Builder Mama

Friend or foe?

2011-08-11T20:09:00.003-04:00

I found out today that someone that was a close friend has apparently been lying to me and other people for, oh, our entire friendship.

I guess I always want to see the good in other people. I want to believe that they like me, they want the best for me, and that they care about me the way I care about them. To paraphrase something I posted on my Facebook page the other day, I have high expectations of my friendships because I would do that much and more for my friends.

It stings. I had suspicions for quite a while that Friend wasn't always truthful. And even when I confronted Friend, I was met with excuse after excuse, lie after lie.

I don't let people into my life easily. And this friend was someone I implicitly trusted and allowed into my life with no holds barred. Now, I'm left wondering if I am a fool or if Friend is just a psychopathic liar. Or both.

We haven't spoken in a while. Friend and I have been on again, off again for several years. Every time Friend has asked for forgiveness, I have given it.

I'm an idiot, I guess.

I know that Friend occasionally reads my blog. And if you do, Friend, I have this to say to you...

I gave you so many chances. Every time you got angry and disappeared, you would come back and I would forgive. And now, I find out that you lied about something really important that was totally unnecessary to lie about. And you continued to lie and twist things until I don't think you even remembered what the reality of the situation was.

I often wondered why you had so few close friends. Real friends. It's a shame, because I think deep down inside you're a great person. I just think you are so subconsciously desperate to have people think you're so great that you manipulate and twist the truth into your own distorted reality, no matter what the cost is to everyone around you.

I have given you chance after chance. No more. I am done.

Let's do the time warp, yeaaaaaah.....

2011-07-22T16:47:00.003-04:00

There's nothing like being dragged kicking and screaming into a time warp at 5:30 on a Friday morning.

As I was scrolling through my Facebook feed this morning, I saw my ex-fiance Jody had friended some new people. One name looked kind of familiar, so I clicked on it and was suddenly transported back to 1989, and a seedy bar in Blacksburg, Virginia.

It was Dave. I had met Dave at a local bar called The Phoenix Club which was one of the few places underage students could go dance and get served at the bar with minimal hassle. Well, I never had an issue, which probably accounts for why I missed most of my classes in my second semester there. Ahem.

Dave was tall, with devastating dimples and blue eyes. The attraction between us was instantaneous. He was a second-year, I was a first-year, and we had absolutely nothing in common other than wanting to tear each others' clothes off. Which we did. A lot.

We did hang out a little bit outside of the dorm, but most of our quality time was spent rocking the loft in his room. It was silly and fun and honestly, I knew I would probably never see him again after the semester was over as he went to his home and I went...well, I didn't know where I was going to end up at that time. That's a long story for another time.

The last day before everyone packed up for the summer, I went over to his dorm room to say goodbye. He introduced me to two guys from my hometown, and as it would turn out within six months I'd be engaged to one of them.

Dave did send me a few letters that summer, written on lined notebook paper with a peculiar backhanded script. He was very funny and articulate and I started having thoughts that maybe, just maybe - he cared about me more than just a girl he spend few sweaty months with in his room in West A-J.

I didn't write back. By that time, I was on the downward spiral that would last the next two years of my life until I figured out what I wanted to do with my life. Plus, I decided in a brilliant moment to drop out of college. I knew I'd never see Dave again.

Well, not until 2011, at least.

He has an open profile so I took a few minutes to scroll through his pictures until I saw a few from college. The memories came flooding back - not only of him, but of the chaos that had enveloped my life there. Second semester was one of the most hellish experiences of my life, thanks to my psychotic roommate that would write threatening letters to me and made me scared to sleep in my own room. My nerves were such a wreck that I stopped eating and was 30 pounds lighter than I was when I left for school (which was already too thin). My grades tanked and I knew there was a good chance I was going to get kicked out of school.

As I see it now, Dave provided a safe haven away from all my problems back in Slusher Tower. He didn't care about all the roommate drama - not that he wasn't supportive, but really all he cared about was having fun and spending time with me. That's exactly what I needed at the time. Well, that and a safe place to sleep where I wasn't worried about my roommate smothering me in my sleep.

Years later, my fiance would tell me that Dave bragged about me to all his friends. "He said you were the best lay he'd ever had," he seethed, gritting his teeth. And you know, I'm not sure if I should take that as a compliment considering most college guys think any sexual experience not involving a six-pack, a box of tissues and a bottle of lotion is the best.

That semester isn't something I've ever talked about much. It was painful, it was scary, and it was almost surreal. It was the end of my innocence and feeling like I could do anything. I was left an insecure, exhausted bag of bones. I still have nightmares from that time.

Today, for just a moment, I remembered the small glint of happiness that I had at that time. So if I ever see Dave - which could happen since he actually lives in our city - I'm going to have to find out a way to thank him for that. Hopefully that won't involve his wife punching me.

Of dog hair, Oreos, and kissing diseases

2011-07-20T19:24:00.002-04:00

I have mono.

There, I said it. I've been sick for approximately....97 months? No, really, since mid-May. I finally went to the doctor at the end of May since I was sleeping about 20 hours a day and still feeling like shit, and that was the diagnosis.

If you're friends with me on Facebook, you've already had to endure daily updates and whining about it, so I'll spare you. I will say that I'm finally feeling better, thankyouverymuch. Better enough that I had copious cocktails last weekend and was feeling like my normal self.

How does one get mono as an adult? Well, I had it in middle school. Apparently every person has the virus dormant in their bodies, and if you've had it as a kid then if you get it again as an adult if you're under extreme stress. Which I can't believe anyone would categorize me as being highly stressed, what with my father dying and me hating my job and the current economic conditions and a nine-year-old going on twenty-nine. Oh, and crazy in-laws with a psychotic dog? And a good amount of friend drama to boot? Nope, not me.

On the good side, I caught up on all the sleep I've missed since 2001 and also got to watch a good amount of the Casey Anthony trial. I can honestly say that between the trial and the whole hanging chad fiasco, I will never move to Florida. NEVER.

Also, I've gotten to spend lots of time with the dogs. They are the funniest critters ever. Rufus is still his regular curmudgeonly self, and Nick is this goofy, loving lion-looking dog. The dog hair is driving me nuts, but that's what lint rollers are for. I won't go into the thousands of dollars in damage that Nick has inflicted on our beautiful master bathroom. I'll let you conjure that visual up yourselves.

I still love Oreos. Oreos also love me, since they won't leave my ass.

Missed y'all...

Head case

2011-04-11T19:07:00.003-04:00

I must like to torture myself.

So while I'm trying to get my workout routine and diet under control (never mind the fact I just had a few Oreos), I decided that I should totally cut back on my Celexa. Oh, and get my period. Just call me Mega Bitch.

What was I thinking? Work is super stressful right now...like that is anything new. Plus recently I discovered through Site Meter that someone was looking at only my posts about work. That definitely set me on edge. I feel like I'm pretty vocal at work about my feelings and all that, so can't I just have my blog for my own private little venting session? I mean, I do change names to protect the innocent. And the guilty, for that matter.

So part of my insanity dribbled into my weekend. Anyone that knows me well knows that I despise amusement parks with the white hot passion of a thousand suns. I would rather have every hair on my body plucked one by one than go to one. In that spirit, Joey decided to buy season passes not only to Kings Dominion, but Busch Gardens and Water Country USA as well.

Kill me now.

Yesterday morning, when I was still recovering from Saturday's horrors of cleaning out my closet which was about 3-feet deep in shit and my two furry assistants were really not helping by dragging things in and out...Joey announced that he wanted to go to KD for the day. Say What? I immediately had a mini-meltdown because I wasn't prepared enough.

Prepared enough? What the hell? Yes, I apparently need an engraved invitation from the Queen to even consider darkening the portals of the amusement park. So I blubbered about it for a few minutes, with the bullet points of this whole meltdown being: I am tired. I am trying to cut back on my medicine. I have my period. RAAAAAAAWR!

I am such a girl sometimes.

We ended up going. And I had fun. I didn't ride many rides since I forgot to take any Dramamine, but I went. Sigh.

So if you run into me, and I seem a touch on edge, just remember:

I am tired

I am cutting back on my meds

I have my period

Throw some Oreos at me and run. Works like a charm.

Big butt

2011-03-28T17:49:00.003-04:00

I've been in a bit of a funk this week, mostly because my butt has gotten huge. HUGE. As in, my "big girl" jeans don't even fit anymore.

The sad part is I have zero motivation to do anything about it other than bitch and whine. The bad part is my life depends on me taking care of myself.

In case you're new to this blog, over a year ago I found out that I have a rare genetic blood protein called elevated Lp(a), or Lipoprotein A. Basically, it acts like glue in your arteries and makes the average person more than 60% likely to have a heart attack or stroke even if your other blood numbers like LDL and HDL are fine. Lovely, huh?

I'm still completely aware that this time bomb is ticking in my veins. But yet I continue to eat crap and not exercise. Two years ago, I was as fit as I'd been since high school, working out, eating well. Now...not so much.

I just don't know how to pull myself out of this slump, other than not allowing myself to buy any new clothes. So if you see me, I will be in very tight underwear in one of the XXL t-shirts we have stashed away for me to use as nightshirts. And stilettos. Because no matter how big I get, I can still wear fantastic shoes.

