My little neighbor kids had their first day of school today. The youngest (who I met at 8-months-old) had her first day of Kindergarten, and apparently, had a great first day and had lots of stories to tell.

Reminded me of MY first day of Kindergarten.

I remember standing at our driveway, waiting for the country bus to pull over and pick me up. My little brother was CLINGING to my side, saying my name, asking me not to go. (my dad reported later that all three went into a bedroom and cried together) I remember not knowing a SOUL when I got on the bus. I can't remember now who I sat with? I know, though, from that point on until I was 16 years old, I rode the damn bus to school. Dean was my bus driver. He once told my brother if he didn't sit down, he'd slam on the brakes and "wrap him around the gear shift". I'll never forget that. It's funny to me to this day.

But the first day of Kindergarten? Ah, my friends, is where the REAL HotDoctorWife appears. I started off my years of schooling with a bang, people!

I fell off the monkey bars and smashed up my nose - again - and bloodied it all to hell. This was the phone call my parents got from the school. Can you imagine? My mom is already hyped up crazy, so I'm sure this phone call sent her manic ass over the edge.

Later that year, I'd also miss my first school picture because of chicken pox, and a field trip because of some other ailment. Figures.

That year, one of my classmates (who I graduated with - remember, small town and all, no one leaves) fell out of a tree on his farm and broke his leg. He told us he crawled back to his house, and only survived by eating bugs on the way. We believed him. We were 5, after all.

Another girl had a tooth come loose, and she swallowed the thing. Why? She was afraid the teacher would take her tooth and keep the money. Again, makes sense. Right? Riiiiiiiight.

I graduated from that school. I went through every class, dealt with some really odd teachers, hated PE, loved music, and generally was a pretty decent kid in school. I only had detention ONCE. And why?

I laughed when my friend called someone a "cheese dick".

I'm still laughing.

An Open Letter To The Crazy-Ex Girlfriend:

Wow. How can it be?? I looked at the calendar today, I realized .. "Hey!! It's the SIX YEAR anniversary of my husband kicking your ex-girlfriend ass to the curb!". Time really flies when you're stalking the shit out of him and his family.

It's time to look back on all the shit you've put us through. Yes! It's time to acknowledge the crazy that is YOU. And honey, how you are!

Remember when he broke up with you? Remember how he said you should take whatever you thought was yours from HIS apartment (clothes, etc) and get out? Instead, you took his CD's and lifted HIS BEDSIDE TABLE LAMP? Makes total sense. No, really!

I was a friend of his. I wasn’t a "naked friend", either. So, when he dumped your stupid ass, I didn't even KNOW about it for a good month. Or more!! This idea you have that we were doing it and how he was already with me during that time is just plain silly. But, apparently, it's hard to take responsibility for the shit you've done and the problems you've created in your own relationship. Obviously.

When HDH and I began dating - and when you found out a month later - you went off the rails nuts, honey. I was younger, prettier, skinnier, and by far, a nicer person. Truly. I know it must have been hard realizing you had only 19 months DATING this guy. I know you wanted a ring. I know you wanted a house.

You should have considered doing things differently ... like:

1. Treating people without degrees or lesser degrees than yours like human beings
2. Not losing your shit on the woman at the United ticket counter because YOU left your ID at your house
3. Not jumping across the counter in a fit of anger because YOU fucked around too long at the mall and the B&B gave up your room to someone else
4. Forgetting that being NICE to people really gets you places
5. Flushing the potty (which still puzzles me - that's just good common sense!! Flushing! It's your friend!)

I'm still amazed that you are around all these years later. Making peace with things isn't one of your strong suits.

Some of your more famous moments:

You've sent emails describing how awful I look and how stupid I am. (something about not having 'two neurons to rub together'? Yah, KLASSY)

You've followed him around the health club and professed your undying love, and how you really would only consider 'making a baby' with him. (next time, don't swallow, honey)

You've called and hung up. A lot. (my favorite was the time I heard the noises of the Operating Room in the background)

You called our home ON THE DAY WE GOT HOME WITH OUR NEW BABY BOY and claimed we'd call YOU? (You are the last person I would ever think to prank the day I got home with my son!! Do not flatter yourself!))

You quit a job and moved to the hospital he works at to be CLOSER to him (and no, HDH, I don't buy the "she hated trauma" crap. She wanted to piss you off, and make sure you didn't forget her. Duh!)

You've sent emails making fun of our age difference.

You've sent emails to your friends, copying my husband in, and sharing about your recent love affairs and how they are going bad. (and speaking of your 'friends', you must have not real girlfriends. I can tell you if I was brooding over a lost love and doing all of this shit, I can name three friends off the top of my head that would kick my ass)



We blocked your email for about three years. The last straw? A random email to your family, friends and two ex-boyfriends about how you were wishing you could be with them for Thanksgiving. Among my favorite lines was, "To somnabulate to every Thanksgiving morning like a Balzac character". (Really. Who talks this way?)

Only because of work-related crap are you now allowed again to email. So far, you've asked for money for a donation to the cancer ride (you still fell very short of that 15k goal, hitting 70 bucks - nice work!!).

And now ... you've emailed my husband AGAIN this past weekend.

And for what?

You asked him for a book title you could have found yourself on Barnes and Noble dot com had you used that degree for more than belittling.

You also told him how you 'dance and sing' in your living room to the sounds of India.Arie, and how she covers 'one of your fav songs', "The Heart of the Matter" by Don Henley (although you said by the Eagles, but that's because you suck, of course).

My husband says he doesn't speak "crazy", so he doesn't get the point here. The whole album is about break-up's, forgiveness, moving on. It was subtle, but not lost on me,. I wish I believed you. I wish that this was real and true. I don't believe you.

Here's the thing ...

I am his WIFE. We have been married now for almost five years!! FIVE! I have been in the trenches with him a lot longer than you ever did. I know him better than you. I care for him deeper than you. I am the mother of his child. I am the woman he calls WIFE.

Please.
GO AWAY.
Take the words of that song you quoted and BELIEVE THEM finally after SEVEN YEARS.
Take them to heart.

Learn what it means to LET GO.

Sincerely, Best Wishes, and Fuck Off,
The Woman That Has Put Up With You For Too Fucking Long

Laurie, I believe, had this originally posted on her blog. And because I am such a good friend, I'm pilfering it and posting it for you all.

Why?

BECAUSE THIS IS HOW I FEEL RIGHT NOW!!

Yesterday was by far one of the longest days of my life. I cleaned things up. My son dumped bowls of food out and I cleaned them up again. I said, "Don't touch!" and "No thank you!" and "Stop hitting!" and "Be a good boy!" more times than I could count. I also said, "You are most certainly going up for adoption" and "Stop taking your pants off! We're in public!!" --- twice.

I thought back to my life a few years back. I got up every morning, got dressed up, went to work, got paid for it, came home, had a glass of wine, went out with friends, sometimes just stayed in and read a book, and went back to bed. It's not to say I didn't deal with bitchy c0-worker's (why! why are all the women the cattiest and nastiest?) and stupid people. But, at 5:00, they weren't my problem anymore and I wasn't theirs.

It's not to say I'm not extremely lucky to be able to stay home with my son. I know a lot of people who have to work and would much rather be home full-time. It isn't what it appears to be. You don't sit around all day eating bon-bon's, watching Spongebob and painting your nails. My brain, people, is going straight to fucking MUSH. I read intelligent books. I spend hours reading The Atlantic Monthly and The Smithsonian magazine, and I listen to NPR. I am trying.

I am in a rut.

I am BORED to tears right now.

I get up and do the same damn thing over and over and over again. I clean the same room. I pick up the same toys. I cleaned up the same space so many times yesterday, I finally gave up. My husband came home and probably thought it hadn't been touched all day. I was over it. I'm over cleaning up things and no one cleaning up after themselves.

