Me. Circa 1992. My first prom. Had to go as a date of a kid in my class who was an escort for the Grand March that evening. He left to go drinking with his buddies. And I had to figure out how to tell my mom that his anti-freeze leaked in his car and melted my dyed-to-match shoes.

But before he ditched me for the drinky, I remember dancing to two songs quite clearly:

"I Still Think About You" - Danger Danger
"Show Me Heaven" - from the Days of Thunder soundtrack (and still love that song)


The guy I went with later (our senior year, I think?) shot a coyote and stuffed it's tanned head in my locker. Boys. When they like you, they do some strange ass shit ...

Unless you are Darth ... then you no be my Papito!!

Your Daddy Is Darth Vader

What You Call Him: Papito Why You Love Him: You don't love him, you just love calling him "daddy"

I'm a regular reader of Dooce ... and her last post really struck a chord with me. She has said everything I've tried to say, but much more eloquently (I love the 'waving of the middle finger' bit).

I know not everyone shares this same view. I take issue with those little people like Linda Hirshman (who she mentions in the article). I saw the interview on Good Morning America. It was truly a shame.

I have always said it's not WHAT choice you make, it's that you HAVE the choice to make. That's the true spirit of feminism, and Dooce says as much:

Here's Dooce's thoughts on the matter.

I slept like crap last night. (too hot, too cold, couldn't wind down, blah, blah)

I woke up at 5:15 to the sound of HDHusband getting ready for early conference. He was making coffee and woke up HDToddler (yes, honey, you did) and HDT moaned and shifted around until 6:30.

At 6:30, I opened my bedroom door (oh-so-very-tired) to get said Toddler down the hall, and I was hit with the nastiest skunk smell ... ever. I think HDH let it in the house just to spray the hallway I was in. It still stinks. Little bastard.

Go pick up HDT from the crib (he insisted on sleeping in his new shoes last night). He has pee coming out of every end of the diaper, soaked through his pj bottoms, and is insistent that we gather up every Nemo he has or will see along the way to the kitchen.

Big Nemo (bigger than him).
Blankie.
Pacifier.
New Shoes.
And a Nemo cup on the floor.

I am still prying open my eyes, and he throw a fit because I am changing his diaper - and he wants "chair!" (to be in the chair and snuggle with mommy).

Hard life this kid has.

So, I've been up less than an hour. And I'm quite sure this day is going to be interesting. I believe it's a morning where we visit Mommy's store that sells Liquid Crack ... the coffee shop up the street.

Until later ...

This is an open letter to the DOUCHE who could have killed me at the intersection of Alameda and Monaco about 45 minutes ago:

Dear DOUCHEBAGMOTHERFUCKER,

I had the geen arrow. I even paused to make sure a douchebag such as yourself wouldn't be charging through. Half-way through the intersection, you decided to gun it and go through.

You barely missed ME.

I stepped so hard on my brakes and laid so hard on the horn, that I have a sore shoulder from the seatbelt and a bruised palm.

I hate you.

Thank the Lord in heaven I didn't have my son in the car with me. Thank God there wasn't a collision, but especially with my precious baby inside the car with me. I have kept this child safe from everything from burglars to diseases, and I will not lose him to someone as fucked up and fancy fucking free as yourself, you jackass.

Had we collided, I would have gotten then out of my car and beaten you some more, you selfish prick. Had we collided, you would have t-boned me at your speed of at least 40 mph. Seriously.

You are selfish because you just must not care about your life. Maybe you are a punk ass teenager driving stupidly with your friends. See, this is how bad shit happens. This is what changes your life as you know FOREVER.

Thankfully, it will not change mine. I'm not in the ER right now at the hospital my husband works for, trying to talk to the residents HE IS IN CHARGE OF and the colleagues he works with (the ones that know me and I know their wives and babies), telling them to page my husband because I'm scared to death to be there without him. I'm not trying to talk to the trauma doctors that I know very well and telling them someone needs to call my son's daycare and let them know what happened. I'm not feeling broken bones and shattered insides.