The horse and the barn

2011-03-24T08:01:00.003-04:00

Yesterday was school picture day. Monkey Man and I picked out a very simple outfit - light blue t-shirt and jeans with no holes in them. He wanted his hair combed by me for a change, which is a challenge in and of itself because his head is full of cowlicks...just like his mama's. Our hair is like a daily surprise - you never know what you're going to get.

In addition to Pose C (which was the least cheesy of the poses to choose from), they took a class photo. He was very excited about the class pose - I'm not sure if it was the chance to have the picture taken with his best bud Quentin, or the thought that just maybe he'd be next to his secret crush Mollie.

Side note: Apparently a "secret crush" isn't really secret with half of the third grade knows she likes you.

After the school day was over, we met Joey for an ungodly early dinner and then Monkey and I went to the local ice cream place to pick some up and take home. As we were standing outside waiting on our order, all of a sudden Monkey looks down and notices his zipper is down.

"The horse is out of the barn!" he yelped, pulling up his zipper.

"Huh. How long do you think your zipper has been down like that?"

"Um.....since after lunch.....and before the class picture....."

"Eh," I shrugged. "You're the tallest in the class, so I bet you were in the back, right?"

He nodded yes. "Then you're all good." I gave him a big hug.

I'm just waiting for either the call from the school or when the picture comes out. Class picture FAIL.

Afterlife

2011-03-21T19:42:00.003-04:00

As I was surfing through my favorite blogs today, one in particular called out her favorite bloggers and in particular Amalah. I've never been a follower of that blog, even though it's one of the most popular ones on the interwebz. I followed the link, read a few posts, and felt the memories come flooding back.

Her father is dying of cancer.

I have really been missing my father lately. I can't help but think that since Nick was born exactly 4 months and a day after my father died, that somehow my dad had something to do with us getting such a sweet, sweet boy.

My dad was a total prankster, and absolutely adored dogs. When we moved back to Virginia back in 1997, a German Shepherd-mix was dropped off on the road by my parents' house and my dad ended up adopting him. Brutus was his best buddy for many years until he died of a heart attack while my parents were traveling in Europe. My dad was devastated and never, ever had another dog after that.

Fast forward to when we got Rufus. He has always been on the shy side, but when he growled at my dad and then my dad growled back, Rufus determined that Grandpa was not to be trusted. Thus began a dance between the two of them every time they were in the same room. Rufus would sidle up to my dad, getting juuuust close enough - my dad would attempt to pet him and Rufus would jump away, wagging his tail and grinning. The only time Dad was ever able to pet him was when Rufus was asleep.

My dad would absolutely adore Nick, not only because of his cuteness but also his sweet disposition. As a matter of fact, Nick is like my dad in dog form. Sweet, good natured, a little stubborn, and smart as hell. A deadly combination.

Last year was so draining. I adored my father to the ends of the earth. He was and is my hero. Watching his illness progress was one of the hardest things I've ever had to live through, if not the hardest thing. He was so brave, and faced death with a stoicism that I still admire to this day. He trusted in his God to hold him in his hand and guide him through his final days.

The last day he was truly lucid was July 31st, his 89th birthday. He suffered through his birthday party with our family and by the end was a total wreck from the pain. After that, they bumped up his medication and he remained in a haze for the next two weeks.

As I sat by his bedside that last week, I held his hands for hours while I traced every line, vein, and spot with my finger. He was completely lost in the clouds of painkillers, which only allowed him a few lucid moments each day and I treasured every second of them. I had already said everything that needed to be said, and heard him say everything that I needed to hear. There were only slow, steady motions of comfort left to offer. Smoothing his beautiful silver hair, giving him a manicure without him complaining about the ever present split nail on his index finger. Rubbing lotion onto his arms and hands. Giving him a nice, warm shave and brushing his teeth for him.

I wasn't there when he died. I had actually left work that day with the intention of driving down that night to see him, since we all knew it was getting close to the end. There were horrible thunderstorms though, and I decided to wait and leave in the morning. He died just before 11 PM that night.

After he was gone, my sister called me and could barely speak. When the phone rang, I knew it was all over. I laid in the dark for hours, with the tears coursing down my face with a mixture of sadness and relief. Peace had finally come. A peace he deserved.

There is a certain kinship that people share when they've lost a parent, no matter what age. You give each other that knowing look, the sympathetic nod, and you really get it. You realize that now you are the one to carry on the family traditions. You know that you can't pick up the phone and ask how to fix that broken window or for your favorite recipe. But you also know that although life as you knew it is gone, there is an afterlife of your own to be lived.

The last few days, I have been happier than I can remember being in a long time. Maybe it's springtime with the rebirth of life all around us. Maybe it's allowing myself to living again without being afraid to make plans for my life because of the unknown. Whatever it is, I'm happy it's here.

Going to the dogs

2011-03-20T20:30:00.004-04:00

The last week or two has been a total whirlwind around here. Having a puppy is somewhat like having a newborn all over again, only babies don't usually piss on your carpet.

Honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way. Nick is such a wonderful dog. Sweet, playful, snuggly, smart...I could go on and on about how great he is. Even Rufus is warming up to him slowly but surely. Yesterday, he actually kissed Nick a few times - and anyone that knows him will agree with me that Rufus is a Love Miser. He is notoriously stingy with love and it's a major deal if he gives anyone or anything a kiss. So I'm taking this as a positive sign, at least until I make sure he's not testing Nick to see how tasty he is.

One of the most interesting things about this experience is that I'm getting to know so many people through this. When we got Rufus, the breeder was in Maryland and an older lady who really wasn't the warm and fuzzy type. And really, she had sort of had Rufus dumped on her and didn't have a personal attachment to him at all.

I really wanted to avoid that experience this time, and lo and behold not only did I find Nick's grandmas Janet and Penni to be wonderful people, but a whole group of other corgi lovers who have been so welcoming and warm. I feel so, so lucky not only to have welcomed Nick into my life, but to have met so many great people is just the cherry on the sundae.

Mmmm...sundae.

Okay, refocusing! Anyway, there really hasn't been too much going on around here other than trying to make sure the dogs are acclimated and no one chews up too much stuff. Rufus has taken it as his personal mission to steal anything Nick shows an interest in and hide it...then Nick finds it and hides it...and Rufus finds it...and Nick finds it....

We have done a crapload of work in the yard. Last year, with my dad being sick and having to travel down to The Land that Time Forgot almost every weekend, the yard went to crap so we have a lot to do. It looks fantastic. Maybe even so fantastic that we will actually keep up with it when it's a million degrees outside. Actually, when that happens we will probably be painting the inside of the house, which needs some serious help. As of March 1st, we have been in the house six years and way beyond the life span of the paint. It's bad. If the dogs could hold paint rollers...

Introducing the new blog - starring Nick the Cardi!

2011-03-16T11:31:00.002-04:00

I figured since the dogs are pretty entertaining on their own right, I didn't need to be riding on their coattails anymore.

Introducing our new blog - Nick the Cardi - International Man of Mystery!

http://nickthecardi.blogspot.com/

Feel free to link if you'd like. I'm hoping Nick's adventures will be entertaining to more than just me!

Mulch mania and puppy playdate

2011-03-12T21:17:00.002-05:00

I must be insane to get a new puppy and have ten cubic yards of mulch delivered to my house in the same week.

Nick has settled in here really, really well. He is such a sweet boy, loves to snuggle but has no problem hanging out and chewing a bone or unraveling the umpteenth roll of toilet paper. He is very thankful that the hoomans in this house apparently are dumb as hell and keep refilling the rolls. Housebreaking is definitely going a lot better - we had one really bad day where I went to bed exhausted from cleaning up accident after accident and was really wondering what I was doing wrong. And since then, I've been way more diligent about keeping on top of taking him outside for walks and making sure I pay more attention to his signals. Much better!

But maybe I'm the one that is housebroken. If it works, you can call it whatever you want to.

We wore his little ass out today. The mulch was delivered yesterday, so we spent a few hours in the yard hauling mulch and spreading it. Up and back, up and back...then he slept for 3 hours. Then, off to Monkey Man's baseball practice so he could be loved up on by all the boys and their parents. After that, a quick drive-thru lunch and we went to Cat Door's house so Nick could play with their new miniature pinscher puppy Stony.

Stony, according to Nick, is the puppy from hell. He might only weigh three pounds, but he would do Flying Burrito Brothers jumps onto poor Nick's head, wrestle until Nick would finally stop playing Mr. Nice Guy...I think it was a good experience for both of them, not to mention that Cat Door and The Mrs. really loved Nick. They want to love Rufus too, but he says No Thank You. I was very pleased to see that Nick had very good manners and didn't try to eat Stony The Bossy but maybe twice the whole time. Considering Nick eats a bowl of food equal to the size of Stony for breakfast and dinner, I thought that was quite commendable.

Anyway, I am getting a new blog up and running purely just for Nick and his adventures. I got the template set up last night and hopefully will take it live tomorrow if I can squeeze it in with the other 27 things we have planned. Bringing Nick into this family has opened up such a new and wonderful world to me filled with new friends and new adventures, and I thought he deserved his own blog. Especially since he is running for President next time.

The yellow robe

2011-03-07T19:03:00.005-05:00

As we return to the saga of Uncle Woodrow, when we left off my beloved Aunt Leola had just passed away. She was a very loyal and dedicated wife for many decades - and since they never had children of their own, they had each other and she doted on UW completely.