I'm also thinking back to a conversation I had with my husband a few months ago. I told him I was bored. He told me on the day's off from The Bug, I should go to a book reading or take a Spanish class. Find something I was interested in.

But here's the kicker: on the "day's off" from my kid? I'm cleaning up what I didn't get to do the day before when he was with me. It's a never ending cycle of bullshit and I'm over it.

I'm in a bad fucking mood.

And I'm open to suggestions. I feel like I can't think of one thing that I SHOULD be interested in. I don't really want to sell anything from home, but I've got to do SOMETHING.

Bueller? Bueller?

Help.

HDW: I didn't used to drink coffee. Not really until HDToddler came along.

HDH: Now you're like me!! You're addicted to coffee.

HDW: No, I'm not addicted. I just like the routine of having coffee.

HDH: Uh, okay, Darryl Strawberry ...

We went to a wedding over the weekend. It was a fancy-shmancy hotel south of Denver and north of Pueblo, possibly in the Springs, possibly at this snazzy place. I went down on Friday night to see friends, and stayed at the Marriott up the road. $400 bucks for one night at that place? Nah. That's alright. HDHusband drove down on Saturday. He valets in the front of the hotel. I have valeted on the other side.

After the wedding, we're standing in the lobby, chit-chatting with the other guests, and a man in a suit walks up to my husband and introduces himself as "hotel security". He says something about 'a small bump' to HDH's vehicle, it's nothing major, and as soon as the reception is over, we can take care of the paperwork.

Yoiks.

My husband's vehicle is about ten years old, has a lot of miles, so my husband said, "Eh. I'm sure it will be fine. It's an older rig anyway".

The guy looks puzzled.

After the reception, we call the number given to us and wait for the security guy at the front entrance. It's taking him forever to show up. About the time my husband starts threatening "If he's not here in TWO MINUTES ...", the guy comes walking through the front door, apologizing.

Where was he?

In the WEST LOT.

With MY CAR.

No wonder the security guy looked at HDH like he was crazy outside of the wedding ... who refers to their Audi A6 as 'not a big deal'? We follow NervousSecurityDude over to the west lot and see the damage. Somehow, when the valet yoho's were backing into the space, it hit the curb and put a fist-sized dent in the under bumper. Really not noticeable unless you look under, but still, there's a dent in the Silver Bullet.

The guy looks really nervous as we're doing the paperwork and handing over insurance information. Once HDH sees it's okay, he heads off for his vehicle. I stand there with NervousGuy who is apologizing all over himself.

I said to him, "Look, if this is the worst thing that happens to me in my life, then I'm pretty lucky. It's not great that it happened, but there's certainly far worse that has or will happen."

He thanked me, apologized again, handed me the business card of the financial person, and walked away.

I'm getting in my car, look over to see a valet guy standing there, looking annoyed that I'm not walking over to, what, tip him??? For busting up my car? He gives me a half-ass wave and looks pissed as I leave.

Honestly.

Only tip he's getting is this: You suck at parking cars, ass.

Before I had my son, I watched a friend's little five-month-old girl. I'd watch her a few times a week, and this went on until she was more than a year old.

What made this nanny experience different than my previous ones - was that my little angel-girl was deaf. She was born without hearing in either ear.

I would spend my days with her looking at Baby Eistein videos, showing her books, going for walks, and walking up behind her and clapping really loudly 'just in case'. She never stirred. But in time, she would turn and smile, and she'd melt you into a thousands pieces with that smile. I adored her.

She had a surgery on her 1st birthday that allowed her to hear. I remember when her mom brought her to my house for the first time after her implant was turned on. I was able to talk and she was able to hear my voice for the first time. I cried like a baby.

This weekend, I saw her again. She's four now, lives in a different city, and although we keep up with pictures and letters and phone calls, I haven't really been around her.

She said my name.
She told me stories about her best friend in school.
She told me about her shoes.
She told me about the bows on her dress.
She informed me that my son was 'bothering' her.
She talked .
She heard.
I cried.
Yet again.

I watch her parents right-arm their way into getting her not one, but two implants. I sat with her during hearing tests that failed again. I brought Bailey's to her mom when yet another doctor told her 'no, she's just not a candidate for this surgery'.

She wasn't my baby, but I would have done anything in the world for her. I still would.

I'm listening to the sounds now of my son and this precious little girl playing in the other room. She's laughing and he's laughing, talking to each other and having the best of times.

It's so good to see how she's arrived.
And certainly, in style.

We live next door to two very cute girls. The youngest is 5, and that girl slays me almost every time.

Last night was no different:

My son (2.5) is sitting on my lap, making wild hand movements while she's leaning in to tell him something. He's being goofy, but goofy leads to smacks on the face - so I said, "HDT, be nice!"

Her response: "Oh, that's okay, HDW. I know TAE KWON DO!!"

I fell off my chair laughing. Of course she doesn't, but it was classic S.

This is the same little girl last year who busted my son eating her sidewalk chalk. She came inside and said to me, "You know, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but HDT is DEFINITELY going to have blue diarrhea in the morning!"

Song In My Head: Extraordinary Machine - Fiona Apple


"Be kind to me ... or treat me mean ... I'll make the the most of it I'm an extraordinary machine!"

Ten Things I've Done Different Than You:

1. Sung the National Anthem acapella (and alone) for sporting events for 4 years in high school

2. Was in a French television commercial (and my clothes were on)

3. Had my uvula whacked off during my tonsillectomy

4. Broke my nose on a damned cinder block as a kid

5. Played pasture golf, complete with score card and map that said, "Watch out for cows" and "Here's the irrigation line". (the 'hot tub' that night was a reformed horse watering tank surrounded with redwood deck. Swear.)

6. Been on a 7 mile cattle drive and hated every minute.

7. Met David Hasselhoff (well, yay me!) while playing pinball.

8. Chased a burglar out of my house when my son was six-weeks-old and called him a lot of names that would make my Baptist grandmother faint.

9. Had a "unilateral nevoid telangiectasia" on my leg. Woke up one morning and from my ass to my foot, my leg was bright red/purple. Really HAWT, I tell you. (And, the only photos on the internet I can find are of a woman who has this on her BOOBS.)

10. Saw CarHenge in Nebraska on a family vacation. If that doesn't scream, "GREAT TIME!", I don't know what does.

Random shit from The Weekend:


HDHusband regarding a diaper change he did: "That was a FOUR ALARM WIPER! I even had to keep him from scooting his ass across the carpet."

RedneckBrother regarding my insanely honest grandmother: "She said she had to shit so bad she blew the head off the shitter! And those were her exact words!"

My husband's super-crazy-ex GIRLFRIEND (oops, probably something to have mentioned before, huh?) has been trying to raise money for a local cancer walk/run. She apparently sent him an email and link a few weeks ago asking for a donation.

(SOUND OF CRICKETS CHIRPING HERE)

For those of you familiar with the WHOLE story, you'll know why he/we didn't answer her email.

For those of you that DON'T, I'll sum it up that she has been in our lives for six very LONG years, stalked his dying mother, has asked him to be her sperm donor, switched places of employement so she could work with him and now purchased a home and lives less than a mile from us, making trips to the Post Office lots of fun. There are a plethora of other stories about her, but I'm working on moving on. Kind of.

She's nuts. Wheels-off-the-cart-crazier-than-legs-on-a-snake-kind-of crazy.

When looking at her site link yesterday, we saw she had set her fundraising goal of $15,000. Impressive!! And unrealistic!!! Everyone else had their goal of $500 or $1000, but her? Nooooooo ... let's go over the top!!

And looking at what she has actually raised (with the deadline being this morning), she only needed $14,930.

