First, thanks to Fyrchk for helping me add the links to my favorite blogs. And SHE thinks SHE is e-tarded? I think not. Hello, E-tarded, Party of One.

Second, this is something for AM:

My friend told me about another dream. This one involves him having (great) sex with a woman. Not all that strange, except the top part is all woman, and the bottom half is ... BOAT.

What do you think of that??

My friend, El Heffe (mentioned in previous post ... ala bees and such), called today to tell me he had two very strange dreams of late. By the end, I was in tears:

First dream: He dreams he is a cartoon dog. The dog looks like the blinky dog from Toy Story. And in this dream, he manages to turn himself into various appliances to get away from whomever is chasing him. At one point, he becomes a radio. When the bad guys are onto him, he gets into the bathroom, climbs the wall, and becomes the air freshener.

Second dream: He's shopping in a grocery store. Suddenly, Mr. T comes running down the aisle, tips over his grocery cart, and proceeds to start jumping up and down. EH starts jumping up and down with him, and starts yelling, "I PITY THE FOO'!" to Mr. T.

EH has had to stop ...... er ....... smoking for a month or two, so these dreams are becoming crazier by the day.

(He also suggested, when I told him about a neighbor's recent idiot rambling, that i get a paintball gun and just start picking them off at the mailbox ... PING! PING!)

My grandma came to visit for a few hours last night. By far, the grandma I am the closest to. When I was little, she bought me the first Barbie when mom said I couldn't have one (and not just ONE Barbie, but a Ken, too, so they could properly 'do it'). She is hip and funny. She is constantly messing up words ("HDW, would you look at all this graphite? I mean, really!" - she meant, "graffiti").

One of the funniest things (or grossest) about my mom's side of the family is that they insist on talking to you while they are (as they say) "on the pot". They'll be doing their business and want you to come in and talk. Therefore, you have no privacy if you are in the bathroom. I once locked the door and she was horrified. So, personal space just isn't really thought of much with this side of the family.

Last night, I had introduced my grandma to our neighbor and his family. My grandma immediately turned on the charm, and reported to me later that he was "such a handsome man". She told me HDH is VERY good looking, and not to get her wrong, but they were "somewhat related". So, if she was going to do any "looky-looky", it would be to our neighbor.

Before she left last night, she changed her clothes - not in the bathroom or bedroom - but right smack in the middle of the dining room, facing their house, with all the windows open. And funny thing is, it had nothing to do with her little crush. She really just was doing what she always does ... just being grandma.

Courtesy Fyrchk's e-hump, I bring you my list:

10 years ago - I was living in my first apartment, some rundown place. The guy above me beat his girlfriend all the time. That was lovely. My dad had just died and I was miserable. I was pretty much a lump and it's not a fun time to remember.

5 years ago - I had just started dating my husband, dealing with his pyscho-ex hosebeast girlfriend, otherwise known as Pig Vomit.

1 year ago - Still dealing with Pig Vomit. Had a newborn who cried a lot, working on losing the baby weight.

Yesterday - What did I do ... let's see ... I was dealing with a 17-mth-old baby, cleaned the house for the in-law's arrival (any minute now), ran errands, made dinner, had wine, went to bed and couldn't sleep.

5 snacks I enjoy - If I could choose ANYTHING ... I love nachos, vegatable and dip, popcorn, Hot Tamales, and ......... a martini. It's not a snack, but I couldn't care less.

5 songs I know all the words to - "Jolene" by Dolly Parton, "Don't Stand So Close To Me", The Police, "Only Yesterday" by the Carpenters, "For My Wedding" by Don Henley (our wedding song), and ... lots of others. I can't choose.

5 things I would do with $100 million dollars - For one, I'd get a new car. I hate mine. Pay off the house, buy a house on the Oregon coast and give a lot away to charity.

5 Places I would run away to - If I told you, you'd come and find me, now wouldn't you?

5 things I would never wear - Those stupid Ugg boots. About everything else I'm fine with ...

5 Favorite TV Shows - Scrubs, Desperate Housewvives (you don't say), Ellen (because when my baby hears the theme song, he starts to dance), Law and Order (not so much lately), and sadly, the Surreal Life. It's nice to watch a train wreck in motion.

5 Biggest Joys - My son talking to himself in the morning, before we go into his room. My husband leaving a card for me and calling during the day just because (and no, not because of the velcro stunt). Visiting with old friends. Listening to good music and enjoying a nice vino. And, I suspect, having a good life.

5 favorite toys - They are upstairs under my bed, actually.

And the Terrible 2's have arrived in full force.