Without her, he was like a leaf caught in a storm. He was absolutely devastated, and would sit for hours weeping and wailing her name over and over again. My mother finally convinced him to go see his family doctor and despite his misgivings the doctor prescribed a little help for him.

Well, I think what he got was Zoloft, but they might as well have given him Viagra. He was a new man! Two months after my aunt passed away, my mother called me one night and declared that my uncle had gone insane.

"Your uncle, it seems, has decided that he's going to find himself a new wife!" said my mother. "And that's not all of it. He has grown a mustache." The disgust in her voice was barely disguised.

"A mustache? What in the world...."

"And that's not the worst part. He calls it...his tickler." She burst out laughing.

Seriously? His tickler? All these horrible visions came coursing through my brain until I lost all ability to speak.

Sure enough, when I went to see him the following weekend he had grown the worst looking pornstache I have ever, ever seen. Imagine, if you will, a balding grey-haired 80-something man with a ruddy face rocking a brown mustache somewhat reminiscent of Tom Selleck. It was simply put - horrible.

Oh, he was proud of it though. He believed that the ladies who were standing in line nightly to bring casseroles and various food offerings were just dying to be one-on-one with his Tickler.

Such wasn't the case, however. Everyone had loved my aunt so much that they continued paying their respects for months after the funeral. And my uncle, whom my aunt had kept so nattily dressed for years, had pretty much started looking pretty shabby. His typical outfit was a pair of stained pants, a rumpled shirt, hopefully a belt, and some holey shoes. Everyone felt sorry for the former preacher, so he was visited daily by groups of little old ladies from the church.

One day, however, the visits came to an abrupt halt. UW was completely befuddled. Where had all of his legions of female admirers gone?

Word slowly drifted back to my father through the neighborhood wags that apparently one day a carload of female admirers had come bearing gifts of Corningware loaded down with various casseroles surely involving cream-of-something-or-other soup. Dutifully, they filed up the front walkway and crowding onto the small concrete porch one of the ladies pushed the doorbell and they waited.

What came afterwards is something no man of the cloth would ever dream of doing. My uncle answered the door dressed in nothing but a short, yellow robe. Said robe was apparently a few inches short of covering his manhood.

Little Woodrow was out there for God and all of Creation to behold.

According to the neighbor, the casserole dishes were quickly deposited on the dining room table, and the women were so anxious to leave that they almost backed into the yard across the street.

Sadly, the endless parade of goodies came to an abrupt end, and eventually UW shaved off his Tickler. It wasn't working anymore.

I hate leftovers

2011-03-06T19:08:00.002-05:00

As in leftover fried brain and exhaustion.

We rolled back in from Chattanooga this morning around 1 AM.

Nick finally fell asleep around 3 AM after howling in protest at his sleeping arrangement.

He slept in the guestroom bed with me.

I KNOW. I WILL LIVE TO REGRET IT.

I'm still feeling kind of foggy, and a little stressed out over trying to keep Rufus happy while this interloper has come into his home. It's about to worry Monkey Man to death because he wanted there to be rainbows and unicorns and two corgis holding paws and skipping into the sunset. Yeah, it will probably never happen, because corgis can't skip. Overall though, Rufus has exceeded our expectations for coexisting peacefully with Nick.

And Nick is just the sweetest, sweetest thing ever. I emailed Janet today to let her know how happy we are to have him.

Here's hoping to get some sleep, because I know tomorrow I'm going to actually have to have some brain cells available for my job.

Fried brain with a side of exhaustion

2011-03-03T20:15:00.004-05:00

The last two days have kicked my rear end, so sorry for not getting to the second installment of the UW Saga. I promise it will be good, and I don't want to half-ass it.

Yesterday, I got an email from the Fortune 100 company that I applied with that I'm moving into the next phase of the process. After I regained my composure and changed my undies, I spent a few hours with my friend that recommended me for the position going over the job duties, the corporate lingo, and all that good stuff. My mind was absolutely on overload last night.

I also had to basically throw together an article on a recycling plant tour that I took, oh, back in the fall. The marketing department was nice enough to give me a few hours' notice (note heavy sarcasm) but overall the article turned out pretty nice. Well, except for the picture of my big fat butt on the Internet. Talk about an ego killer.

Today it was fixing accounting issues, returning subcontracts, and preparing to be gone after lunchtime tomorrow. This is the big weekend where we bring Nick home. I probably won't sleep a wink tonight. Or tomorrow night. Or Saturday night, but for a whole different reason since Nick will be alone for the first time in his little life.

So, since I feel a migraine aura circling my eyes, I'm going to bid you hasta lasagna.

Good old UW

2011-03-01T20:24:00.002-05:00

My father had the most wonderful sister named Leola. No, no one seemed to know exactly where her name came from. But she was as kind and sweet as God makes them. I don't think in all the years that I knew her that she ever said a cross word about anyone.

Leola was a saint. Not only because she was so kind and giving, but because she was married to my uncle Woodrow.

Uncle Woodrow, or UW as we came to call him amongst the family later on, was one interesting character. He was raised very poor during the Great Depression, and like many others of his generation never lost that fear of losing everything. He had a few brothers, one of whom was a very successful businessman who convinced UW to go in on a deal he'd worked out on a little something that might make them a dime or two.

At that time, UW was working as a postman, so he really didn't have much money. But he took all that he had and invested it with his brother and ended up becoming a millionaire. They owned the first handful of Holiday Inn franchises in the state. Talk about dumb luck, huh?

At this point, UW gave up working as a postman and said he had the calling to become a minister. He turned out to be a fairly popular minister, no doubt largely in part to the fact that everyone adored my aunt Leola. If the church doors were open, she was there. If you were sick or had a death in the family, she was there. Everyone loved her.

Now, what y'all have to realize is that no one in my family knew that they were wealthy. As a matter of fact, they lived extremely frugally - so frugally that it made us almost sick to our stomachs later on after my aunt died. But I'll get to that in a bit.

He had some odd quirks that we still laugh about, one particular one being that he refused to let the postman deliver the mail to his house and had a post office box instead. Why, you ask? Because he thought the postman would try and steal his mail and all of his stock dividend checks that came in. Kind of ironic for someone who had been a postman himself, no?

My aunt got breast cancer and went through all the treatments - went into remission and then almost five years to the day after she went into remission she was diagnosed with lung cancer. She decided not to undergo treatments because the chemo from the first diagnosis was so horrible she said she'd rather die with dignity than fight something that was a losing battle. My sweet aunt died three months after I got married.

UW fell apart. Little did we know how much he had relied on my aunt for everything...and I mean everything. Every morning before he got up, she would go out and get his newspaper, cook him a full breakfast, and have it all ready for him. She took care of all of his clothes, the housekeeping, everything but the money and bills. That was purely his domain, and probably because he considered it "man's work" versus washing clothes which would definitely "women's work" in his eyes.

On her deathbed, Leola had asked my father to watch out for her "Woody" and take care of him. Sure, my father said. Poor guy. He had no idea of the mayhem that would occupy the next few years of his life. See, UW was in bad health when my aunt died - and he was so devoted to her that we figured he would be in a downhill race against time to the Pearly Gates.

Um, yeah, not so much.

*****

Next time, part 2 of the story. Y'all are gonna love this one.

The aftermath

2011-02-27T20:22:00.005-05:00

How many teaspoons can two grown adults use in barely 24 hours?

If you're my in-laws, the answer is 16. SIXTEEN. Considering that their menu consisted of chicken nuggets, tater tots, and Hamburger Helper, I have no idea how they used that many spoons.

Monkey Man has decided that they suck because they apparently ate all his Chewy Chips Ahoy cookies last night after he went to bed.

Rufus thinks they suck because they wouldn't give him any table scraps and my father-in-law is always trying to pet him. At this point, I think Rufus enjoys torturing my father-in-law by sitting *just* beyond his reach and then scooting away as my father-in-law inches closer. He doesn't move very quickly so it gives Rufus ample opportunity to scootch a few inches and then look back with a shit-eating grin.

*****

The wine expo was fun, but damn was it crowded. We noticed a definite lack in staffing at each of the booths, so the people weren't flowing through the expo as smoothly as they did last year. After about four hours fighting the crowds only to get small sips of wine, we ended up back at the hotel bar having drinks and a few appetizers. I think next year we'll try the Friday night event - the cost is steep, but the crowd is much smaller and you actually get to taste the wine versus standing in a crowd 20-deep and hoping to get a small dribble in your glass.

We met downstairs in the lobby to go out to dinner and soon discovered that a new sport could be "Drunk Walking Through the Marriott Lobby". The women were hilarious...teetering dangerously in heels, usually carrying a few boxes of wine and they would teeter dangerously as they wove toward the elevators. Watch out for that.....corner.....aw, another one down!

Dinner at Juleps was amazing as usual. We took a short walk down to Havana '59 for a nightcap and ended up back at the hotel just in time to catch the Hokies' upset of #1 Duke. There were a lot of happy and unhappy people in the hotel bar. We ended up heading to the room with plans of an early checkout so we could get home at a decent hour.

Sleep was elusive, to say the least. We had a wedding party staying on our hall - they showed up loud and drunk around 11:30 and mercifully only changed clothes and banged doors a few times before they disappeared again. I never heard them come back.