That's right - she's raised only SEVENTY DOLLARS. Maybe she thought all the surgeons she works with would pony up for her 'good cause'. Maybe she should have been NICER to everyone and they WOULD HAVE helped. No one likes her. She's mean to everybody.

Our money would be better spent if we were driving down Interstate-25 at a rapid rate of freaking speed and thrown the money out of the motherfucking window.

And YES, we support cancer research. We just don't support HER.

And ... last but not least ...

HDHusband's joke: "What did the leper say to the whore? KEEP THE TIP!"

HDHusband and I have tickets to the Botanic Gardens outdoor concerts - we go every year and have a blast. Last night, we went to see one of HDH's favorite performers.

I wasn't paying much attention when they announced the opening act. And then ... I recognized the voice, the song, and nearly jumped out of my seat.

Sarah Harmer.

Months ago, I was driving home and heard her song "Almost" on the radio. LOVED. IT. Ordered it on Amazon and have played it religiously since.

My husband's take was this: "She sounds like every other one of the 'female singers' you listen to".

This prompted the conversation of how my husband could listen to any song for ten years straight and only ten years later realize how stupid the lyrics are. What is important to him in a song is only how it sounds, not what the song SAYS.

I'm the complete opposite. I need good lyrics. I need to feel moved in my soul through whatever the songwriter has to say. I don't care if she sounds like everyone else in my female music library; I want substance in my music.

The song I heard on the radio is a fine example of this.

I loved these lyrics:

"And if I am a sailor,
then you are the warm gulf wind,
and you've blown into this little port
and roused my dreams again.

I see my mouth moving when I talk to you,
I do,
I see my lips and I feel like a kid
I can't keep something hid
Cause I've been under the paper you were writing on
you left your impression long after you'd gone
on me,
marks only I can see."

I have a thing for female singers. I've loved (and still do) artists like Tori Amos, Kathleen Edwards, Shawn Colvin, Aimee Mann, Allison Moorer, Lisa Gerrard.

EDIT: How could I forget Jann Arden?

I COULD GO ON AND ON!

But did she play my favorite song last night? Nooooooooo ... but I'll live. My husband didn't get to hear his favorite song either, but I'll give him a bit of credit - the lyrics of that song aren't too bad.

Have a great weekend!

My second cousin and her family stayed with us the other night before heading to the airport. One of my earliest memories is of her. She was graduating from high school when I was a little girl. I wanted her long hair and her ticket out of town. She went on to do photo journalism and has had an incredible career working for NBC and ABC, and then PBS years later.

I love talking with her. I love that I got my ticket out of town, too, and now we can sit and talk about life and our shared experiences.

Her brother died in a tragic car accident her first year in college. My dad and mom volunteered to drive up and break the news to her, so she wouldn't have to be alone when she heard what happened. Years later, my dad died my first year in college. Another aunt and uncle drove up so I wouldn't be alone when I heard the news.

But this cousin stepped up ... she listened to me when I cried and needed my dad. She offered me a place to stay over Spring Break that year. While all of my friends were going to Mexico and Florida and drinking, I went to Kansas City, MO so I could be with someone who remembered my dad. I had the best time. I worked at the television station with her.

Months later, she invited me to go with her on a photo shoot in western Colorado. We went to a wild horse ranch. We interviewed a family who lived so far out in the middle of nowhere, you had to take the shiftiest road that went along a mountain. If you looked over the edge, it dropped thousands of feet. Completely sketchy. Once there, we learned they didn't use running water, had a small little cabin and a pot-pellied pig named Daisy that met you at the front gate.

I loved this time. I needed this time. And she was so generous to give this to me.

The other night, we started talking about my dad, her mom (who died a year after my dad, and whom I loved like another grandmother), and the way life all sort of pans out as it should.

I learned so much from her about death and grieving, living your own life and making your own way.

And now, I have someone who calls me after losing her dad this past year. She calls me crying and says she is confused. I told my cousin this past year that I try and think back to when I was in this place, and how kind and loving my cousin was to me.

And I hope I can be that way to my friend.

Song In My Head: STEADY ON - Shawn Colvin

My neighbor, TheBirdKiller (also The One that refers to our flowers as being "so pedestrian") has been out-of-town this past week. I have been watering her flowers for her.

This is a snippet from a previous blog post (and blogger sucks because it's not letting me link today, dirty bitch):


"My neighbor, TheBirdKiller, has asked me to water her hanging baskets while they are gone. Happy to. Except, she is really fucking clueless about them.

She had three hanging baskets ordered from the landscaping company. They were beautiful. Over time, hers started crumping. While standing outside with her and another male neighbor, we were discussing said crumping and GuyNeighbor says, "You know, you aren't watering them enough. You need to really stick the hose in ... " and started to do it for her. She rips the hose out of his hand and tells him he is overwatering her hanging baskets.

A week later, they are completely dead and she's getting all new ones from the landscaping company. Now, our hanging baskets have geraniums in them. She informed me ours were 'nice', but she didn't like 'those geraniums - they are so pedestrian'. Fine. But my baskets are doing well, and yours are sucking SHIT.

While talking to her yesterday and getting my instructions from her for taking care of them, she tells me they just need 'a spritz'. If you want dead ass hanging baskets that cost a lot of money a piece, then I'll spritz them. But if you want to have real live flowers upon your return from Richville, then just SHUT YOUR YAPPER! and let me do it for you.

But what do I know, right? My flowers are so ... pedestrian."

The BirdKiller called today from the mountains and the following conversation took place:

Her: Oh, HDW! I meant to tell you - I figured out why my hanging baskets were dying.

Me: Yes.?

Her: Well, I was underwatering them!

Crickets chirpped. Honestly. I didn't even know what to say to that.

I HAVE BEEN TELLING HER THIS ALL SUMMER LONG!! WHY IN THE HELL WOULD SHE NOT LISTEN?? I HAVE HANGING BASKETS THAT ARE ALIVE DAMMIT!

She is a moron. And something tells me that is just being plain mean to morons.

Alright, let's wrap this bitch of a vacation up!!


This Past Saturday:

We check back in to the same hotel we stayed at the week before. It's feeling eerily a bit too much like 'home'. We know the check-in desk people by name. It's freaky.

We had dinner that night with the in-law's at their house. Again, cats are locked up. HDHusband and I discuss that if they SOCIALIZED their cats, they might not be so pyscho around new people, or even people in general. But what do we know, right? We are merely HUMANS.

Sunday:

HDHusband and I drop HDToddler off with the Grandparents for an overnight and drive about an hour to a winery. Another college friend of his is getting married - hence our reason for flying back to Portland and not straight back to Denver. Which would have been reaaaaaaally nice at this point.

The wedding was BEAUTIFUL. The backdrop was a ridge that overlooked this valley. GORGEOUS, I tell you.














Not a dry eye there when the couple got married. Just one of those weddings where you could really truly feel how much they loved each other.

During the reception (all outdoors), the BEES started in. The food came out and those bastards were EVERYFUCKINGWHERE. They were in your face, around your hands, in your space. I was thanking my lucky stars my son wasn't there, because surely he would be stung ...

So, guess what happened?? (GEE, I WONDER!)

One of those little free-flying-fuckers nailed me between my TOES. I TOOK A HIT FOR THE TEAM, KIDS!

We were sitting at a table, enjoying our nice little glass of vino and BAM! It went under the table and nailed me. Little fucker. Apparently, the maid-of-honor was stung under her dress DURING the wedding, too. She didn't make a noise. I did. A lot of it, too.