This week, O-Man was most pissed when I wouldn't let him go head first down the steps while riding on his John Deere tractor. What has the world come to when a mother won't let her son take a header down the stairs???

He was also pretty stinking mad last night at the empty pizza box. Not sure why, but it sent him into orbit. He then spent the next 15 minutes in his crib wailing and throwing things out of his crib.

I poured a glass of wine, turned up the music, and waited.

Repeat after me: BIRTH CONTROL

HDH had his new TV delivered today. The delivery guys had to carry in the TV, all 300 lbs of it, and they were none too happy. But the skinniest guy (he was as small as my little toe, I think) was the most ... interesting? of them all.

I shall call him Snaggle Tooth. He had one very long tooth in front and no others that I could really see. He had quite a bit of arm art and stunk it up pretty badly.

As they were carrying in the TV, he stopped yelling and screaming at every step, sat the TV down, and pointed to his left bicep. It was cut. He said to me, "You know how heavy this TV is? So heavy it ripped my muscle!"

A-HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! Like hell it did.

(He did turn to my son and said, "You gonna help us lift this? No, you won't. Why? Because you are going to grow up and get an education, that's why".)

But still, watch out for Snaggle Tooth the Ripped Bicep Guy.

Apparently, our son is a biter.

Not a malicious biter, just a "Oh, you look like you might taste good" kind of biter. He has been pretty good for the last few days, but today at the babysitter's, he took a chomp out of the little girl's finger. No blood, just a pissed off little girl. And understandibly so.

If he continues to do his chomping and breaks the skin, the sitter will have to report him to the state. HDH says he'll be black marked -- just like the Seinfield episode. George takes the book into the bathroom, takes it back to the store, they tell him it's been 'flagged'.

A biter. We have a biter.

The lighter - velcroed (by none other than HDH) - to its final resting place on another cupboard:

Upon learning an upscale restaurant in Denver had suddenly closed, this was HDH's response:

No way was Adega going to make it with those prices and portions. Even after I called them and the manager said he would, they never credited our card. Serves the assholes right to go under.


HDH (AKA Mr Velcro)

I had a conversation this week with one of my closest friends - I will call him, El Heffe. For no other reason than this is what he'd like call himself.

Here are a few snippets of the conversation I had with El Heffe on the phone the other day. He is home sick, and as he's a farmer, he's NEVER HOME SICK:

On the illness he has right now:
EH: I feel like death. I really might die. Went to the doctor and he says I have an viral infection. It's taken over the right side of my head! It's in my nose, my ears, my throat, my mouth. MY MOUTH! I have canker sores in the back of my throat! I was sitting at the table the other night and my friend said, "Quit whining. It's just a canker sore". I told him I'd show him, so he started to lean across the table and I said, "Not necessary. You'll see it from there!" and he did. He sucked in his breath, even. Nasty thing. It's huge. It's in the back of my throat.
Me: Are you eating?
EH: Of course I'm eating. Everything tastes like cardboard and mustard, but I'm eating.

On the illness and the shit-storm that came with it:
EH: And then, I had to crap. Oh man, did I have to crap!! I got up at 1:30 in the morning and sat on the toilet until 9:30 that morning.
Me: Oh God. That's bad.
EH: Water, just fluid. I don't know where the hell that shit - if that's what you want to call it - was coming from. I probably could have shit through a keyhole and not touched metal on either side.

On the farmhouse he grew up in (old, built in the 1800's):
EH: So the guy that owned that house finally did some renovations to it. When they tore out the walls, there were ... in some places ... 3.5' to 6' high piles of bat guano! BAT SHIT, HDW!! I told my mom that this is why I was sick so much growing up. I was breathing in fucking bat shit! And they had these nasty red bugs, too.
Me: The bats?
EH: Yeah, the bats!! Ever seen bed bugs? Probably not. Because if you have, you'd know these fuckers are scarier than those. They're red, big, flat, but they're HAIRY! Sonofabitches. They bit my mom, they bit my dad, and they should have bitten my asshole brother more, but they didn't bite me, fuckers. I wouldn't take a thing with me when I moved out. I didn't want those fuckers coming to my new house.

On bees:

EH: Did I tell you about the bees? I told my mom and dad for years that I heard bees in the walls of that house. No one believed me. I had dreams they'd come through the walls. Turns out, when they were fixing up that house later, they took off the siding of the house on that east side. I SHIT YOU NOT. There was a honeycomb running from the very top to the bottom, all two plus stories. Millions of bees. It was impressive. They had a bee keeper come out to move them out, which he did. He tried to give us some honey. I didn't want a part of that. Those fuckers gave me bad dreams. Keep that shit away from me!!