What did happen was the worst case of heartburn and acid reflux ever. The only thing that kept me from throwing up was the thought of losing that wonderful dinner to the sewer system of Richmond. Especially after daydreaming about Bananas Foster for the past two months. Oh, but I was miserable...I think I finally fell into a restful sleep around 4 AM when I configured some pillows to elevate my head and therefore keep the acid located somewhere right above my heart.

As it turned out, I know Joey and our friends Wendi and Gerry also had the same issue last night. Was it mixing the wine and liquor? I thought it was beer then liquor, never sicker...where does wine factor in to all that? Unhhhh.

We got home to find my in-laws ensconced at the kitchen table. Father-in-law was airing out his arm - apparently he fell out of the chair in their living room and banged up his arm and he is allergic to Neosporin, but instead of calling the doctor to see what he could use he proceeded to put his own home remedies all over his arm and made it worse.

Did I ever tell y'all about their dog Odie? Poor Odie was a chocolate lab and the sweetest dog. Well, he got some kind of spot on his tail that I think was probably a spider bite. My father-in-law's mother was some kind of country "doctor" or medicine woman I guess, and she had taught him how to mix up all kinds of salves and stuff to cure everything. He mixed up a batch of this horrid looking yellow gunk and liberally applied it to poor Odie's tail.

His tail fell off, and then Odie died.

I have made Joey swear to me that he will never, EVER let my father-in-law apply any sort of potion, lotion, salve, or cure to anyone in our immediate family.

Odie, dude, I'm sorry you had to take the bullet for the team, but I don't want my tail falling off.

Wine is fine

2011-02-25T21:03:00.003-05:00

Somehow, the gods are smiling on me tonight. Not only did my son win the Veggie Car Derby for the third grade today (don't ask), but he and Joey are at the big monster truck show. And I am not.

For two consecutive Mother's Day weekends, I ended up at the big monster truck show at the beach. It might sound like heaven, but it seems like every time we've done that it's unseasonably cold or it rains and we end up on metal bleachers freezing to death and getting sand in our teeth. Not exactly my idea of properly exfoliating - I'd rather be in a spa rather than sitting on bleachers watching women go by in tube tops with breasts so saggy they're smuggling fifths of liquor in under each one. I get a little jealous because I can only do a pint at this point in my life.

I settled in tonight with a wonderful bottle of cabernet sauvignon. Priming my liver for the big wine expo this weekend. Last year, I think I was drunk by 1 PM but kept rolling until 4...took a nap, went to dinner, and was drunk again by 8. Needless to say, I am hoping this year to just maintain a nice warm and fuzzy feeling versus going into a coma at 4:30 and waking up at 6 to discover everyone is waiting on me and my mascara is somewhere around my chin.

The out-laws are coming into town tomorrow to babysit. My friend Heather said on IM last night, "Yay! Free Babysitting!" to which I replied, "Oh no, it's not free - there's a cost. MY SOUL."

The last time they were here, you might recall, my father-in-law lectured everyone at Christmas dinner how men need to eat more turkey to make their sex lives better. Good information that every 9-year-old boy needs to know. I can only imagine what sorts of wisdom he will impart this time without us to filter. I am already daydreaming about the phone call I could conceivably get from the principal next week.

I am counting down the days until we bring Big Nick home. Oh, did I mention that after nagging for 3 years that Joey decided we need new carpet? Mmm hmm. I never said he was the practical one, did I? New puppy + new carpet = WTF were you thinking?

Have a lovely, lovely Saturday. Hug the ones you love.

We've got personality...personality....

2011-02-22T19:57:00.004-05:00

Dear Nick,

You are too freaking adorable. I could watch you on the puppycam all day long if I didn't have an actual job to do.

But do me a favor, please? Stop chewing on your brother's head.

And also, if you could find a way to sleep without displaying your junk to the world, that would be lovely. Modesty is highly underrated.

Love,

Your Hooman Mom

*****

I finally got my application faux pas worked out and just spent the last hour filling out an online personality evaluation.

It's amazing how many times and how many different ways they can ask you if stealing is wrong. Or if you like people. Or if you can accept being told what to do with no recourse.

What I probably *should* say? Hello, I really would like this job. I'm a team player that never hesitates to pitch in whenever and wherever needed, I work quickly and enjoy repetitive tasks.

What I *want* to say? Yo, Holmes. Give me this damn job, preferably at what I'm already making and if possible, close to the building with the Starbucks in it. Oh, and I don't really like to work all that hard, so if you can keep it easy on the workload, m'kay?

My eyes are falling out of my head

2011-02-21T19:38:00.005-05:00

We made it back from our Vegas trip safe and sound. No one was injured, no one got more sick than they already were, and no one got food poisoning. I think we can classify this trip as a success! Yay! Yay! Yay! The only real casualty was one of the "feet" on my large hideous hot pink suitcase was ripped off, so it tilts like the Leaning Tower of Pisa and is destined to a new home at the landfill.

Do you hear that? It's Joey, yelling Yay! Yay! Yay! to the demise of the suitcase. Nothing diminishes the power of your Man Card like carrying a hot pink suitcase.

In an attempt to cram even more crazy into our lives, we decided to take the red-eye back on Saturday night so we'd have all day Sunday to hang with the Monkey Man. In all honesty, I still can't decide if this was the smartest thing we've ever done, or the dumbest idea in history.

Our flight was scheduled to leave Vegas at 11:30 on Saturday night. My mind was racing with all of the delicious possibilities of all the things we could do with a whole day to ourselves (everyone else left on Friday or early Saturday). Sleep late? Enjoy a decadent day shopping at the Forum Shops? Gamble a little? Gamble a lot?

We ended up waking up ungodly early - 6:45 AM! Ate breakfast, packed our stuff to drop it off at the bell desk so they could hold it for us, and then gambled a bit. Joey won over $800, which is a good thing because it offset all the losses from the previous three days. Oops. We had lunch and then couldn't figure out what the heck to do. At one point we sat at a bar and couldn't even decide if we should drink alcohol or not because we didn't want to get sick on the plane. Pathetic. We were tired, our feet hurt, and we probably should've just headed for the airport to try and get home earlier.

But nooooo. Did I mention the part about wondering if this whole red-eye thing was stupid? We still stuck it out, and by the time we got on the plane I was cranky and at the point of exhaustion. Not to mention I looked like ass.

Jethro, the drunk redneck from the rural South, happened to sit behind me with his equally drunk redneck friend. Now, I love me some drunk rednecks, but not when I am sleep-deprived and they keep poking the touch-screen behind my headrest. I think I may have gotten a wee bit of sleep, but not nearly enough. We landed in Atlanta at 6:30 AM, ate a pathetic breakfast at TGIFriday's (how do you eff up pancakes?) and then sat at the gate in a stupor just waiting to get on board.

The flight between Atlanta and Richmond was possibly the most sound sleep I've had in my life. Amazing, fantastic, wonderfully blissful sleep. Too bad it only lasted about 40 minutes. I was ready to storm the cockpit and ask them to circle the RIC a few more times just to get some more shuteye.

We struggled through the rest of the day yesterday, slept fitfully last night, and today I was like the walking dead. What happened to the days when I could stay up for days on end?

Unfortunately, no sleep yet. I need to Swiffer up the mountains of dog hair, vacuum, straighten up, and throw in some more laundry. No rest for the wicked. I tried to train Rufus how to use the Swiffer himself, but he is protesting on the grounds that Swiffer descriminates against critters with no legs. And no opposable thumbs.

I am a technological idiot

2011-02-14T20:10:00.003-05:00

There's a good reason why I married Joey - other than I can't think of any other person on the planet that would tolerate my idiosyncracies like my strange obsession with bread freshness, my unwillingness to eat Doritos or any unnaturally orange food, or my inability to quit cleaning my ears out constantly and thereby jamming earwax into my ears. Or maybe I'm wrong. Any takers out there?

***crickets***

Just what I suspected.

He is way more adept at newfangled gadgets than I am. Take for example an iPod Touch. He bought both of us our own about three years ago so we could take them on a trip to Vegas and watch movies and stuff. Know how many movies I actually downloaded and watched on mine? One. It was a good one - Superbad - but honestly watching movies on that thing gives me a headache. He downloads all kinds of stuff to his. As a matter of fact, I discovered a week ago that he is at least one model newer than I am. I guess the old one never bothered me enough to bitch about it.

So then I got a newer Nano. This one apparently takes photos and little movies and stuff. Have I tried it? Nope. But it is so pretty and shiny and purple!

My Blackberry was probably the most underutilized phone in the history of the planet. I could make calls, text people, do some limited internet surfing and look at Facebook. Is there anything else I could possibly use it for? Oh, and check email. I did that a lot until I decided that I didn't want work email on it anymore because I got tired of people expecting me to respond. I mean really, people - I can't answer work emails when I'm getting pedicures. It's too distracting and throws my mojo off.

Today, I got a phone call from the nice Indian couple that owns the local cellular place. They are really lovely people that I found quite by accident - they tolerate my lack of interest in all the new-fangled stuff, and every year or so I pop in there and get some whizbang phone that can launch the Space Shuttle while it makes perfect hospital corners on my bed. And then I proceed to own a Smart Phone that clearly lives up to its name by being way smarter than its operator. Ahem. Anyhow, they informed me kindly that it was time for me to upgrade so I zipped on over there and got myself a Droid 2 with extra insurance (yes, preparing for puppy teeth) and some extra screen covers.

