest)

Ha. Hahahahahaha. Ha. Good enough for someone to not want to hump anyone else for the rest of their lives, and seem quite happy about it.

5. What are three mistakes someone could make on the first date with you that would automatically make you turn down a second date with them?

(Not that I’m in the market or anything)

1)Have no sense of common courtesy or manners. Talking with mouths full, being rude to waitstaff, getting drunk, being an all around ass.

2)Not have the ability to laugh at yourself.

3)Assume they are getting laid for their "time and money".


Bonus (as in optional): Tell us about your worst date ever.


I went on a date with this dude who WOULD NOT TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER, even though I already had a boyfriend at the time. I told him this over, and over, and over, and he still begged me to go to dinner with him because, "I want to get to know you better!". I plead with the bf for help, and he laughed and told me to go on the date. After telling this man about 345982 times that THIS DATE IS NOT A DATE BUT A PLEA FOR HIM TO LEAVE ME ALONE, (I was like, 19 and not strong enough to tell this dude to go to hell.) he picks me up and takes me to four pawn shops. Then we went to eat dinner at a decent Chinese fusion place, where he ordered for me against my will, (I hate that.) and chewed with his mouth open and used his hand for a napkin. While I am trying to eat my meal (that wasn't what I wanted), he says to me, (I shit you not!) "Hey, so, before we have sex I thought I should tell you that I have genital warts."

My fork was half way to my mouth when he said this. My response? "Thank you for that." I then put down my fork, picked up my purse, and walked out.

And my bf wouldn't come get me. I had to take the bus.

That bf later cheated on me with my friend, had a child with her, and attempted to destroy my mental health. And TMI pawn shop dude? He called me. Often. I threatened to go to the police, and he moved away.

The End.

Pogo Sticks

My father used to say, sarcastically, (Did he speak any other way?) when you were feeling well that you were "Back on your pogo stick." If you were feeling shitty, you were "Off the pogo stick." If something was distracting, in a good way, it would "Keep you off your pogo stick." To my knowledge, my father never rode a pogo stick, nor had a real affinity for them. But the mental image is hilarious--and it may be somewhat obvious that my family appreciates a hilarious mental image.

I think I started this post in that manner for a reason, and now I can't remember why.

Oh, there it is.

My cousin is doing famously. He is up and about, going to movies and being social. But he is not back on the pogo stick, and seriously pissed about it. He cannot go for daily three mile runs. He cannot drink alcohol. He cannot lift anything. (Like a martini glass.) Not pleased.

I have the mental image of my 6'5" cousin sitting next to an egg timer set to go off when his 8 weeks of recovery are up. When it dings, he leaps on to a pogo stick, straps twenty pound weights to himself and dons a beer helmet, filled with Makers Mark Bourbon. He then pogos for a minimum of 17 miles, laughing the entire way.

Or, you know, goes back to every day life, with a stronger heart and a bitchin' scar.

Yeah.

So, I have been engaged for a little over a week, and already my mother is dictating what she feels should happen at the wedding, my sisters are interfering in the way of money (this could be good or really, really bad), and the reactions have largely been "About Damn Time!", followed either by an enthusiastic "I/we will do everything and anything you need to help!", or, "Enjoy that."

I don't know what I was expecting, really. But it's nice to know there are people in your corner, even if some of the people you thought would be there for sure aren't in it.

It was over eighty degrees this whole weekend. Now it is raining buckets. My garden may not like this.

Oh, hilarity.

T asked my hand in marriage, gave me a ring. In response, I appear to have placed myself in the higher echelons of "Catch-dom" by buying him a new lawn mower and shower head, which I installed MYSELF. (Thank you very much! I know it isn't that big of a deal, but work with me here.) I picked T up at work and when I opened the garage door, there was his new lawn mower, all shiny and poised in the doorway....You would have thought I gave the man the Hope Diamond, he was so excited. So excited, in fact, that after working a 12 hour day he mowed the lawn. (I too love the lawn mower. Self propelled, baby.) And then took a shower under a shower head that doesn't shoot a cone of badly pressured water at random places on your body, depending on its mood.

And then he drags her around in a net.....Didn't see that one coming.

Monday night, I was sitting home alone (T was working), watching television and looking like what my cousin described as "Tanya Harding's Cousin." I was an unwashed human--I had on ill-fitting pajamas, a stained tshirt, and socks I used to wear while hunting.

There was a knock at the door.

I got up to see who it was--

(I don't lock my doors, usually. I live in the middle of nowhere in a retirement community. Seriously. All the people who come to my house on a regular basis just walk in, and I'm ok with that.)

And whoever it was had covered the peep-hole so I couldn't see.

I asked, "Who is it?", and received no answer.

I started to panic. I watch crime shows all day long, and I'm thinking, 'Some insane person has figured out that I live alone and surrounded by elderly deaf people. T is at work....I'm going to be murdered."

So I sprung into action. I turned the deadbolt in the door, and was preparing to race across the house to get the gun and the phone--I was going to hurl my kitchen windows open and brandish weapons while yelling something along the lines of:

"Motherfucker, I have a gun and a phone. Get the fuck of my property before I shoot your ass and call the cops!"

However, I didn't make it that far.

As I turned the deadbolt, the person on the other side of the door took their finger off the peephole. I saw the light shine through, so I looked again.

It was T.

I freaked--Why wasn't he at work? Something horrible must have happened! (I managed to forget that he has a key to my house, and it's not like he couldn't have just walked in anyway....)

I flung the door open.

"Why aren't you at work!!!???" I said.

Then I realized that T was wearing a suit. Carrying a dozen red roses and a bottle of wine.