Dear Home Depot Employee (that I encountered, sadly, this morning at 9:00 a.m.),

We met in the aisle. Do you remember? It was the aisle with all the cleaning products and light bulbs. I was coming down the aisle, and you were coming from the other direction - pulling your cart along. I didn't really see your face, I was too busy looking for the Windex.

Suddenly, you turned around and walked away. You left your cart. I wondered what had happened .... ?

And then ... it hit me. The pungent smell of rotten ass! YOU FARTED AND LEFT! And it wasn't just any fart. OH NO!! It was a SBD if I have EVER encountered one! Silent, but oh-so-very deadly. And powerful. It made my eyes water. I gagged, and maybe threw up a bit in my mouth. You could have knocked over an elephant with that smell.

What did you eat? What in the world caused your colon that much fury??

The smell - truly - invaded my nose and in all likelyhood, cinged any or all nose hairs I had. Putrid, foul, revolting, you name it.

So, my advice to you, dear Rotten Ass, is next time you feel such an 'urge' rising in your bowels (because really, that had to have been stewing for a good long while), find another aisle. A bathroom. Better yet, go outside and burn another hole in the ozone.

Sincerely,
An Unsuspecting Customer (Who Then Made Like a Bandit For The Door Without Her Windex)

Editor's Note: HDH has requested a better photo, one including only his hand and pepper grinder. It sounds a tad sexual, but I digress ...

The following is a rebuttal to the "frenzy" of criticism regarding HDH (aka BBG, and now, Mr. Velcro) and his choices in household tools. As a quick insight, you need to know he's rebutting A LOT of the crap from comments from, oh, ages ago. Enjoy, kids:

The kitchen is all about function. Just like the OR. No one goes to the nice restaurant and asks to go see the kitchen. They just want well prepared meals. If the cook pisses on the floor, well whatever. If I decide the pepper grinder would be best velcroed to the cabinet (or up my ass for that matter), then as the primary chef in this fucking kitchen - that is where it shall be.

The baby needed to learn to use the pacifier - ergo lacing it to his face made perfect sense. Ala crocodile hunter. Kids got to learn. When I was a kid...blah blah, yada yada.

Finally, when you are burn't in the AM and looking at several big vascular cases - you need your fresh Joe. Now, if the coffee grinder is jammed - that is a crisis. As a surgeon, I realize crises require sacrifices - so unfortunately - the baby's (who is already balding I might add) hairbrush just got a new job description. Desperate times etc.

PS He just notified me that Martha Stewart left him a message offering him a job. She found the velcro idea to be "totally kicking". It will be in the next catalog. There will be velcroed pots, pans, spice rack - all fucking velcroed. Everything is velcro.

Peace out, bitches.

(And for the record, the bib is hung up with velcro, too.)

I spent last night puking my guts out (and no, I am not pregnant!). I had just finished arguing with my husband (I pointed out the pepper shaker looked really stupid on the wall - see next post down -, and he proceeded to list everything he hates about me - ah, marriage), went to bed, and just felt ... eh. I tried every remedy I could think of, and finally decided (after two and a half hours of tossing and turning) that I'd go sleep in the guest bedroom and let HDH get some sleep.

Well, he definitely got some sleep. I got to know the toilet down the hall VERY well.

I didn't really eat anything after lunch. I didn't puke 'til midnight. Who knows.

And the Baby got up at 6 a.m. Just a smidgen too early for yours truly, so I coaxed him back to bed with a bottle (breakin' the rules, breakin' the rules) and am about to head back to bed myself.

I haven't puked like that (minus the alcohol-induced one a few years ago) in quite some time. I don't know how people with bulemia pull this off.

I'm off to bed now ...

Fyrchick: Thinking 'bout you today!! Hang in there, girl.

I was in a wedding in Michigan this past weekend.

A few of the highlights (good and bad):

1. Seeing one of my best friend's in the whole entire world marry a girl that will be his very best friend forever. Love, love, love all around. It was splendid.

2. Seeing lightning bugs for the very first time! Apparently, they are not in Colorado, so this was huge for me.

3. Did I mention one of my best friend's in whole universe found the love of his life?

4. The videographer at the reception asked if I wanted to hook up in a dark hallway at the reception site. I said no, and then ran like hell back to my table. Gross.

5. Got screwed by United on flights three times in one day, almost missed a connecting flight at O'Hare and was one of those morons running down the terminal.

It's nice to be home. The baby is throwing huge temper tantrums (my husband swears the baby didn't throw one while I was gone, lovely) and my husband opted to clean the kitchen. And by 'clean', I mean put velcro on the pepper shaker and stuck it to the cabinet next to the sink.