I can't figure out how to work the damn thing. Good thing we're heading out of town again and will be locked in the casinos for days, which are notorious for poor cellphone coverage. Maybe by the time we get home I can at least figure out how to make a phone call. I even got one with a slide-out keyboard because I have such big meaty fingers (a la Fred Flintstone) that a touchscreen sends me into fits of rage. But can I make a simple phone call? Nooooo. Sausage Fingers can't do it without dialing some foreign country with my fat old fingers.

Tonight, I settled in here to fill out the important application stuff for that Fortune 100 job I'm applying for. And dammit, I ended up pressing a wrong button and they rejected my application! I feel like I need to change my underwear now. I sent the appropriate groveling email to the recruiting department explaining that I misunderstood the question and that yes, I am actually a natural-born U.S. citizen and don't need a green card. Oy. I feel fairly sure that they will reject me simply on the premise that if I couldn't get through three questions without screwing up, there's no way I'm going to be able to handle a job there even if it is janitorial work. I hear all those guys have IT degrees anyway.

I'm thinking that I would've been way more suited for pioneer days, although I probably would've screwed up churning my own butter too.

Meet Big Nick

2011-02-13T17:36:00.004-05:00

It's official. I'm in love with a guy with more body hair than should be allowed.

Good thing he's a corgi.

Meet Nick - or Big Nick, as Monkey Man has already dubbed him. The newest member of the pack here at Builder Mama.

Many, many thanks to Janet Suber with Mockingbird Cardigans for entrusting me with this little superstar. He is simply everything I have ever wanted in a puppy - adorable and sweet and smart as heck. This is going to be a blast.

It was a wonderful weekend - so many adorable puppies, the senior members of the pack Scout and Spencer, and lots of folks that love corgis. It doesn't get much better than that. I have to admit though, having people say, "Oh, you're Builder Mama!" is kind of cool. Either that or I really need a secret identity when I'm stalking corgi blogs. But it was awesome watching the puppies get evaluated for body structure and temperament, I felt like I was a member of a super secret society or something. I didn't learn the secret handshake though.

Off to get a little dinner with my boys, who have been drooling over Nick pictures. Monkey is scared to death that Nick will grow up before we get to bring him home, so Janet - if you could quit putting Miracle Gro in his food for a week or so, that would be great. ;-)

Don't put me down with a pat-down

2011-02-10T22:13:00.003-05:00

Tomorrow, I'm off for Chattanooga to see if I can find a little furry friend to call my very own. If you hear a high-pitched squealing on Friday night, that's me.

Here's hoping the travel gods and goddesses smile on me. No lost luggage (almost always happens), no missed connections, no flat tires on my rental car, and for heaven's sakes, not another pat-down like I got in the Bahamas. I guess I look like a drug smuggler or something, because the other two people picked were Rastafarians. That woman got so up and personal with me I think she knew my name and address and if I was ovulating or not.

Have a great weekend, y'all, and there will absolutely be pictures when I get back. Squeeeeee!

Amy, what you gonna do?***

2011-02-09T20:31:00.003-05:00

***With apologies to Pure Prairie League***

After my father died, the constant treadmill of running back and forth to The Land That Time Forgot and here came to a thankful end. And I don't mean that in any disrespect to my father - Lord knows, I would've gone to the end of the earth and back every hour of every day if he needed me - but that road between here and there isn't one that I particularly relish.

My lucky sister, Kathie, lives yet another 45 minutes north of me. She had even more delight added on to her trip. At one point, we were both going on the same weekends, then as he rallied we'd swap off on weekends.

As he left us, we were left with all this time on our hands. And my brother-in-law, with idle hands being the Devil's playground, had been surfing the internet looking for whippets. As in dogs. (All perverts sign off here, 'kay?)

I guess he never had pets as a kid - and he is in all honesty a great guy, a wonderful doctor, but a different breed. Which is probably how he became attracted to sight hounds like borzois, greyhounds, and whippets. There have been many of them in their family since he and my sister married, with varying success.

I think this time, they've met their match. He found a beguiling little lady down in North Carolina named Amy. The week after my father died, he conned my sister into traveling down to see her and of course my sister (sucka!) fell totally in love with her. She is a real beauty and just as sweet as she can be.

All I can say is it's probably not a good idea to fall for the dog that the breeder has named Devil Dog.

Amy has eaten my brother-in-law's eyeglasses, his Blackberry, one shoe out of seven different pairs of shoes, an elevated sprinkler head out in the yard, who knows how many toys, and the motherlode of all dog fodder:

The feet of the Baby Jesus. Yes, she ate the feet of the Baby Jesus after she managed to pull him out of the Nativity set. Devil Dog strikes again.

Unfortunately, poor Amy and her big greyhound brother Teddy (who, by the way, is so big that he can literally eat a stick of butter off the middle of a table without making any serious effort or moving anything on the table) got giardia - they have no idea how but the poor pups have been miserably sick. So for at least a few days while she's been feeling punky, my sister's house has been free from destruction.

All I can say is that I can't wait to see what she does to the Easter Bunny. If the Baby Jesus isn't safe, then who is?

Maybe being sick isn't a bad thing

2011-02-08T14:47:00.004-05:00

And again, I am posting this from the vast expanses of my kitchen which is a mess of dirty dishes, uneaten Tater Tots and pill bottles. I ran a fever all night, and woke up at 4 AM with a sick Monkey who now has strep throat too. Seems like last February all over again, except instead of calling this movie "Groundhog Day" I'm going to call it "Strep Diagnosis and Never-Ending Copays." Kind of wordy but it might catch on at the box office.

I haven't posted much about the office in quite a while, mostly because they came up with the genius idea of our company joining this millenium and starting its own blog and Facebook page. Which then resulted in the powers-that-be coming up with an internet policy that says we're not allowed to blog during work hours or write anything company-related. Hmm. I guess I could push the envelope and see, but since work is really more of a hobby than an occupation I haven't really had much to write about. Well, let me restate that - I've had lots to write about, but reliving my daily torture really isn't good for the soul.

Layoffs started again yesterday. Luckily, they laid off two of our most impulsive and demented field employees who will probably arrive mid-afternoon on Thursday with pistols blazin' and taking swigs of Mad Dog as they rampage through the office. And by luckily, I mean that at least we would expect this behavior from them so we're kind of ready for it. Not to mention I'm on the executive level on the back side of the building, so I'll have time to run down the back stairs before they shoot my ass. Both of them actually liked me though, so I'd probably get a free pass. I hope.

More will be coming. And I know this is terrible, but I'm almost crossing my fingers that I will be chosen. I was on the short list last year and was saved. But we're out of work, we're not picking up any new work, and honestly they're not going to pay me just to sit there and look cute. I mean, they already do that but I actually have enough to do to look busy.

What would I do if I got laid off? I dunno. I have a resume in to a Fortune 100 company that is pending an interview and they are notoriously slow in hiring. I might pull Monkey out of The World's Most Expensive After-Care Program and try the stay-at-home gig for a while. I might find something part-time that is local so I don't spend my days commuting anymore. I might start writing again. I might go back to school and try something else for a change.

Just for fun, though, I've been thinking of some possible new career paths for myself.

1. Midget Stripper: Okay, so I have that whole height thing working against me. But there's a definite lack in this city of midget strippers. Did you know that in order to get one, you have to import them from D.C.? I see a definite market here.

2. Construction Cleaning Company: I've thought about this one for a while. Hire the hottest women I can find who might do a half-assed cleaning job and call it "Dirty Girls". What red-blooded American male construction company wouldn't hire them? EXACTLY. And would they care if they didn't do a good job? You can bet your Daisy Dukes they wouldn't.

3. Personal shopper: For myself. Hey, don't judge. I need stuff too.

4. Model for David Yurman: As long as it comes with free bling, I'll model wearing nothing but two bandaids and a tissue. Hope David doesn't mind a few stretch marks.

Any other suggestions? I'm all ears.

Good news, if you consider this good

2011-02-07T09:19:00.002-05:00

We both tested negative for the flu. I, however, have bronchitis and strep throat and an ear infection. Yay!

I'm off to bed, not much sleep last night between the fever/chills/achiness and the fact that Rufus decided he was going to go outside at 3 AM. What the hell? Then he got mad that he didn't get his breakfast and sulked around the rest of the night.

The $3,000 case of the flu

2011-02-06T20:58:00.003-05:00

We're back.

Joey got sick with the flu on Thursday. My symptoms started today. I'm kind of feeling a little bit guilty about being mad at him for getting me sick, but I'm sure I'll get over that. Somewhere over Florida I felt like punching him in the throat but I figured they'd probably arrest me in Charlotte if I did that.

It was the most expensive case of the flu ever. He didn't leave the room after Thursday but once and that was to stagger to the hotel nurse only to find out she wasn't in. At least I made it through until the day we left, but being the only "single" person in our group of friends made me feel like the girl that got stood up on prom night. I woke up around 4 AM this morning with a pounding headache and that horrible feeling that you just know you are soooo screwed.

I am so thankful for our friends who helped get us home and took care of us. And made midnight runs to sketchy Bahamian gas stations looking for cold medicine for us. And fed us bourbon.