EDIT: Also,I had on a shirt that showed my back. My husband was sitting there, hand on my back, and discovered one of the subdermal stitches had started to come out. When I asked him what it looked like, he said, "Oh, like a tampon string hanging out". Nice. So, during dinner, he took a butter knife and hacked it out. I'm wondering if there will be a nice photo of the bride and groom with my husband sticking a knife in my back. That would be funny.
We spent the night back in the little town nearby at a great hotel. We had drinks with friends (and at one point, the bride and groom) on the Rooftop Bar and froze our asses off, but had a great time. I love my husband's friends (from college) and their families. We had a great time laughing, talking, catching up. I would move to Oregon in a HEARTBEAT. (coughhinthdhusbandcough)

Monday (last day of our trip swear to God so happy I cried):

Woke up (a smidge) hungover. Had big breakfast. Drove back to Portland. Picked up the Bug. Found out one of the pyscho cats mentioned beforehand had tried clawing off my son's arm. My son will now point to the three big slashes in his arm and tell you "Sissy" was a "bad cat" and gave him a "hurt". He milks this big time. I would, too.

Note: I just found out my in-law's paid 800 DOLLARS for that cat. I'm waiting now for my husband to read this, and I will be listening for sounds of a stroke.

Let's continue.

Went to airport. Stood in line. Stood in line some more. Threatened to never travel ever again. Stood some more in line. Flew home. Kid fell asleep (finally, after four flights total) on the plane as the LANDING GEAR was coming down. Nice timing. Waited for luggage. Piled on said luggage. Ran into Ben Stein from Comedy Central/Ferris fame. Packed up the plethora of shit into the car. Went home. Made love to my bed, because I was damn happy to finally BE home. HUMPED. IT. Boing-Boing's and all.

I leave you with a photo of myself and the Bug from the beginning of our trip. Before my ass was busted up and my leg twisted and my toe stung up by a damned bee.












It's good to be home!!

Wednesday - Saturday:

We get our asses in a small little propeller plane and fly from Portland to Reno, NV. My husband's college buddy picked us up and drove our happy little family to their lake house at Tahoe. On the way there, I asked if we could stop off at a pharmacy and pick up a few things I'd forgotten for my son. While strapping my son back into the car seat in the parking lot of said establishment (and with half of my body hanging out of the car to do so), Mark's friend turns on the car and takes off fast, leaving me to scramble and get my shit back in the car. He felt bad. I laughed.

The lake house was awesome. Neat cabin, not far from the lake. We spent a lot of time on the little beach and pier, building sand castles, putting more SPF 5000 on my little pasty white kid's body, looking for crawfish in the traps, and relaxing (somewhat) in the sun. When my son realized there was a boat, he wanted ON the thing. And much to my chagrin, the boat needed fixed that afternoon, so at most my son could get ON the boat, just not go anywhere. There was a giant meltdown when we had to take him off the boat.

But back to the cabin. There are stairs inside. They are narrow and they are steep. They are covered in white shaggy fucking carpet. I was coming down the stairs, FIRST GLASS of red wine in hand, and I missed the last ... what, HDHusband ... five steps?? And in an effort not to dump my wine and not to curse (as CollegeFriend's 10-year-old daughter was standing there, mouth open), I managed to make my graceful fall worthy of a maneuver only done by Mary Lou Retton. Swear. I contorted my body into such a position ... I even impressed myself. AND, I didn't spill major amount of wine ... just a tiny bit. And I learned that if you spill red wine, you should immediately get white wine and dabble it on the spot. It comes right out. Take that to the bank, kids.

I wrecked my body that night. Between getting drug outside of the car and then the steps incident, I had bruises along my right side, twisted ankle, and pulled fucking muscles. Classy.

Our room was small, so HDToddler had to sleep in the pack and play at the end of the bed. This went over about as well as a turd in a punch bowl. Wednesday and Thursday night were awful. He had a cold. He was coughing. He was hacking. He was up every 45 minutes, standing up at the edge of his crib, yelling, "MOMMY! DADDY! MOMMY! DADDY!" until I finally pulled him into bed with us. He then kicked us equally in the kidneys and once rollled over on top of my head and continued to snore there.

One morning, I was laying in bed with my top off, just out of the shower, and my son was on the bed with me. He leaned over and poked one of my boobs. My husband said, "BOING! BOING!" and now, when HDToddler sees me naked and sees them, he announces they are, "Boing Boing's". What can you do.

CollegeFriend's little six-year-old boy cracked me up on more than occasion. My favorite being when I saw the preview for the WTC movie. I said, "Man, I'm just not sure I can see that movie yet", to which M. replied, "WHAT? You aren't even 13 yet???" (as it's a PG-13 movie)

There was a laundry room, which was really awesome considering we had trashed all of our items of clothing by this time. But damn if that laundry room did not STINK. CollegeFriend's wife on the last day unearthed an old crawfish trap with a rotten can of cat food in it. Yup. That was the smell. And it was absolutely nasty. Worse than the Panda Express Fart Food - by far.

While there, we got news from a neighbor about the liquid bans on planes. Fucking terrorists. I mean, really!! I want to kick them all in the shins. OR WORSE! So, we flew back to Portland on Saturday - getting to the airport extra early to avoid long line that didn't exist at Reno, by the way. On this flight, my son lost it again during the no-nap period. He was asking for 'night-night', but didn't understand he could just fall asleep.

Let's just say ... my husband ended up taking over HDToddler detail, bought me a glass of red wine. What a nice guy.

Stay tuned for Part Three of our excursion. I continue to be injured. A lot.

First of all, my MUCHO THANKS to those fabulous folks who guest posted for me! It's a fun, running tradition some of us have been doing. So, thank you to Dark Damian, Laurie, FreshAirLover, Howard, and of course, to Frychk, who was willing to coordinate the whole shebang. I didn't have much in the way of internet access (which was really kind of nice) so I am catching up on my blog (and others) now.

So, on to the vacation.

In a nutshell, we were gone nine days. NINE DAYS. With a two and a half year old boy, five pieces of luggage and a carseat and pack and play. We were THAT family you see in the airport. Stressed out mom. Dad pushing an inordinate amount of crap around on a cart. The screaming child. Oh yes, we owned that title this last week.

I give you the first round of the trip: Denver to Portland:

Saturday:

We are standing in line at DIA's security. The three people in front of us had purchased a big bag full of Panda Express to eat later. And it smelled like rotten egg farts. That's the best description I could come up with, really. It was awful bad.

On the flight into Portland, my son threw a giant fit on the plane. Likely, it was nap time and he was too out of sorts to just FALL asleep. As we are leaving the plane, the attendants said, "Make sure you gather all of your luggage AND CHILDREN when you leave". Pretty sure that was meant for us.

We dropped off our son with the grandparents and headed to dinner with some friends that have the coolest house and backyard ever in the entire world. We sat out on the patio, had fish they'd just caught in Canada, drank a bunch of wine, hung out in front of the outdoor fireplace, and I dreamed I lived in Oregon.

Sunday:

We stayed at a hotel this time because my husband's dad and his stepmom now have three cats, and my husband is really allergic to them. Plus, those cats are bat shit crazy. And his dad and stepmom are bat shit about the cats. (for my son's second birthday, they gave him a picture of their second cat in a cat frame)

While at the hotel having breakfast that morning, my son runs over to the railing to look at the little koi pond/river they have. He goes to hand my husband his pacifier, and it falls in the water. The nasty, stinky ass water. My husband dutifully rolls up his pant legs, climbs over the railing, with breakfast crowd watching, and retrieves the Nuk.

On our way out of the hotel about thirty minutes later, we're walking through the revolving door and my son gets his foot stuck UNDER the door. And it's still moving, and it's attempting to jack up my baby's foot. My husband pushes the door back and breaks it. Kind of. It was fixed when we got back, so I'm going with "temporarily fucked up by the HDFamily" for 200, Alex.

And then to his side of the family's reunion. Great spread. Lots of kids. Lots of fun. No neuortic cats. They are locked up in the room because (according to grandma), "They just don't do well with large crowds of people and Barney will run away". One less, if you ask me.