I give up.

This, I cannot believe.

We went to the Botanic Gardens last night for a concert - Marc Cohn (you know, theWalking in Memphis guy). Suzanne Vega opened for him, as well. GREAT show. You can bring in your picnic basket, wine, beer, whatever, chill under the stars for a few hours.

His voice is AWESOME ... especially last night. One of the few artists that sounds like they sound on an album. He was funny, witty, incredible musician, all those things. He even volunteered to stay late and sign CD's and such for the fans.

Then I wake up to this in the news (and thankfully, he's okay):

GRAMMY WINNER SHOT DURING ATTEMPTED CARJACKING


DENVER - Police are searching for a man suspected of shooting singer songwriter Mark Cohn, shown at left, in the midst of two attempted carjackings and one successful attempt early Monday morning.

Denver Police have identified the man as 26-year-old Joseph William Yacteen. They say he may also go by the name Anthony Andolini.

Cohn was hit in the temple by a bullet fired during a wild turn of events. The bullet was lodged in his head, but was removed at Denver Health Medical Center. He was released later Monday. Cohn's concert scheduled for Tuesday in Lawrence, Kan. has been postponed.

"Marc seems to be battling through and we're just glad he's alive and we're hoping he'll be back on the road soon," said a representative for Cohn.

Police first received a call around 10:30 p.m. Sunday about a car parked on the light rail tracks near the Magnolia Hotel at 818 17th Street. Hotel staff told officers the car belonged to Yacteen, who tried to pay his hotel bill with a stolen credit card.

Hotel staff told the officers that police had been called earlier in the evening because of the credit card incident. Security officers at the hotel held Yacteen and asked him for identification, but he said he had none.

When security told Yacteen police were responding he fled the scene; running on Stout Street toward the 16th Street Mall.

A short time later, RTD officers found Yacteen coming out of Tarantula's night club near Champa and 15th. Officers say Yacteen told them, "I'm not going back to jail." The officers said Yacteen then produced a silver colored handgun and pointed it at both of the RTD Officers.

They responded by drawing their weapons and finding cover. According to police, Yacteen ran into the 1400 block alley of Stout/Champa where he tried to get into a Chevy Impala. A victim of that carjacking told police her boyfriend said there were no keys to the car.

Yacteen and the victim's boyfriend went running out of the alley and one shot was fired, police said.

RTD officers responding to the shot saw Yacteen attempting to carjack a Ford van. Police say when he couldn't get in the van the suspect fired one shot into the vehicle.

When police told him to drop his gun he turned and ran, Denver Police said.

Cohn's road manager Thomas Dube was driving the Ford van. He told police he saw the suspect waving for him to stop, but could see the gun so he tried to avoid him. Dube said the suspect was wearing a shirt that said "Staff" on it.

Cohn, who performed earlier at the Denver Botanic Gardens, was struck by the bullet after it grazed Dube. Dube was also injured by flying glass that was embedded in his face and eye. Both were treated at a nearby hospital and released. Two of Cohn's bandmembers who were also in the van were not injured.

Cohn won the Grammy for "Best New Artist" in 1991 after his breakout hit "Walking in Memphis." His wife, ABC News anchor Elizabeth Vargas flew to Denver to be with him.

A short time after the Cohn shooting, officers saw Yacteen carjack a Subaru Forrester at 14th and Stout. Officers said he forced four men out of the car and sped toward Colfax on 14th Street.

An arrest warrant has been issued for Yacteen. The charges include attempted first-degree murder and two counts of felony aggravated robbery.

Police have not released a photo or description of Yacteen, but are expected to later today.

We'll have reports on this story on 9NEWS at 4, 5 and 6.

Why do I say My Life on Wisteria Lane? This is why:

I was reprimanded by a neighbor recently because we aren't "members" yet of the local swimming "club". At last count, the wait list was 65 families deep, and the cost PER YEAR (which is really one summer worth of swimming, so three months at most?) was $450. Your babysitter/nanny has a fee of $25. They tell you it's worth it because you have movie nights at the pool, but really, I think you could do that AT HOME and pay far less. If you head up the street a bit and turn right, you run right into a public pool, just as much to do there, easier to get in, and FAR less expensive.

I hate this holier-than-thou crap I encounter living in this neighborhood. The look they gave my husband and me when we said we would likely send our son to public schools was priceless - it was as if someone had farted right in the room. They have their children in the international school. I'm sure it's a lovely school. I also know my husband's parents were public school teachers and my dad was the President of the school board at my public school for years. Public schools are important in our family.