It sucks not being able to hug Monkey Man. But someone has to stay well around here, because without opposable thumbs Rufus is pretty much just the eye candy around here.

Well, it's off to find a toothbrush since the airline didn't quite get all of our bags on our connecting flight. Of course it's the one with all my soaps and lotions and potions. Of course. I'm hoping it shows up in the middle of the night, because I'm sure the doctor would really love it if I actually showered before coming in tomorrow. I'm thoughtful that way.

Totally badass

2011-02-01T20:18:00.003-05:00

Tomorrow, the Badasses and our assorted husbands depart for 5 days in the Bahamas. Don't hate me, because it literally took me most of my morning to get someone at the airlines to let me change our flights from a Philly connection (which is expecting a ton of snow) to a Charlotte connection. Pass the Xanax, please.

Meanwhile, Monkey Man will be here with his beloved babysitter, Miss Heather, who will ply him with chicken nuggets and let him watch crappy TV the whole time. And of course, Rufus will be here holding down the fort until the two hoomans leave during the day and that's when he turns into the Charlie Sheen of Corgis. He's going to order a briefcase of deer poop and hire corgi strippers to come watch pay-per-view with him for two days. Then he'll have to go to the emergency vet for either a hiatal hernia or deer poop overdose. That's how he rolls.

Thus begins my Month O' Travel. Wish me luck on the airplane. I went back to the ENT yesterday to find out that my ear tubes have already fallen out and my eardrum incisions have healed. Ironically, I just got the bill last week so I figure we averaged a cost of, oh, $5/day for the privilege of having my ears sliced open. Not that I'm complaining or anything. And of course, I have six flights within the next three weeks. Probably more than I flew all of last year. I figure if I drink enough, my ears won't fall off.

Have a wonderful week, and if I can manage not to get alcohol poisoning I'll attempt to check in from Joey's laptop. I am leaving my Blackberry at home. Yes, I am insane, but the thought of having to sell a kidney to afford overseas calls isn't very appealing.

The Turtle

2011-01-29T19:44:00.004-05:00

Years ago, my mother decided that she wanted a minivan. And in her typical fashion, she and my father went down to the local car lot and got a very non-descript white Dodge minivan. We dubbed it The Turtle - it puttered along, wasn't going to break any speed records, but was definitely going to get you there.

Two years later, my father decided that my mother needed another new car, so he went to the Chrysler dealership and bought her something. Another white minivan. It was almost identical to The Turtle.

So Dad took over primary custody of The Turtle. He plastered the back with Army stickers and World War II veteran decals. He eventually put a hand brake in it when his leg went numb and he almost hit the gas pump at Sheetz. His service in World War II, and his frozen feet, were repaid by peripheral neuropathy that danced around like the Devil for years, coming and going.

When Dad eventually lost the ability to drive, The Turtle stayed parked in the garage mostly undriven because you could only stand wrestling yourself into the van with the hand brake in the way every so often - it would scrape your kneecaps if you weren't careful. As I discovered later on, my father would sneak out for a drive every now and then when my mother wasn't home. One weekend, my mother went up to the church to water the flower beds and my sister and I were lounging around the breakfast table soaking up some caffeine and generally having a lazy Saturday. My father was gamely loping around the house doing one of the few chores he was still able to do - gathering up the household trash.

"Dad, let me go with you up to the dump, okay?" said my sister. He disappeared out the door with the trash, and she continued sipping her coffee and reading the newspaper.

The next thing I knew, I saw The Turtle go flying down the driveway and veer left out of the driveway, headed to the dump. "Well, I think you probably should've gotten dressed a little faster, Kath. Dad just took off in The Turtle for the dump." She spewed coffee all over the table and ran out into the driveway...but The Turtle was long gone.

"Oh Jesus...Mom is gonna KILL YOU!" I moaned. And we both waited at the window for him to come back. We flipped a coin and decided if he wasn't back in ten minutes, I was going to go after him.

He came back. And the smile on his face was a mile wide. Mom never found out. We were saved from her wrath.

The Turtle was more than just a minivan. It was my Dad's last bit of freedom. A man who had traveled the world, his body now torn apart by cancer, clung to a little white minivan that could still take him places.

My mother sold The Turtle today. A local man with four kids bought it and was tickled to death to get a 15-year old van with only 70,000 miles on it. While he was at the DMV getting new tags, Joey and I scraped off my father's stickers and used GooGone to make sure all the adhesive was gone. My uncle had already taken off the hand brake, my mother had cleaned out the inside, and all that was left was an anonymous white minivan.

Thank you, Turtle. I hope you have a wonderful new home. And I hope you take them on wonderful new adventures. Little did they know what a gem they were getting.

Corgi stalker

2011-01-27T20:04:00.003-05:00

Hi, my name is Liz. And I have a Corgi addiction.

(Hi, Liz!)

So, if you followed me over here either from the C-Myste blog or from my comments on one of a zillion corgi blogs, hi! And if you're one of my regular readers (all two of you), bear with me while I rhapsodize about The Corgi.

We've had Rufus, a.k.a. Da Woof, Woofenheimer, Roof-roof, Midget Hound, Rotten Hound, Woofa Bear, and The Long-Haired, Short-Legged Great American Trash Hound for about eleven years now. Or maybe twelve. That is up for debate here at Casa Builder Mama. He is a Cardigan Welsh Corgi straight from York, England. It's kind of a long story how we got him, but he's ours and despite the fact he's probably more cat-like than dog-like, we love him.

I have had a corgi obsession forever. I love them - all colors, shapes, sizes, you name it. I prefer Cardigans (the ones with the tail) more than Pembrokes, probably because I just think a dog needs a tail. Period.

Corgis are kind of rare here in the South. Everyone and their brother has a Labrador or a Golden Retriever or some sort of hunting dog. I had one instance where I took Rufus somewhere and a woman actually asked me if he was a small German Shepherd with surgically altered legs. Seriously? If I had that kind of money, I'd be getting a tummy tuck and a boob job, not sawing a dog's legs off.

Just to show you how unusual it is to see one, I went to a local dog bakery to acquire a fancy birthday cake for His Royal Highness and lo and behold - there was a Cardigan Welsh Corgi there! I squealed like a Justin Bieber fan, knocked a bunch of old ladies out of the way, and probably scared the poor owner to death by mauling her in the store. Luckily, she didn't have her stun gun with her and she was very tolerant of my questions and the fact I was all over her dog. He was absolutely adorable and had the softest Corgi coat ever (attributed to New Zealand bloodlines, whaddaya know? And I thought my British import was fancy.).

Lately, I have been plotting and planning to (hopefully) acquire a new furry member of the family. I hope it all comes to fruition, because I will be crushed if it doesn't. And I will be reduced to lurking outside the dog bakery, waiting for that poor New Zealand import to come wandering in again, completely unaware that some nutty woman is hiding behind the chihuahua tutus, just waiting....

Letting go, and moving on

2011-01-21T16:19:00.005-05:00

How do you decide when it's time to let go of a friendship?

That is something I've been struggling with for a while now. I know that friendships aren't always 50/50...sometimes they tilt 90/10, but eventually find their way back to the middle. But what if that shift never seems to happen?

What if you tell the friend that you can't accept they way they've been treating you? And by that, I mean almost bullying you at times. Not acknowledging that you have feelings about anything at all - let alone how they have personally been treating you. That conversations take a sharp roller-coaster ride with gut-twisting turns and twists, always dissolving into shouting and phones hanging up and bad feelings. Then later - it could be days, weeks, or months later - the friend will text or call with "I miss you" and it starts all over.

We're always on good behavior at first. Always. The honeymoon period will last for months until the bullshit starts up again. I bite my tongue until it's bloody and finally I snap.

I realized recently that the stress this friendship is creating is really creating havoc with my health. I've had to bump up my anxiety medication twice in the last year (and yes, part of it was my father's illness but most of it wasn't). I've had sleepless nights, stomach problems, grinding/clenching my teeth, chest pains, and the list goes on and on. I feel like I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it's agonizing.

Since our last blow-up, I haven't had the first chest pain. My shoulders have finally unknotted. My jaw isn't sore from clenching. I have slept like a rock. I feel like the biggest rock has been lifted from my back.

That tells me that I have to let go. For good this time.

I say that every time we fight like this. But I think this time, I have to listen to my head instead of my heart and realize that our friendship is toxic. It doesn't mean that I don't love my friend...no, not at all. It just means that I have to love myself more this time.

2010, parting is not sweet sorrow

2010-12-31T17:00:00.002-05:00

So this year pretty much sucked ass. I think Queen Elizabeth hit the nail on the head that year she dubbed it Annus Horriblis.

Right after my last post, I spent a few days in self-wallowing pity thinking about all the bad things that have happened this year. When you put them in a list, it's pretty bad. I always thought of myself as having such a charmed life, and I guess it finally caught up with me this year.

The biggest change was the loss of my father. Even today, four months later, I can barely think of him without growing teary. I was so lucky to be able to spend so much time with him in the months before he died. I think we said all that needed to be said to each other. There were no regrets. I just miss him so, so much.

I won't categorize the rest of the shitstorm because, well, it just isn't worth all that. What is worth it is that I survived. We survived. And we are moving forward.