Monday:

We drove to the Oregon Coast, and I absolutely LOVE that drive. You duck in an out of little towns with tons of great little (and big) wineries along the way. The scenery is beautiful, too.

I took this picture on the way to the Coast because, unless I take photos of myself on the trip, they don't get taken. So there.






We had a great lunch at Mo's. Except for the part where I picked up the cup full of crayons to give to my son and someone's wine and chew residue came spilling out onto my hands. Yup. That wasn't good. Quite nasty, actually.

After lunch, took HDToddler out back to see the ocean and let him run around on the beach. HDHusband was walking with HDT, and I guess HDT tripped and fell in. Took a big drink of the ocean, according to my husband, and was none too pleased with it all.

We drove down to see the Aquarium and checked out all the crabs. We stopped for Tillamook ice cream on the way home and every single person in there topped 300 lbs. On the way out of town, there were signs everywhere saying, "Porn Hurts" (which I found funny, very) and a woman walking a raccoon on a LEASH.

We drove back to Portland and my son fell asleep in the car. He didn't sleep that long. He didn't eat that well that day. So, by the time we got into Portland, he was awake and hungry and pissed. We were trying to get to the restaurant to meet up with the grandparents, but traffic was kicking our ass.

We get there, and my kid is LOSING IT. We sit down and offer him whatever, and no, it won't eat it at all. In fact, he begins to scream so loudly when he sees we're going to strap him into the high chair A-GAIN. I take him outside, where he continues to have a meltdown. And this, my friends, is when I about killed a man.

Him: Hey, you need SuperNanny 911.

Me: I'm sure she's good, but today, my kid is just tired and hungry.

Him: (shaking his head) NO. YOU NEED SUPERNANNY 911.

Me: NO, YOU NEED TO MOVE YOUR ASS RIGHT NOW AND WALK AWAY FROM ME!

And then, his wife pulls him away, bitching him out. Now, I get the fact that there are kids who don't mind and have great issues. But then are kids who are tired and hungry and aren't fully equipped yet with WORDS to use.

We take our food, box it up, and finish eating back at the grandparent's out. And then I cry. And I get a raging headache that lasts well into the night and first part of Tuesday.

Tuesday:

I leave my son with my husband and go out for lunch and shopping with a girlfriend in the Pearl District. She is a local artist there and had a good idea of some neat little shops to go into.

We were having some iced coffee outside of one little place, and believe me, the place itself was probably very classy, but we were not. We were pretty casual. As we're sitting there, this car turns a corner. We've been watching people for a while sitting there (did you know man-skirts are REALLY in there??), so this car was no different. Just someone new to look at while we drank our coffee. BUT NO. Crazy Lady is hanging out the window yelling this exact tirade, "I LOVE TIM McGRAW!! I WILL MARRY HIM!!!" (sees us staring at her) "FUCK YOU! STOP JUDGING ME YOU SLUT!!!" It was the slut bit that had me laughing.

Met Husband and Son at a local fountain, watched some bag lady with the shirt 'Addicts Can Recover' try and pick up my son, yelled at her, and watched some homeless guy try and chat up a kid and have the dad go ape-shit on him.

We went back to the hotel, packed to leave the next morning for our flight into Reno.

I'll post on that tomorrow, I think. For now, I have a kid to feed and a house to clean up.

It is SO good to be home.

Today's post is brought to you from the future as told to Howard by Melissa, HDW's teenage daughter:

God! I so hate my bio-parents! You wouldn't believe what I had to do to stay home while they went on their vacation to tropical Greenland ... again! Gaaa, tanning is so history. Has she ever heard of cancer?! I mean, she downloads enough Oxygen Life to know. There's like no ozone stuff anymore. Everyone has white, alabaster skin now, but no, she has to look like the inside of a cow. It's so embarrassing. My brother has it so good being in college and asleep for a year to earn his degree.

And why did they lock out the codes to the security cameras? I mean, it's not like I can throw a party with the old crone next door who's into everyone's business. She is so scary and she totally grosses me out talking about how great her dead husband was and how she's now a lifetime member of the stupid country club. I mean, NO ONE joins those anymore. She actually golfs and only poor people golf. Anyone who is anyone has already joined a cyberclique on MySpace. Gaaa! Everyone knows that conformity is the new exclusivity. Geez!

Oh, and then Mom totally embarrassed me at my weekly movie enclave. We were watching like the billionth version of Freaky Friday with Dakota Fanning playing the mom and Apple Martin (she's so cute; but her brother, Moses, is dreamy!) playing the daughter and they like switched places and stuff? I would never, never, never, never, never want that to happen to me. Then I'd be all like, "C'mon dear, this is really cool and super fresh. I'm going to show you how to water the plants on the front porch correctly unlike that female dog next door." And then she waters them. She is so dumb! I mean... they're HOLOGRAPHIC PLANTS! Hellooooo. But she is all about tradition and stuff. She insists on eating still

My BBF, Aipotu -- Her name is SO cool. It's utopia spelled backwards. Unlike my name. Gaaa, I hate Melissa, but they totally named me after some blog story that her friend Howard wrote because he saved her life. If I have to hear THAT story one more time.... Anyway, Aipotu and I are going down to the Implant Parlor and getting iPod cerebral implants. We've been hacking cyber credits out of our mom's accounts and saving up. I mean, EVERYONE has one and it's so much better than walking around with those headphone things on your head. Mom HATES implants and keeps saying, "If you were supposed to hear music in your brain then you would have been born with an antenna sticking out of your head". I totally had to go look up "antenna" on Googlipedia to see what the heck she was talking about. It's boring, so don't ask. At least I don't splice like that total nanobrain, Agnes, the so- called "coolest" girl in school. I heard that she actually spliced chameleon gene so that she really could French kiss Millard from across the room! Ew!

Well, Aipotu is here and we're getting a giggly and stuff but not on sugar since that's been banned. I have to say one thing about mom - I'm really glad she turned this blog over to me. I hate to admit it but it is kinda fun if soooo old fashion although I don't know what a martini is. No one drinks alcohol anymore unless they are homeless loser or an improv comedian.

...I hope the implant scar heals before they get back. Don't tell!

Tootles!

(Today's post brought to you by a very sleepy Fyrchk)

Previously on Green Apple Martini's:
As we start up the stairs we hear more singing and giggling and when we get to the top of the stairs we find Fyrchk...

…having wild, freak-nasty sex with Matthew McConaughey!

No? Too unbelievable? Yeah, I thought that might be stretching it a bit.

Seriously though, I’m not crazy. Do they think they are super-stealth? They are about as quiet as 100 inmates in a rec yard with a naked woman walking by.

*BUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPP*

See what I mean? Laurie’s loud ass self. And Damian walking into shit because he is winking at Fresh.

If they keep following me upstairs, I might be able to lock them into a room while I call the police. I’m pretty sure they are here to try to get me to join whatever fucking cult they have started that wears tutu’s. Obviously Laurie is the leader since she’s wearing a cape and has a scepter of some sort. Wait, that’s a rolled up JET magazine. Bless her heart.

Closer…closer….we’re almost to the room. They are so close I can smell the Doritos and some kind of moisturizer. They are downright sneaky as to how they lure people in. Kudos to them. But, I’M not falling for that shit!

Wastin’ away again in Margaritaville…oh, cell phone’s ringing. Maybe the police have followed them here and they want me to know that they have my back.

Nope, it’s HDW.