Now, I have nothing at all against the choices they are making for their children, but this attitude that BECAUSE you live on this street, you should automatically be doing such things - like private schools and high-end memberships to be seen - is what makes me crazy.

It's hysterical. Neither my husband or myself care to 'be seen' by anyone, or care what they think when they see us.

I watched my husband take out the trash in his wife beater shirt and scrub pants last week. He had a big ol' coffee stain on the front, too. And I'm sure they ladies were mortified by the sight. HDH drives an older model Ford Explorer because it's paid off and in relatively decent condition. He also wears nice suits. (not like another neighbor, though, who has suits hand-sewn for him and has "Made Especially For" tags put in them)

The neighbor's just don't know what to make of us. They don't understand my resistance to going to spa treatments once a week for face picking (it doesn't make them look any different, but they just HAVE to), having three memberships at various health clubs (because one isn't enough?) and the need to desperately get into the ritzy Country Club down the road.

Not us. Neither of us really care about all of that and it suits me just fine.

So, if you're looking for us this summer, we'll be out back running through the sprinklers and going for swims at the local public 'just been peed in' pool. We'll be researching preschool's at some point, but until then, we'll be right here, enjoying our little bit of different on Wisteria Lane.

I love (love!!) my new blog lay-out ... thank you, Cat, for doing all the hard work for me! It's fantastic - I recommend her to ALL of you.

I'm home from my Michigan wedding trip, too ... up yesterday at 4 a.m., so still recovering today.

What's new out there?

Last night, I ordered pizza. It was take-out only, so having a 16-mth-old in tow, I had time to pay and leave. (sidenote: some creepy guy followed me in and said, "Gee, you must think you have a stalker because I followed you ALL the way down suchandsuch street and into the parking lot ... I answered that, no, I didn't think he was a stalker, and I was so occupied with my baby, I wouldn't have known ... he said, "Well, with your kind of rizzo, I doubt it!" What the fuck??)

Regardless ... I get the pizza, I get home, I unload two pizza's and baby into the house. I open the pizza to discover two VERY burned pizza's. The underneath was toasted. The top was toasted. In fact, I couldn't tell what was the bacon/sausage or cheese. Seriously. The shit I paid for last night was nasty.

Regardless, we picked at it last night and that was that. This morning, I threw that heaping pile of shit away. I don't like burned pizza. Do YOU like burned pizza?? Seriously!

Fast forward to 3:00 pm today:

My husband coming in the door (unexpectedly) from work:

HDH; Where's the pizza from last night?
Me: I threw it away. It was burned.
HDH (stomping): GODDAMN IT! I WOULD HAVE EATEN IT! JESUS CHRIST!!!
I leave the room.

As I am upstairs steaming pissed at his reaction to small and insignificant problem, I debate going to the garage, pulling out the nasty ass pizza and serving it to him "been-in-the-garage-in-100-degree-plus-heat" style. But I don't.

Later this evening, I'm having wine with a neighbor and telling her my story, and she tells me I should order something for him because "I need to apologize". Bullshit. If you wanted the pizza that bad, it would have been something you would have boxed up and put in the fridge, not left on the counter over night.

And really. It's not like there isn't a lot of other stuff to eat here at the house. Like, oh, sandwiches and things that aren't BLACK and tasteless.

Jeesus H. Christ.

It's days like today that I remember fondly those of single days. You know, the ones when you came home and just ate whatever you wanted, threw away whatever you wanted, read the book, listened to the music, went to bed, farted in bed (uh, like girls do that??).

This was a long weekend. And not in the best way, either.

The baby is working on molars, I think. He has a mouthful of drool, soaking wet shirts, a red cheek, and a runny mess in his diaper. Around 6 this morning he woke up screaming bloody murder, and after some soothing, I got him back to sleep until ... well ... still asleep now (almost three hours later!).

HDH (hotdrhusband) has been on call at the hospital for 17 days straight. One partner is serving overseas, the other taking a pre-planned family vacation. The call hasn't been too bad, but the last few nights have been horrendous. Both trauma calls which are really interesting, to say the least. The kid last night died of a gunshot wound to the chest.

I didn't really get a chance to nap this weekend and catch up on sleep, nor did HDH. I leave on Thursday for a wedding in Grand Rapids, MI (bridesmiad and singing, this go round), and my biggest hassle is figuring out how to pack the dress and not get it too wrinkly.

The one piece of happiness I really do have this week is looking forward to NO PAINTING in the house. She's officially done until the fall, so I'll be showering in peace (see below).

Happy Monday, everyone.