I'm not praying to God that I live so my baby will know me for 30 plus years, not just from photos and from stories he has to hear from his daddy and our families.

THIS IS HOW BAD IT COULD HAVE BEEN HAD WE ALL NOT STOPPED FOR YOU.

Fuck you you cocksucker,
HDW

Old Farts Thoughts on Sex Show

Blah, blah, not getting any at home, blah blah.

NOTE: Yup. You guessed it! Most of the links are going to be very NSFW (not safe for work).

Last night, after three glasses of wine and a good dinner at Osaka (and about 1,000 wrong turns as she wouldn't listen to me, but I was right, god love her), my girlfriend, A, and I made our way downtown to the Sex and So Much More! show at the convention center.

We had a some drinks in the Beer Garden before going in. Met two guys from Denver whose girlfriends were inside looking at the stuff. They couldn't believe our husbands stayed home while we came to show. After learning they were at home AND watching our children, they bought us more beer.

I loved being at this place --- primarily because there wasn't this uncomfortableness. EVERYBODY THERE LOVED SEX. You could freely say the words that would make pleasant company cringe. You could learn about different things you'd never know about otherwise. You could hang out in a sex swing (and they aren't too bad, for whatever it's worth) and talk about the angles and positions.

The first booth we went to had a wide variety of non-piercing jewlery, which completely fascinated us. The Guy With The Twirly 'Stache selling the stuff gave us about a 15 minute tutorial on how to use the clit jewelry. He pulled out a few more items, telling us all about dom's and sub's, and then the largest variety of cock rings I have ever seen. He added, "And if you are going through the airport, you can just slip it on your wrist as a bracelet and no one would be the wiser".

I reported this later to HDHusband who said, "Oh man. That would be one stinky ass bracelet!" - prompting to me resolve to look at the wrists of my airline passengers from now on.

I pussed out (no pun intended) and didn't buy a $99 clit ring, and got this instead:

Anklet (second from the top)

While purusing the selection of glass dildos (ohmyohmyohmy), I saw one that was very likely 18" long and so big around my vagina puckered right there. The gentlemen selling the dildos told us he sells "about two a month and doesn't ask any questions". He also said the dildos "just don't work without the dual end going up your ass". We'll be the judge of that.


I was buzzed with a vibrator by a gal selling goods across the way from the dildo shop. Twice. Yeeeeeeum. Dirty girl!! She was remarking that some women were totally appalled. And then there were my girlfriend and I saying, "DAMN! BRING IT!" - ha ha.

We were saddened to learn we'd missed out on seeing Jenna Jameson and Ron Jeremy, but we did see a few other B List porn stars. (Sorry Damian)

So, a fun night.

But, I have this sinking feeling my hangover hasn't really hit yet. I'm quite sure I haven't thought of everything yet from last night. I will say, though, that you just aren't human if you leave that place not horny.

Good Lord.

I will be here this weekend. (sort of NSFW, depending on where you visit in the site)

My friend's daughter is modeling in the lingerie show, and I scored some free tickets to the event.

Who knew Denver could actually have something so COOL happening?

Does anyone know this flower? It was in a friend's arrangement and we're stumped. Not a real powerful scent, no thorns ... ?

The aftermath is not good.

First, we had the accidental coffee spill on the stairs (which, for the record, was understandable - except the part when no one cleaned it up and it set in the carpet for hours).

Today, they leave.

I go into the guest bedroom upstairs where my one girlfriend, CoffeeSpiller, was staying with the terriers. I think there were three up there, I can't be sure. Regardless, my only requirement of them was that the animals be put in the crates. Let them run and do their business outside, but crate them in the room - PLEASE.

Apparently, they weren't crated ... and I have about 10 pee stains from little doggie urinary tracts all over the carpet.

I truly just sat down and cried.

I take issue with this on SO MANY LEVELS. The one that really chaps me (other than the obvious) is this attitude of about everyone that because you stay home, "oh, HDW will just take care of it". I realize some people don't think my job is a job. I got railed on another board once by a schmuck to said, "You wipe noses and crumbs and watched Spongebob. You don't have a job, you are a lazy woman".