Me: “Hello?”
HDW: “Hey FyrMama! How is everything going? Did you show them their presents from me?”
Me: “Uh, no. I think there’s a problem. They’re dressed in..uh…tutu’s. And I think they might be trying to poison my Kool-Aid. You know, like Jim Jones and shit.”
HDW: “Get real. First of all, you KNOW it would be Tang. And knowing them, they think they are dressed appropriately. Especially Damian.”
Me: “HDW, you have to help me! Call the cops. I’m scared for my life. I’m luring them to HDToddler’s room where they can be entertained and I can keep them til the cops show.”
HDW: “FYR! YOU ARE NOT CALLING THE COPS! YOU ARE GOING TO GIVE THEM THE STUFF I LEFT!”
Me: “But Mama………the tutu’s……”
HDW: “No ‘buts’ about it Missy. You will do it! And find Damian some pants. No one should have to see that.”
Me: *sigh* “Ok.”

As I close my phone, I turn back to the Three Stooges. They all freeze and look away. This must be the “I can’t see you, so you can’t see me” mentality.

Dumbasses.

How did HDW meet these people? Oh wait…nevermind.

“Look guys. I know you are following me. We might as well get this over with. HDW left you some presents and she wants me to give them to you.”

Laurie started swinging her JET wildly and screaming “ARRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!” Damian is pirouetting while Fresh claps in time.

Yeah, HE’S manly. Oy God.

“Damian, here’s your Ron Popeil Bacon-o-Matic. May you use it wisely and gluttonously. (I MAKE UP WORDS PEOPLE. SHUT THE FUCK UP!) And a lifetime supply of bacon. And put these pants on. I found them in HDHusband’s closet.”

No response from Damian as he is drooling and passed out in a grease coma.

“Fresh, she left you a box of ruffled panties and Mary Jane’s in black, red, white, purple, pink, and blue. And a brand new stove. Get to cooking woman. But first change into the panties and Mary Jane’s.”

Fresh is the fastest undresser I’ve ever seen. Tutu all a-flyin’ and shit. Nice ummmmmm boobies. Must look away…must look away….

“Laurie, she was tired of you taping McDonald’s cardboard patches to your head, so here’s a bedazzled eye-patch. Look at the little skull and cross-bones. Aren’t they cute? And look at this beautiful display case for your shanks! You are going to be the classiest white-trash pirate in Arizona!”

“STOP HITTING DAMIAN! DAMMIT! THAT’S WHY YOU DIDN’T GET THE PEG-LEG! I DIDN’T WANT TO HAVE TO REMOVE IT FROM HIS ASS!!!!”

Jesus. This is the shit I deal with.

I have to go. My present is Matthew McConaughey and I have lots of plans.

Smooches!

Stay tuned for one more guest post on Monday from Howard. Then we are DONE here people. We'll give it back to HDW and let her entertain you.

We miss you Mama! Hurry home!

(Today's post brought to you by FreshAirLover and the letter "C")

Previously on Green Apple Martini's:
At that precise moment...

I've been ringing the doorbell for 10 minutes now. Where is everyone? I have to pee.

*Ding dong. Ding dong.*

The door opens just as I start to hold myself because I almost tinkled in my tutu and there is DD at the door in the same tutu as me. “You adjusted okay down there”, he asks. “Yes, I have to tinkle.” Too preoccupied with having to wee to ask him what's up with the tutu, I run into the house, past Laurie doing Jane Fonda's workout and head straight into the bathroom and slip on the wet floor. Ouch. I finally reach the toilet and as I'm finishing up I think to myself, “Was Laurie's cute ass dressed like a pirate?”

I come out of the bathroom and Captain Cutie is giving me a strange hand signal and I stop to look at her, perplexed. She twisting at her waist and stretching her torso. I look over at DD and he's brushing something off his tutu. When he finally looked up, I noticed that he was winking at me. I was winking back at him and he started shaking his head and then he puts his finger to his lips for me to be quiet. I'm wondering what the hell is going on. I'm hungry. Then I hear it.
The strange chanting is coming from the corner and I see Fyrchk there. What is she chanting? Oh, there's something in her hand. I look at DD, who's still winking by the way, and make my “What the hell's going on?” face. He shrugs. Just as I'm about to sit down and watch Frychk, there's a huge crash. Laurie is hopping on her one foot and making faces. She hops into the kitchen and we follow her.

“Shank the f***ing chair.” She sits down still rubbing her foot.

“What in the world is going on?” I ask the two of them. “And why are you wearing a tutu, DD?”

Still winking, he says “Why are you wearing a tutu?”

“Cause someone told me this is a fairytale and I decided to dress like a fairy?” I pull out my wand from my bag and twirl.

“Oh for crying out loud...” Laurie is giving me the nutjob look. “Where are the Doritos? I'm starving.”

“No, we can't eat at a time like this. We have to find out what's going on with Fyrchk.” DD says determined.

“Seriously, what's up with the tutu?” I wink back at him and he shakes his head. Pointing to his eye, he says “I have soap in my eye.”

My heart fell a little because I love to flirt. “Don't you think I'm pretty?” And I twirled again.

Both of them rolled their eyes and Laurie chugged the rest of her beer, burped, and asked “Do you want to get scissor-kicked, Fresh?” I stopped twirling and sank down into a chair.

We then hear a loud bang in the living room and hear Fyrchk singing. “I think she's on the move”, Laurie says. And then we hear Fyrchk moving up the stairs.

Laurie grabs the bag of Doritos, her can of beer and starts out of the kitchen, DD and I right behind her. As we start up the steps, we hear more singing and giggling and when we get to the top of the stairs we find Fyrchk.....

Stay tuned for tomorrow's stunning conclusion...

Previously on Green Apple Martini's:
Damian hears it and starts to well up again...

....and he said,

"Bitch, you CRAZY!!!!"

I laughed because, well...it was Dark Damian....in a tub....singing to Toni "No Jaw Movement" Braxton. I would have taken a secret squirrel pic but I didn't have enough memory left in the phone. Frogs and all.

I said, "Just what in holy hell are you doing here?"

He said, "I came to hotdrwife's house to teach her how to play bass. She thinks I'm cool and wanted to learn so I offered my services."

Me - "Uh....then why would she tell you to come if she wasn't going to be here, Mr. Clueless?"

DD - "Bitch....I could ax you the same thing!!!"

Hmmmmmmmmmm.....this is true. But I played dumb. Which isn't hard to do. Yo.

Me - "Get the fuck outta there. I'm hungry. Let's go raid the fridge."

DD - "Hand me my towel."

Me - ..........

DD - "Come ON!!!! It's right there!!! Just throw it!!!!"

I picked up the purple Egyptian cotton 8000 thread count towel, threw it and turned my head. I was in NO mood to see THIS shit.

DD - "Stupid!!! It landed in the tub!!!! Just give me my clothes instead!!!"

*sigh*

Simpleton. Can't catch and shit.

I grabbed his pink tutu.......

.......wait.......

PINK TUTU??????

........and stifled a giggle as I held it up, just out of his reach.

Me - "Uh....just what is THIS?"

DD - "Uh.....yeah...it's laundry day back at the homestead and that was all I had. Don't be jealous."

He slips into his ensemble, which consisted of:

-pink tutu
-Doc Martens
-white (dingy) wife-beater tee
-turquoise headband (don't ask)

....and we headed to the kitchen. I wanted Doritos.

It's dark.

All I can see is the light of a fucking HUGE fish tank.

HI FISHY!!!

I'm in front....DD in the rear. Well....figuratively speaking.

I trip over something.

Way to go, HDToddler. Thanks for that Lincoln Log.

We are almost to the kitchen.....I'm so damn hungry. Fairy tales take it out of ya!!!

And then..........I see her..............

HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!!! As we pass through the living room, there's fyrchk....crouching in the corner........holding a pirate booty.....

Then.....