This has been a year of strengthening old friendships - some that I thought had faded away with time, some that have always been there, some that have weathered storms between us. It's also been a year of finding surprising new friendships that are natural and comfortable like your favorite pair of shoes. It's been a year of finding out who my true friends are and letting the rest fall away.

Most of all, this was the year that my family was reunited. We circled our wagons when times got tough and rediscovered each other - the good and the bad. Mostly the good. I think a lot of old baggage was finally unpacked and put away for good. And we discovered that even with our age differences, differences in politics, religion, lifestyle choices, and just about everything else - that our love for each other and our parents really overruled all that other bullshit. It feels good. No, it feels great.

What will 2011 bring? Well, other than (hopefully) a new furry addition to our family, all I can hope for is for a better year. I have high hopes. Either that, or I am still as delusional as ever.

Goodbye, 2010. Don't let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.

2010-09-30T08:36:00.003-04:00

Since we've been on water restrictions due to lack of rain, I guess Mother Nature thought it would be a great idea to catch us up all at once. I had to drive my ark to work this morning.

For people like me with naturally curly hair, rain and humidity are my enemies. No amount of product can stop my hair from gaining a life of its own, creating crazy lumps, bumps, curls and frizz. For everyone that wishes they had curly hair, I will give you mine for a week and then make it rain every other day and be hot and humid as well. You'll be begging for your hair back.

Last week we were lucky enough to go back to Cabo for a few days. Joey and his partner won a trip through one of their manufacturers where the guys sportfish for two days and have a pseudo-tournament, while the wives sit around and get drunk and lay in the sun. I didn't really do the drunk or sun thing, I slept a lot and went to a fantastic spa one day where they piped in Affirmitive Thoughts through earphones while she exfoliated my face. So not only did I get my pores cleaned, I can now do ANYTHING. It was like seeing a shrink and getting a facial and massage.

On Saturday, we rented a car and drove up the coast to Todos Santos and La Paz. Todos Santos is a little town where the Hotel California is located - you know, THE Hotel California of Eagles' fame. Or, as my husband's partner put it, "where they dropped a lot of acid and wrote some great songs." The town is full of little galleries with local crafts and some really fantastic deals. I bought myself a beautiful glazed pot, and for one of my friends I bought a shotglass with two people humping behind a cactus. Quite a diverse selection, I might say.

La Paz was...well, kind of a bust. Malcolm (the partner) was determined that there was an old historical section of the city we could walk around in. However, the fact that there are few street signs and the map didn't show all the streets - and he refused to ask for directions - left us driving in circles all over. I was a hot mess by the time we got out of the city.

One strange thing about our trip is that we saw a dead guy. A lot of the major roads are under construction right now while they expand to 4-lane highways, so the place is either a disaster or the roads are great. Between Todos Santos and La Paz had the best road, but as we pulled into the good part of the highway we saw an accident with a stakebody truck with riders in the back had overturned and one poor guy had basically imploded on the pavement. Everyone was just standing around looking at him from about 20 feet away with looks on their faces like, "well damn, that sucks!" No emergency vehicles, nothing. It was bizarre. By the time we came back two hours later, all traces of the accident were gone.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Monkey Man broke his right ring finger right at the joint the day before we left for Cabo. That night, the x-rays didn't show much but the sitter took him back Thursday and damn if it wasn't broken. My Monday was spent at the orthopaedic surgeon having an evaluation to see if the growth plate was involved and then getting a cast that goes almost all the way to his elbow. I guess the good thing is that there's no surgery. The bad thing is that he can't really write so I have turned into his scribe and the amount of homework is enough to make a saint cry. Nice return from a restful vacation, huh?

So that's about all. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to make sure my ark is still tethered to the tree outside.

2010-09-13T07:03:00.000-04:00

My aunt's estate tag sale was all weekend. To say I'm tired would be a vast understatement, and really all I did was stand around and talk to folks all weekend. People came out of the woodwork - some of them had known her for the 40-some years she worked in the cotton mill, some out of curiosity, some looking for a deal.

Y'all wouldn't believe the crap people were buying. The strangest thing was a half-used 5-pound bag of sugar that was marked $1.39. If you have any idea how much sugar costs nowadays, you know that bag came from the Paleozoic age.

Yesterday marked a month since Dad died, and the strangest thing was that it didn't even click in my mind until today. Last week was hard, but I was determined to go back home this weekend and make the best of it. I mean really, I was seriously dreading going down there. What was it going to be like going back into a house filled with memories?

It wasn't bad. Not at all. I got teary a few times but from good memories.

Today's tears? Coming from the thought of having to go back to work. My train is at least four stations short of Motivation Station. Ugh. We have major drama going on with one of my projects and I am seriously so over it that it's not even funny. If I can make it through without killing anyone or being under federal investigation myself, it will be a major miracle!

Anyhow, off to work. Bleh.

Fart machine or whoopie cushion?

2010-09-07T20:59:00.003-04:00

Today was the first day of school for Monkey Man at his new school. We elected to send him to the center-based gifted program that our county provides, despite the fact that he was going to have to change schools. On one hand, I am excited because he will get a much broader exposure to school subjects than the regular curriculum. On the other hand, any kind of change that involves his education makes me weak in the knees.

So far, so good. His biggest complaint was that the cafeteria was out of ketchup and he had to eat his cheeseburger without any. The horrors!

*****

I left home this morning feeling pretty good about things - new blouse, new bracelet (a very un-office-like bracelet covered in purple shiny stones), and hopes that Tuesday (or Monday, Part II - The Revenge) wouldn't be quite so bad. At one point while I was in Starbucks with every other human in the county, Joey called and left me a voice mail. I got back in the car and called him back without even checking the voice mail...then decided it would be a good idea to actually check my voice mail since I'd been pretty much ignoring everyone who calls me lately.

First message - Joey. Second message - hangup. Third message - Diana, my friend since third grade calling to check on me. I got kind of teary-eyed listening. Fourth message - Joey again. Okay, that was done...oh wait, there are eight saved messages?

I zipped through all until I got to number six.

"Hello Liz, it's Dad. Just calling to check in, just got back from physical therapy and wanted to let you know everything is going okay. Talk to you later. Bye."

I carefully saved it, then almost ran up on the curb since I was blinded by hot tears.

*****

I spent the rest of my work day moving piles around on my desk and surfing the internet looking for...well, I don't know. I think between the shock of the voice mail and the nerves of the first day of school, my brain went on total overload and decided it would be way more fun to just do nothing. Maybe have a Malibu and pineapple, but they frown on that at work.

I've always thought of myself as a fairly resilient person. Never one to get down for long, I try to find humor in the darkest times. I was the court jester of the nursing home, making the other patients and nurses laugh and trying to keep my dad smiling. I pulled out all the stops, just short of using a fart machine. I didn't think my mother would find that very amusing at all, since she always claimed my dad was the human equivalent of one.

The fart machine could really come in handy right now. The wind is out of my sails today.

But does Verizon have coverage in heaven?

2010-09-06T14:41:00.004-04:00

I've come so close over and over during the past few months trying to decide if I was ever going to write again here or not. Sometimes, I feel like I'm definitely not one of the "cool kids" of blogging - I don't go to BlogHer, I don't have advertisements, I don't win any awards, I don't make thousands of dollars blogging. No, in the land of the Bloggers Who are Too Cool, I'm the band geek with my long hair caught in my braces. I've gotta go, my mom's here in her paneled 1977 station wagon to pick me up from practice, 'kay?

But you know, that's okay. I miss writing. Sometimes I need to just have a little verbal vomit even if I'm the only one who reads it or "gets it". I've come to the realization that it's okay to blog just for me...and hell, it's way cheaper than therapy.

I really could have used it these last few months, although reading about death and dying is probably not something most people want to do.

My sweet, precious hero - my Daddy - is gone.

The long and the short of it - the cancer got very aggressive. The medicine - or maybe the cancer - made him so sick he couldn't eat. He was up and walking up until the day before he went in the hospital. One week there, four weeks in the nursing home, and he slipped away.

The last three weeks have been hard as hell. At times, I find myself walking in circles, not sure what direction I'm headed in. I try to keep my shit together for Monkey Man and Joey, try to look like I have it all together at work, and then something hits me and I dissolve into a wretched, sobbing mess. I have really good days, and then I have really not-so-good days. Not really any middle ground there, huh?

That's okay, too. I have to be gentle with myself. It's not every day you lose the man who has been your hero since day one. I miss him like crazy. I catch myself, at times, thinking that I need to email him a funny joke or call him to ask how his yard is looking. And then I know, unless Verizon has cell phone coverage in Heaven, that's not going to be very easy.

It's not to say that the entire experience was without some moments of levity. We had a crazy cast of characters at the nursing home, we had all kinds of monkey wrenches thrown into the planning of the funeral, we had interesting family dynamics and not to be totally forgotten, the infamous incident of me trying to make the dog puke in my mother's front yard. Oh yes sir, there were some good times to be had.

So bear with me - I am hoping that sprinkled through here and there, I'll be able to recall some of the good and bad that happened and get it down so I don't forget. So Monkey will be able to read it one day when he's old enough to really understand. So that maybe my heart will feel a little better.

Now if you'll excuse me, tomorrow is the first day of school and I forgot to get a damn book cover for Monkey's math book. I need to get my shiz together and make a run to Office Max.