"What the hell are you doing?", I asked.

He stepped inside my house, handed me the flowers and put the wine down.

"These are for you!", he said.

And then, with me in all my unwashed, scuzzy toothed, pajama-ed glory, T got down on one knee (And crashed into my pantry door) in his suit and asked me to marry him.

I said, "Of course I will marry you! Why aren't you at work?"

(I rock. So romantic and eloquent in my confusion.)

T had managed to surprise me--which is a feat in and of itself. He had taken two vacation days and pretended to go to work, only to go home, change, get roses and wine and the ring and come back to my house to propose marriage.

I guess he didn't plan on me plotting his death because of it.

Black Chickens Lay Blue Eggs

Welcome, googlers.

Anyway!

My cousin came through surgery famously--restarted his heart lickity split and he was out of the ICU three days early. Still in the hospital, but should be heading home soon.

May I extend a gigantic sigh of relief? Whew.

Thank you for your assistance, kids. Really appreciate it. :)

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I learned the fact in the title yesterday. T's parents have chickens and chickens lay eggs, so they give me eggs when I need them (which totally rocks). Brown chickens lay brown eggs, white chickens white, and black, well, they lay blue green eggs. Kinda neat, actually.

This fact brought to you by the letter Q.

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Happy Mothers day (early) to all you moms and soon to be moms out there!

Assistance in any way

Hey, if I could ask a favor of all of you.....

My beloved cousin is having open heart surgery today, and, as much as I am sure he will make a full recovery, it is still very scary because, well, they stop his heart and all that.

So if any or all of you could say a little prayer, send out positive vibes or request an audience with your idea of our 'maker' on my cousins behalf, well, that would be great.

I will explain in greater detail when I know more and have more time.....

Thank you. I mean it.

Death from Within

I have spent the last four days laying on my couch and bitching at anyone who happens to wander into my frame of vision.

Namely, T. Thankfully for him, he had to work so was spared half the hours of the day.

Oh, I rallied. We went out for drinks on day two of my lamentations--but I still lamented, rum and coke or no.

I seemed to have done something to my stomach that offended it greatly. First, it felt like I really, really needed to burp, but there was nothing. Then it morphed into stronger flashes of ache--right in my stomach. Then heartburnish feelings--all in the same spot. My stomach. My real stomach--not the tummy.

It wasn't constant. I would fool myself into senses of safety and start to be productive--doing laundry or dishes, and suddenly, pain.

Rather than go to the doctor (Who has health insurance? Not me.) I played the ever-entertaining "Diagnose yourself via the Internet", which is more a game of "Emotional well-being Russian roulette", as the internet told me I could have any of these:

*Gastroenteritis
*Ulcer
*IBS
*Gallstones
*Food Allergy
*Cancer
*Liver failure
*Kidney Stones
*Diabetes

Great.

So I made a deal with myself. If I didn't feel better--Markedly so--By Tuesday, I would suck it up and go see the man about my stomach.

I ate antacids like they were candy. I ate mild, easy to digest food. I layed off the smoking, mostly. I abstained from coffee. (Seriously. Bigger deal than the smoking.) Nothing helped.

My stomach felt better if I was full, but I wasn't all that hungry. So I did something totally out of character--I drank water.

I never drink water. I know how horrible this is for me. But I don't do it--not on purpose, really, but I just, well, don't.

I started to feel better. Hours passed without pain. I kept drinking.

12 hours later (!) my body started to have some excess water--I peed. First time since the water consumption started. Still pain free.

I went back to the internet and demanded a second opinion.

It would seem that severe dehydration can cause symptoms EXACTLY LIKE MINE.

Sigh.

So I'm drinking lots of water. Hopefully I still feel better tomorrow. And I am definitely having coffee if I do.

(Please, pray I feel better. This shit sucks. I promise, Lord, to drink water like it's going out of style to the best of my ability for the rest of my days. And I really don't want to go to the doctor.)

Success! Also, I brake for testosterone

T and I (As well as the youngest of T's brothers, who is 16 and therefore ripe for exploitation in the manual labor variety) spent the last few days bringing a "Campaign of Terror" to his yard. We mowed, we aerated, we fertilized, we weeded....we tore out the "garden", which was more of an extension of the lawn, removed bushes, pruned hedges and other bushes....

And we planted. Planted planted planted. T is going to have the girliest front yard when my efforts come to fruition. Over 100 bulbs went into the now reclaimed garden....it shall be glorious.

Aside: We decided to plant daisies in the window boxes. Cheerful. The daisies, combined with a small blue flower that a random woman in Home Creepo loved, would immediately brighten up the front of the house.

That is, if T and I could count. THREE trips to the nursery it took us, THREE, to determine that in 4 boxes, we would need 8 daisies. Sigh.

Anyway, the yard, it's promising.



Today was a big day for taking pictures out the drivers side window of the car. Bear with me. (Also, please ignore the hose. I did.)

Anyway--notice the "Rambo" tulips--Those things have been through the wringer and they, through no effort of anyone, have survived. I had mercy on their fighting spirits and left them there. The rhododendrons, wild daisies and snail commune were not so lucky.


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I delivered lunch to T at work today, as he awoke this morning seven minutes after he was supposed to be on the clock and didn't have the time to pack it himself.

Before I would give him his lunch, I made him hold still so I could snap a photo, you guessed it, out the drivers side door/window of the car.




T works a manly job.

I appreciate this. Really. No, really. Yes. Like that.

If this manly job didn't require him to be covered in a nasty ass stink all the time, I might make him dress like this more often. (No, it doesn't really wash out. I have tried. Good lord, have I tried.)