I saw her, too. I couldn’t believe my eyes, partly because I still had some body wash in ‘em from when I was so rudely asked to get outta the tub. Next time, throw my towel DIRECTLY TO ME, Captain Anne Tenile! Damn. You'd think with a pirate ship up on blocks at her house, she'd be handy. Oh, you didn't know about that? Seems the oars need replacing or whatever. For now, she's driving this:

(normally there would be a nice picture here, but blogger is sucking my asshole, so click on this.)

As for the tutu…well, it’s comfortable, and it helps to hold my manbits nice and snug.

And that was TMI.

Anyway.

Fyrchk was crouched in the corner, her back to us, looking a lot like Gollum from “Lord Of The Rings”, only with better skin care and dietary habits. She had…something in her hands, and she was talking to it like it was gonna tell her this weeks lottery numbers. Powerball, bitches. “No one will take you away from me,” she said, in a weird sing-song voice. If she had said “my precious” afterward, I woulda called Peter Jackson immediately and had him cast her in “Lord of the Rings Two: Electric Boogaloo”. Faux Pirate and I started making military-style hand signals at each other in an attempt to coordinate an approach on the target, but people, let me tell you – she just won’t listen. I read Tom Clancy books. I watch The Military Channel. Hell, I watch “StarGate: SG-1”. I know the signals. But would she obey, comply, acquiesce, or even listen? Fuck no. She had her own hand language, which looked like a cross between true sign language and some maneuvers one would make while masturbating at sea. If it were impossible to have a non-verbal hand argument prior to this, we better call Ripley’s. Believe it. She actually managed to say “Suck my asshole” in hand signals. I was impressed.

After she insulted me by calling me Hand Solo, we split up, and slowly crept toward Fyrchk, who was now asking the object about her horoscope while humming something about booty booty booty booty booty everywhere. We needed to know what she had, and pronto. It didn’t appear to be a cell phone, mainly because she wasn’t cackling loudly into it while simultaneously sending picture and text messages, but it was something. “Laurie,” I said, “Use your Lucifer Bra to scan the area in front of Fyrchk. We need to know what that thing is.” She said “Broccoli.” At least I THINK that’s what she said, since I couldn’t read her language very well. At any rate, she did the patented Girl Trick and removed the Lucifer Bra without so much as wrinkling her piratical frilly blouse. She held up the steaming hot brassiere, looking through it in Fyrchk’s direction. She signed to me, “It’s small, white, and is radiating a small amount of heat. I think there are headphones, or a stethoscope, or maybe a diaphragm. It appears to be…an Izod? No, that's clothing...it's an iPod?” I was amazed that (a) I understood what she said, and (b) that an iPod could be so enthralling to our compatriot. Poor thing needed our help. I decided some compassion was in order. I signed back “OK, let’s embrace her and let her know she’s loved.”

Laurie read it as “Let’s scissor-kick her and pull her hair.”

Oh, shit.

You see, it’s well-known that Fyrchk can defend herself, and the fact is, we were in HDW’s house, which was familiar to her. She knew every nook, every cranny, every corner. She knew where the weapons were. She knew where the remote was. (Which I had needed earlier, so I wish the bish hadn’t held out on that vital info.) Hell, she invented the patented Dual Breastian Smother Technique, also known as Areola Au Revoir. I tried to warn Laurie, but...she doesn't listen. Plus I kinda wanted to see what would happen. I saw Laurie crack her neck, stretch out her legs, squat down, and prepare to leap at Frychk. At that precise moment…

For your ease in reading the following will denote the different authors:

fyrchk
Laurie
Dark Damian
FreshAirLover


Previously on Green Apple Martini's:
Once upon a time in a land far, far away (Arizona) there lived a girl named Laurie-locks who also went by the name Captain New Booty Mean Ass and she...

.....and she was so fucking cute, it was amazing. She skipped her way down Blackbeard Lane with her basket of beer and her little red cape on.

She was going to see her much loved friend, HotDrWife.

*clank clank*

Damn beers.

She was a little out of breath so she slowed to a walk.

"Fuck this skipping shit," she said, wiping her cute brow.

"What a pretty street!" she thought. "It would be so much prettier though if there were a pink flamingo or 12 in a yard. Or maybe even a toilet with some pretty petunias growing out of that bitch! The things I would do if I lived here!" she said to herself, as her breathing grew labored and the sweat poured off her face.

Ah!!! Here it is!! 212249 Blackbeard Lane!!!!

"GAT DAYUM!" she screamed. "What a damn HOUSE!!!"

She tiptoed (read: stumbled) up the stairs, took her copy key outta her fanny pack, and let herself into the MANSION!

What is this??????? Dark Damian???? In the bathtub???? Wearing a FLOWERED SHOWER CAP??? With BUBBLES??? And CANDLES lit??? AND JASMINE VANILLA SUGAR SCRUB ON HIS ELBOWS???? ONE ASHY ASS LEG IN THE AIR WITH A LOOFAH IN HIS HAND???

With TEARS streaming down his face........???????

His iPod was jammin' and I could hear Toni Braxton's "Unbreak My Heart" from the doorway.

fyrchk edit:
Don't leave me in all this pain
Don't leave me out in the raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn
Come back and bring back my smile
Come and take these tears awaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyy
I need your arms to hold me now
The nights are so unkiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnndddddd
Bring back those nights when I held you beside me

It was then that I...

OK, stop right there. Seriously, stop. Stop the madness, the lies, the complete and utter falsehoods, and let the truth come out. FACT: I do NOT use jasmine vanilla sugar scrub in the tub. That is a LIE, and the TRUTH will come out, and out it shall come!

I use Boscia Jujube Rejuvenist Whipped Body Crème. Recognize.

Unbreak my hhhhhhhheeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrttttttttt
Say you'll love me aaaaaagggggggggaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiinnnnnnn *SOB*
Undo this hurt you caused
When you walked out the door
And walked out of my life *snort, sniffle*
Uncry these tears
I cried so many nights
Unbreak my heart
My hhhhhhhheeeeeeaaaaaarrrrrrtttttt *uncontrollable sobbing and snorting*

That sugar scrub is for the ashy of elbow, and for the one whose skin is like the Swamp Thing. Gotta keep it right and tight. So ANYWAY, on with the real story.

As I sat in the tub, relaxing and listening to a little music, I closed my eyes and sang along – until BAM! The bathroom door came FLYING in, missing me by inches due to my superior Matrix-like maneuvers. As the splinters of the door fell to the ground, I looked over to see who or what was the cause of all this, and to see which muhfucka would be replacing my precious 30GB ipod. To my surprise, it was none other than…

CAPTAIN NEW BOOTY MEAN ASS!

I mean, Laurie. Yeah. She still had her right leg up in the air, purple crocs in full effect. No sword, though, which was depressing. Instead, she carried an Ikea catalog and a rolled-up Jet magazine. I screamed – but it was a fucking manly scream, ok? She pointed her Jet at me menacingly, and said "WHERE IS HOT DOCTOR'S WIFE?" I was stunned, because I was also looking for her. In fact, I was in the tub soaking because I was upset that I couldn't find her. I didn't back down, though. Not the kid. I looked her square in the eye, lifted my chin, wiped some Rejuvenist off my brow, and I said…

Playing hauntingly from the discarded iPod:

Take back that sad word goodbye
Bring back the joy to my life
Don't leave me here with these tears
Come and kiss the pain away
I can't forget the day you left
Time is so unkind
And life is so cruel without you here beside meeeeeee

Damian hears it and starts to well up again......

Hey everyone! Fyrchk here. Our lovely HotDrWife is on "vacation" with HDH and HDToddler. And she left ME in charge. HAHAHA! I'm not responsible when it comes to my own blog and now I have two? What to do? What to do?