I work HARD to keep this house looking semi-decent. We have a 23-month-old child, so keeping it pristine is just not an option. I do, however, take great pride in keeping my guest room beautiful. I take pride in making sure my home is warm and inviting.

I take issue with the people who take advantage and don't respect what is ours.

Needless to say, next year, we will not be so generous in offering our home to friends for the dog show. As HDH said, "They can get a motel or stay with someone else - I'm through with this" - and I agree.

So ... if anyone knows of a magic cure of an inordinate amount of piss stains, I'm open to suggestions.

The dogs and dog owners are headed home sometime this morning. HDToddler will be going through serious withdrawls, as all he says morning, noon and night is: "PUPPY!!" and "GOGGY!!".

Here are a few (and I mean FEW) of the dogs staying at Casa Coffee Spilling since Thursday:

I met David Hasselhoff once.

My mom took me along to a conference in Frisco, Colorado in '87 or '88. It meant I got to hang out at a hotel while she went to meetings and miss a day of school. Worked for me. When we got to the hotel, we learned they were filming the TV movie "The Lady In the Lake". David Hasselhoff was in the movie, and I was over the moon.

I had been a FAITHFUL watcher of Knight Rider - so my little pre-teen self was giddy at the very thought of seeing him in PERSON. I remember poking around the hotel in hopes of running into him somewhere. I don't know what I thought would happen if I did??

I remember standing in the hallway once as Raymond Burr was escorted through with his entourage. Cool, but not cool enough yet.

I had breakfast by myself one morning and Paul Drake Jr ("The Greatest American Hero", anyone?)was so impressed such a young girl was eating by herself, he made a big deal about it all and bought my breakfast.

Lovely. Still no 'Hoff.

And then ...

I was playing pinball on the last day and he came into the game room. I nearly fainted. He asked if he could play pinball with me, played one game, and left me bunch of quarters to keep playing after he left.

And what do I remember the most?

His nasty ass breath. (could it have been the fish in his mouth? I'm jus' sayin' ...)

Two rounds of shitty mornings here in HDW Land. I promised HDH I wouldn't go into yesterday's bad morning, as he believes he'd get dogpiled by the e-blogging-faithful. So, I'll just tell you about this morning's massacre:


We (meaning: me) have friends in for the dog show this weekend. They have stayed at our house every year for the past three or four. They bring a slew of dogs (this year, Pomeranians, Toy Fox Terriers, Labs, one Great Pyr, one Basenji). Some stay inside, crated, and the big guys are okay out in the van overnight.

Neither here nor there.

This morning, I get up after they have left, and after HDHusband has left. As HDToddler and I begin our morning decent down the stairs, I see something.

It looks like the Coffee Gods shit all over my stairs.

Apparently, in the stumbling morning confusion, one of my girlfriend's stumbled on a step and spilled two cups of coffee all over the (white carpeted) stairs. And not just a little on a step. She covered six steps, and then dropped a bit into the stairs that go to the down-downstairs (covering 5 there). Coffee on the white boards, on the hardwood floors, dripping down the walls, onto my dining room chairs that are, well, the nicest thing I own.

(note: If HDToddler says, "What the fuck!" today at the babysitter's, I will not be surprised - as this was what I said - loudly - at 7:30 this morning)

Accidents happen --- absolutely. My friends (and likely, husband, too) will tell you I am certainly easy going and not really keyed up about this sort of stuff. I would have been happy to have spot treated it ....

But my issue?

Not a single soul grabbed a paper towel or an old towel and dabbed up what they could. It SET in the carpet for a good two hours. By the time I got to it, it was crusty and smelled like what I'd imagine the floor at Starbuck's smells like after a long day.

I took my son to the babysitter's, still fuming, wondering how in the HELL I'd get those stains out. Resolve has never really done much for me, and I didn't care of the OxyClean stuff either.

My son's daycare person suggested Folex. I stopped by King Sooper's on the way home and bought two bottles.