Well, obviously I am not going to be able to float both, so some other fellow bloggers who you may or may not be familiar with have joined me in making sure you all have something to read. Dark Damian, FreshAirLover, Howard, and Laurie aka Captain New Booty Mean Ass are in like Flynn. And hopefully we will provide some sort of entertainment. If not, screw you. HDW likes us and that's what matters. Have any of YOU gone on a cruise with her? I THOUGHT NOT.

Speaking of cruise...here is a picture of HDW on the beach in Freeport, Bahamas. I believe this was taken before the unfortunate toe accident. But I can't be sure.



Isn't she a cutie patootie?

But I digress, on with the guest posting!

Once upon a time in a land far, far away (Arizona), there lived a girl named Laurie-locks who also went by the name Captain New Booty Mean Ass and she...

Fuck it, I'll let her tell it. I have to go update my blog.

Take it away Laurie.

We're leaving bright and early tomorrow for our "oh-my-god-why-did-we-ever-say-we-would-be-gone-this-long-with-a-toddler-kill-me-now-please-god" vacation! And because it's due time for me to have some guest bloggers, you will have to tune in next week to see what my bloggin' buddies come up with. And what does this photo have to do with anything? Nothing really, but it cracked me up. Oooh, pun un-intended, too.

Have a great week plus, my bitches!

I LOVE IT WHEN IT RAINS!!! And it finally - FINALLY- rained today.

I had planned on reading a few pages of the book my darling friend Laurie sent to me (for guest blogging on her site) while HDTodder (otherwise known as Child Terror for 48 Hours And Running) slept, and I managed to fall asleep. I was reminded of my grandma who would do the same thing : you know, the "I'm going to read for a few minutes ..." , then the open-mouth-jello-neck-head-bob. That was me today, folks.

OUT. LIKE. A. LIGHT.

And what did I wake up to?

I woke up to RAIN.

And not just sprinkles, but full-on big fat ass rain drops, thunder (and the sound of a Stanley Steamer van across the street ruining the sound of my perfect rainstorm, you ass).

I'm NOT rubbing this in the faces of those in the heat wave from Hell. Promise you not. I would share it all with you in a heartbeat!! We've been scorching here and it's nice to have some relief. More importantly, the farmers/ranchers in eastern Colorado (my family!) need the rain. Badly. Wheat harvest this year was dismal to say the very least.

And when it rains like this, I see the world as a less sucky place. I love the rain. I love being IN the rain. When I was little, my grandma said it would start raining, I'd run out in it and start dancing and singing.

My husband is from Oregon. He hates the rain now. When we were at the Zoo in Oregon in June, it was raining and I was giddy like a little kid. He swears I would be sick of the rain if I lived there. The man doesn't know me at all. I don't believe it for a second. Overcast skies alone put me in a fantastic mood. FAN-FREAKING-TASTIC!

I woke up, HDToddler still asleep, turned on my favorite Red House Painters album, sat back and relaxed. And it's strange - the Red House Painters aren't a peppy band. They are quite the opposite, but I love the lyrics. I love being introspective. And that's what I reach for when it's raining.

I love days like today.

Song In My Head: "Have You Forgotten?" - Red House Painters

I am NOT a morning person. My ideal wake-up is when my body does it for me. My God, that's damn near orgasmic just THINKING about it ...

But, when you have a kid, you get to wake up at all hours. You are always on-call. You sleep with one ear open. A few weeks ago, I was in a dead sleep, fan on, completely out, and woke up hearing a faint, but yet forceful scream coming from down the hall. It's impossible to ever really sleep, these days. It's a far cry from the 'up every two hours' that I used to endure with my son as a small baby. Oh my God, it was horrible. I believe my husband once said, "He is only a few weeks old but he has us on our KNEES!".

My husband does okay with 5-6 hours of sleep during the week. He left the house yesterday morning bright and early and didn't get home until after 11:30. And today, he was out of the house before 7. I would have been dead for sure.

Which brings me to yesterday.

My husband (HDH) gets up early on Tuesday morning's. (like 5:15 - early ... and seriously, when will I remember to go sleep in the other room on Monday nights??). Our son doesn't usually rouse until 6:45-7:00.

Yesterday morning, my husband gets up and starts doing things in the kitchen. Namingly, he begins to wash our dishes. (Because I was dead ass tired the night before, I put them off until the next day.) He was helping me out by doing them, but he was banging around and woke HDToddler up - around 5:45.

The following things went through my head: Oh. My. No. Kill. Kill. Please. God. No. Kill. Death. Murder. Oh. Hell.

I stumble into the bedroom to find my son, wide awake, talking about his daddy and all sorts of, "Look, Mom. I'm up! I'm awake! Yahoo!" My husband slinks out the door, apologetically, and I shoot laser beams into his body with my eyes.

The following is the exchange that took place later in the day (and by later, I mean, like, 10:30, because really, that stretch was a damn eternity. We'd already been to the store, had a massive melt-down - and that was just ME):

Him: So, sorry about waking up HDT so early.

Me (trying to be a big girl about it): It's okay. I know trying to help with the dishes.

Him: You know, you aren't any fun when you're sleep-deprived.

Me: And who do you know that is?

Him: I'm just saying. I'm tired ALL the time. But you? You are are fucking drag when you're tired. No sex. No watching movies. No nothing.

Me: Well for fuck's sake. You woke our kid up!! Early! You don't think we can hear what you do down there, but we hear EVERYTHING. And your ideal time to start watching a movie is at 10, and I'm already for bed by then.

Him: You know what? When you walked by the bedroom and told me he was up, you sounded just like Walter Conkrite announcing Kennedy at been shot. 'You.Have.Woken.Up.The.Child'.

Me: Well, it was better than clawing your eyes out because that was my next thought.

Yesterday was the longest day ever. My son was cranky. He was combative. He tried hitting me a lot. I lost my shit a few times. He didn't fall asleep until 1:30. And when he finally did, praise Jesus, he slept until 5:30. And while he was napping, the doorbell and phone rang 400 times and then , when I finally DID get to lay down, the damn jets in our bathtub started by themselves AGAIN an hour into my nap.

(I still swear we have a ghost. I call her Bathtub Betty, and yesterday, Betty was a dirty bitch)

Today, my son goes to day care. We're getting ready to leave for a vacation this weekend. I need to get a lot of shit done. I need to wake up and throw some toothpicks in there to keep'em open. I need to say 'shit' a few more times in this post to get my point across.

I'm having my second cup of coffee and ready (coughnotreallycough) to bring on the day.

Song In My Head: Day After Day (The Ben Taylor Band)

I woke up this morning with Ani DiFranco's "32 Flavors" in my head. I've been singing it all morning.I haven't heard the song in ages, but I love it - one of my favorites, especially the lyrics:

Squint your eyes and look closer
I'm not between you and your ambition
I am a poster girl with no poster
I am thirty-two flavors and then some
And I'm beyond your peripheral vision
So you might want to turn your head
Cause someday you're going to get hungry
And eat most of the words you just said

Both my parents taught me about good will
And I have done well by their names
Just the kindness I've lavished on strangers
Is more than I can explain
Still there's many who've turned out their porch lights
Just so I would think they were not home
And hid in the dark of their windows
Til I'd passed and left them alone

And God help you if you are an ugly girl
Course too pretty is also your doom
Cause everyone harbors a secret hatred
For the prettiest girl in the room
And God help you if you are a phoenix
And you dare to rise up from the ash
A thousand eyes will smolder with jealousy
While you are just flying back

I'm not trying to give my life meaning
By demeaning you
And I would like to state for the record
I did everything that I could do
I'm not saying that I'm a saint
I just don't want to live that way
No, I will never be a saint
But I will always say

Squint your eyes and look closer
I'm not between you and your ambition
I am a poster girl with no poster
I am thirty-two flavors and then some
And I'm beyond your peripheral vision
So you might want to turn your head
Cause someday you might find you're starving
And eating all of the words you said