People, buy this stuff!! If you have stains, this is what you want. One spray, a little rubbing with your fingers, a cloth to wipe it out, and your spot is GONE. My silver lining in this fucked up morning is finding this little unknown bottle of goodness on the bottom shelf.

My one girlfriend did call and apologize. Now, I have to decide if I really want to get in the shower, go out to the dog show grounds, so I can hold dogs and be seething pissed out there. It's a balmy 9 degrees, too.

Um ... maybe I'll just stay in and DRINK!

Because of our recent string of break-in's in the 'Hood, they've stepped up the patrols(read: now we have some, before we didn't - assholes).

I sent HDHusband this email, and following is his response:

HDWife: When you come home, don't speed through the neighborhood. We are being patrolled by the DPD because of the break-in's. We've had two cruising through in the last three hours. FYI.

HDH: That would be classic. No change in the break ins, but of course everyone gets a speeding ticket. It makes me long for the days of Deadwood. We could have killed the guy who broke in and hung his rotting corpse in our yard to deter anyone else.

HDH sent me this beautiful arrangement yesterday! So, Happy (oh-so-commerical) Valentine's Day to everyone. Lots of lurve to all of my friends!

(I had to take the photo myself, so not so hot ... but the shoes? SMOKIN' .... )

I have PMS.

I got weepy watching an Applebee's commercial. Seriously.

I need to get it together.

I'm undoubtedly snappy when I'm PMS-y, but rarely angry and mean.

(Although, I did call HDH "functionally retarded" today after blabbing a certain something to his dermatology lady.)

Although I shouldn't post the specifics of what he said at this time, I will only say that it's fully anticipated the Fyrchk will take me for ransom and expects her money on Pay Pal ... she's just nice that way.

Off to find more wine ........

HDHusband (with HDToddler in the kitchen): OH GROSS!!! HDT just ate a coffee bean off the floor. THAT'S SICK!

Me: Well, you're the one that dropped it on the damn floor.

HDH: Well!! I didn't realize this was going to come back to me!

Me: I don't see Juan-Fucking-Coffee Valdez dragging his cart of coffee beans through the kitchen.



(note the babysitter, arriving in 45 ... um, he might be up a little longer than expected ...)

I am really, truly over the moon with happiness.

HDToddler called me, "Momma" today - for the FIRST time.

And not just, "HDT, can you say ...?" when prompted.

OH NO, my friends.

We were looking at our hallway wall of photos, and he was proudly naming everyone he knew in the photographs ... and when asked, unprompted, I was "Momma" in said photo.

MOMMA.

You see, I was in labor with HDT for a few hours LESS than 48 hours with this child. (1:00 a.m. Sunday morning, delivered 7:08 p.m. on Monday night, contractions 2 minutes apart, people)

He was the scariest shade of blue when he came out and had to be resuscitated. HDHusband kept telling me, "it's okay, he'll be okay". See, someone told me once that being a mother means that your heart will forever go walking outside of your body. My heart was that little blue lump on the warming table.

He had 18 ear infections in the first year of his life, plus a few other illnesses that are for the record books. I stayed up from 4:00 p.m. to 4:00 a.m. straight with a screaming, colicky baby, with a husband half-way around the world.

He's drawn on my walls with crayons. He tells me, "NO!" and runs away when I tell him it's time to change his diaper. He's been known to throw poop from his perch in the crib, all around his bedroom.


Today (then and always), I am Momma.

(and by God, I've earned it)

Some sneaky little Banditos have been breaking into houses in our neighborhood again.


Almost two years ago - on a quiet Friday afternoon about 4:30pm - my little six-week-old baby was sleeping, and I was finishing up an email to a friend. The doorbell rang ... not once, but three times. I got up and walked around to see who it was. It was a Hispanic guy, not very tall, looking shady.

Now, at our front door, they can see in and you can see them. If he didn't see me standing there, he was (and is, from what we gather) a fucking moron.

I didn't answer the door because:
a: I'm not going to answer the damn door to someone I don't know
b: I was six-week post-partum (tired, cranky, sore)
c: He saw I was home, and whatever the fuck he was selling, I didn't want

About 30 minutes later, I'm in the kitchen, finishing up yet another load of dishes, and I hear the alarm go off. Not the house alarm, but the little chirp alarm that lets you know a window or door is opening.

That would be MY BASEMENT WINDOW DOOR for 200, Alex.

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!!

So, I do what any rational (read: irrational post-partum raging) woman would do. I grabbed the phone and ran to the stairs.

I had a choice. I could either run upstairs and get my son, lock ourselves in a room, and pray to God. Or I could meet the fucking Mexican Bandito at the stairs and unleash holy hell on him.

I opted for B.

While I am on the phone with the 911 operator, I can hear him walking through the basement. As he turns to go up the stairs, I start screaming at him. If I'm placing bets on who of the two of us soiled themselves, I'd go with him. He turned tail and ran back to the window he broke in through (he had spent that 30 minutes hammering away at the window with a rock - fucker).

I let loose a torrid of "F-Bomb's" and "you better hope that fucking hurt's" (as he stuck his hand in a pile of glass).

He then got away on his bike. HIS BIKE. He rode away like nothing happened. Never caught, but as HDH tells everyone, he probably went back to the his little barrio down the street and told them some Crazy White Woman lives in that house.

Fast forward to this week:

A neighbor three houses down had a break-in at 11:00 yesterday morning. They kicked in the door to the garage and were likely scared off by the dogs (read: standard poodles - um ...?).

Now, another neighbor (same street, block down) steps forward and says she was broken into two weeks ago (thanks for telling everyone sooner!!). They didn't have their alarm set. Everything of value was taken, but the dog (who was home at the time) wasn't hurt.

PEOPLE.

Lock your doors, set your alarm.

If someone rings your bell and you don't know them, make yourself known but do NOT answer the door.

Leave lights on. Light the outside of your home well. Leave a TV on.

(PS. I don't recommend running after the Bandito and yelling curse words at him. Some people say I did the right thing, others say I didn't. Nevertheless, I arm our alarms all day now, have pepper spray, and report anyone that looks suspicious ... little fuckers!!)

.... but you can't pick your family.


My younger (and only) brother bailed on my birthday party last weekend. He said it was because he wouldn't know anyone (never mind our aunt and uncle flew in specifically for this from Texas). He said he'd come over the next day and give me the cards he and my nephew had picked out. They did.

Then my brother called on Monday saying he needed me to watch his son over night this Saturday because (get this) he had a BIRTHDAY PARTY he wanted to go to. He said (and I quote): "Sis, I really, really need to go to the party on Saturday".

Oh really.

Well, how about a "FUCK YOU!".

I won't go into how much I've done for this kid and how much it would have meant to have had him at the party on Saturday. I was complaining to Frank about it, and he said something I needed to hear:

"You can't pick your family, but you can pick your friends. And they all made a point to show up to your party on Saturday night, didn't they?"

Yes. Yes, they did. And I love my friends very much. They've become my family when my real one has sucked major ass. These are the people I call when I have trouble in any part of my life. I know I could close my eyes, point to anyone around the room that night, and know they'd do whatever they could to help me - and me for them.

My brother is still an idiot, though.

Your Hair Should Be White

Classy, stylish, and eloquent. You've got a way about you that floors everyone you meet.

In memory of my dad, who died way too early at the age of 49 ... 11 years ago today
10.7.1945-2.7.1995



Yes, a 'night' early, but I figured I might not be around on the computer much in the a.m. I tend to just sit and think about this amazing man. I was so lucky to have him, and I miss him very, very much.

But by far, the very best gift I got this year for my birthday were four original photos of my dad (fourth grade to college). I opened up this card from my grandmother and cried and cried.

I know I am who I am today because of my dad's influence in my life. I know I am who I am because of the person I had to become because of his death. I had to take care of my mom and my baby brother. I had to grow up and get on with life.

I wish he were here, and I wish I could tell him all the great things happening in my life.

I believe, though, he is here ...

This was in my hometown newspaper. This question was asked to the local Kindergarten class, and this is the answer given by one little six-year-old whose parents own a local bar in town:


"If I gave you a plane ticket, where would you go and what would you do?"

"I would go to New York City and buy all my friends drinks".

Ah, the magic (or not-so) number of 26.

First of all, I landed in bed early Sunday morning around 1:00 a.m. after celebrating my birthday. HDToddler was at babysitter's house. We picked him up around 9:15 (up at 8:30 ... why? HDH set alarm and it went off every 9 minutes for a half of an hour) because he was apparently pretty sick. Croup, cough, something.

Yesterday, HDToddler slept for the majority of the day while HDH, myself and our friend from out-of-town (who has been here since Wed) got the house in order for a Super Bowl we'd agreed to host for the residents and interns.

I spent the majority of the game sitting in a corner with HDToddler sitting in my lap, whimpering, while all the kids his age ran around the room like they were on crack. One little girl (who just turned three) was asked how old she was. She answered, "I can't know!!". She sang my son (who she referred to all night as 'that little boy') a very sweet song, too.

After everyone left, I drug Owen up to bed and told HDH and his friend that I was going there, too. It was 8:26.

About 9:00, phone rang (my brother). HDH took message and said I was sleeping.

9:26: I hear HDH's loud and obnoxious friend being, well, louder and more obnoxious. He woke up HDToddler. I went to the loft, gave the "This is really pissing me off look" and HDH told his friend to "fucking knock it off, man". It worked.

10:26: HDH comes to bed 20 minutes before, but at :26 says, "Hey, will you set the house alarm??" LET ME SLEEP WILL YOU???

12:26: HDT up with cough

2:26: HDT up with cough

4:26: HDT up with cough, starts talking to himself, and carries on quite the funny conversation. And by 'funny', I mean, 'this would be a lot cuter at 4:26 PM.

6:30: HDH is up and I have no memory of him leaving.

7:26: HDT wakes up, having his juice (or 'juuuuuuuu!'), yelling at the TV (you gotta love you some Blues Clues in the morning) and about ready to get tackled for a diaper change/new clothes.

I kid you not about the :26.

My 30th birthday party (given by my husband and a neighbor friend) was last night. I'm impressed that I'm not hungover (this could be the guilty mom thing - when we dropped HDToddler off at the babysitter's for an overnight, he had a temp of 101.6 and I was worried). HDToddler, in my humble armchair nurse opinion, likely has the Croup.

The party itself was a totaly kick in the pants. We had incredible food, open bar, and a hysterical roast of yours truly. The crowning photo was courtesy an ex-roommate who has many photos of me topless. As someone pointed out last night, "I thought you were so good and wholesome. Then it occurred to me ... you aren't. You are the instigator!!"

I had some interesting gifts for my birthday. Some very well thought out gifts and some that made me wonder if these people knew me at all:

1. One giant angel from my sister-in-law (and for those of you keeping track, this makes 2938409238409238, give or take). According to my husband's best friend, "It looks like a flying monkey in a dress".

2. Old photos of my dad from his mother. Totally unexpected, but by far, the most cherished gift I could have ever asked for. He died almost 11 years ago this coming week, and to have original photos of him from grade school on up just touched my heart more than I could explain.

3. A great pair of come-fuck-me shoes from Fyrchk. I'm working on a photo of those for the masses. They are so VERY hot sex. (and the little added bonus gift she gave me was much appreciated, too ....)

4. A cute little number from Victoria's Secret. Some bubble bath, a great book, Brighton earrings, etc.

But the award for "What in the hell ....?" goes to my friend who said in her note to me, "One of these is a gag gift, the other is real. You decide".

At 1:00 a.m. this morning, it seemed completely appropriate to dawn said attired and show the world the goodies. I now share them with you. A pair of size 6 granny panties (on my head) and a housecoat that screams "you wanna do me, I just KNOW IT ... right after I can some fruit":

My favorite "birthday" card thus far ....