Snow, snow, and more snow

2010-01-31T09:41:00.002-05:00

I got back last Sunday night, so emotionally drained that I headed into the week already feeling a heavy weight on my chest.

Overall, the visit to my parents' went well, save the screaming match I had with the dumbass redneck that lives next door. Last year, he had to go to court numerous times because he had a dangerous dog he allowed to run loose and even though the dog bit my cousin Keith (totally unprovoked) the idiot still wouldn't keep his dog in the fence. Finally, the county forced him to either put the dog to sleep or he was going to jail for violating the "dangerous dog" laws. Now the jerk has not one, not two, but at least three dogs (and I suspect four) one of which is a huge harlequin Great Dane who suddenly last weekend started charging at my parents out in the yard and growling at them. Well, after a few instances I decided that I'd had enough and charged over there and let the guy have it with both barrels. My mom and sister joined in on the fun and finally Billy Badass tucked tail and ran back to his house. The next morning I looked out the window and he had "No Trespassing" and "Dog on Premises" signs all over his yard. Um, hello dumbass - first, I didn't come into YOUR yard, secondly it's YOUR DOG coming into OUR yard. But you know, anyone that brags in the courtroom that he's above the law really is just as stupid as they seem. Hurumph.

My poor Aunt MaryAnn had a few mini-strokes so she has been whisked back to Maryland to live with her daughter. That leaves my Aunt Hazel, who has Alzheimers, to be alone again. For now, my mother and my Aunt Rubye are taking turns on Hazel duty while they find a place that will take her. It's not easy finding care for someone with Alzheimers. It's a full-time job, really, caring for them. And she's in excellent health so it's not like she really needs nursing care either. But we're moving forward, slowly but surely.

One funny thing that happened is that my sister Kathie brought down the yummiest chocolate chip cookies. Seriously, it had been so long since I had a damn cookie that wasn't made from tree bark that I lovingly held one, caressed it, had a moment and then wolfed it down. My Aunt Hazel hesitatingly tried one and then said she was full. Later on, I kept hearing rustling in the kitchen and I asked my mother what the hell my aunt was doing. Well, the kitchen window looks directly across to Hazel's house next door so Mom thought Hazel was just looking over at her house. I kept hearing it...zip...zip...zip...zip...finally, I went in there to discover her caught with her hand in the cookie bag. She had eaten 20 freaking cookies in about an hour. Good thing she's not only terribly skinny but with all her incessant roaming she burns off everything about a minute after she eats it.

Anyhow, the trip turned out okay and I came home and piled into bed for the rest of the night. Exhausting.

*****

Monkey Man ended up with strep again last week, so I had two days at home to get into all kinds of stuff. I worked on my recipe for whole wheat chocolate chip cookies, caught up on the Mount Everest of laundry, and did a lot of reading and bad kid-movie watching. I was useless.

Yesterday we got at least a foot of snow, probably more. Again, more of the same - eating, laundry, a lot of Facebook time (probably more than I have since I signed onto that blasted time-sucker). In a bit, as soon as it gets closer to 30 degrees, we'll try to get the driveway finished and maybe venture forth to see how the roads are. I can already predict school will be closed at least the next day if not two days. Yay.

*****

This weekend I also started working on my new venture, which as soon as I get it going well I will definitely share. It's something I've been thinking about for at least a year, and now it's time to get serious about it. Or at least get off my ass and give it a try.

Stay warm, peeps!

Hittin' the road before it hits me

2010-01-21T20:52:00.002-05:00

I'm just on for a brief moment - I need to get some stuff thrown in the suitcase so I can hit the road with my sister in the morning.

We're headed down to my parents' for a few days. It's a long story - my dad is doing well, but my aunt with Alzheimer's has lost her caregiver so we need to put her in a facility ASAP. I'm hoping we can at least give my mom a little break since she's been dealing with everything by herself.

I can't decide if I can actually avoid eating a biscuit this weekend though. I'll report back.

Pain in the tuckus

2010-01-19T21:39:00.002-05:00

Wouldn't you know it, just as I'm getting back in the post-holiday swing of my workouts, BAM...I threw my damn back out last night.

I've had sciatica for years, thanks to a pre-marriage romp with Joey on his desk at work. It was pretty damn awesome until I realized that yup, I was STUCK in a very compromising position that was probably going to take some assistance to get myself out of. And it's been downhill ever since. The memory that keeps coming back over and over and over.

Anyhow, I got some steroids and ibuprofen and even Flexaril (which I'm trying not to take if I don't have to) and already feel much, much better. Once I'm up and moving around I'm a wee bit stiff but it doesn't hurt like hell. Getting up and down is a whole other story.

*****

Meanwhile, Joey is having a sleep study tonight because they think he has sleep apnea. Honestly, I've been nagging him for years about this because not only does he snore like a freight train, but he'll stop breathing like his train has come into the station and run out of steam.

The snoring really isn't bad unless he goes to bed before me (which is very rare) and gets ramped up before I can settle in. Then I just lie there and think about how I should've watched more episodes of either Forensic Files or Snapped just so I could know how to smother him in his sleep without anyone knowing. Snoring will do that to a sane person, I tell you. I don't think there's a jury of non-snorers out there who would convict me.

*****

So if Joey ends up having sleep apnea, they want him to wear one of those CPAP masks every night. This will actually require us to get a REAL bed, something we haven't had in about 8 years since we upgraded to a king-size bed. The bed is supposed to have a headboard to hang the hose off of. I am thrilled because honestly, I've been desperately wanting to get a new headboard to match the rest of the furniture in there instead of it looking like a bunch of hobos are crashing in The Roomstore.

I hear from certain people that sleeping with someone with a CPAP mask is like sleeping with Darth Vader. Unfortunately, I was always kind of a Han Solo kind of girl, so I probably need to adjust my way of thinking.

New year, more bitching. New and improved!

2010-01-17T09:10:00.002-05:00

Well, hello there! Where the hell have you been?

You know I have to turn this around on you. Because another pathetic apology for not posting just isn't gonna happen.

I've missed you guys. And I'm out of flex spending money for therapy, so there you go.

*****

Just to give you an idea of how things have been for the last few months - it's pretty pathetic that the success of your day is measured by whether you're on the employee phone list or not. It's almost like a daily dose of Russian roulette to see if a new phone list is sent out and hey, am I on it or not?

I have to admit, there are some days when I'm disappointed that they don't hand me a box and tell me to get out. Living in limbo for the last year has really sucked.

A week ago, they let Brandon go and let me and EPOD know in no uncertain terms that we were on the bubble as well. I am probably safer than EPOD is, but not by much. That job I inherited - or rather, had shoved down my throat - back in August literally saved my ass. For now.

*****

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, things were kicking along. I turned 40 and celebrated with a trip to Florida for a long weekend that turned out to be possibly the rainiest five days in Florida's history. Have you ever ridden on a roller coaster in the pouring rain? It's kind of like a swiss shower at a spa. Unfortunately, sitting around in a wet poncho in the humidity makes you feel like you're in a Reynolds Oven Bag.

Two days after my birthday, I got an email from my brother Dave - remember the one who had the heart issues that kept him from coming for my dad's birthday in July? Well, Mr. Health Nut Vegetarian, Bike-Until-My-Testicles-Scream ended up having to have an angioplasty due to some blockages in two of his arteries. The doctors were baffled so they ran a barrage of tests and he found out what the problem is and his doctor strongly advised that his siblings get tested too, because it's genetic.

And, as the winner of the My Life is Crap This Year Lottery, I have it too. It's called elevated Lp(a), which is a lipoprotein in your blood that acts like plaque and causes clogs. Even if your LDL and HDL cholesterol numbers are good, or even great, we are still 65% more likely to have a heart attack or stroke than your average person.

Well, happy birthday to me.

What does this mean for me? Well, basically a whole lifestyle change. Low fat, high fiber, lots of exercise, and medication for the rest of my life. The good news is we caught it early before I got as bad as my brother - his level is quadruple what mine is. So I feel pretty good about my chances.

It's not a death sentence, it's a life change. Or at least that's what I remind myself as I'm choking down whatever concoction I've dreamed up in my efforts to make something that tastes good and is good for me.

*****

I could go on and on, but that's pretty much where I've been. Nothing like a good health scare and possible unemployment to derail you. But I'm still plugging along. Working on my inside and my outside. And making plans for the future.

If you're still around, get ready for some low-fat, high fiber goodness with a side of bitchiness.

Bubbling up

2009-09-25T08:26:00.003-04:00

Today is a rainy, overcast day and I am home with a boy who is snotty and coughing but able to bust a move to his favorite song on the ESPN recaps. Not that I mind, because honestly a day off is just what the doctor ordered - a much-needed chance to actually sit down and collect myself from the craziness that has been the last few months.

First, thanks to everyone who emailed, called, sent Facebook messages. I am fine. Now.

I finally went to the doc about my chest pains (yet again) and after getting my ticker checked by a cardiologist it was determined that my heart is fine. My head, not so much. I had been going to an acupuncturist for a few months to see if it helped out my stress levels and honestly, it did help for a while but then I realized when she cut me back to every other week that I was back at square one again. It was time to get help.

So Dr. W put me on Celexa. So far, so good. Once I got past the first few weeks of feeling scatterbrained all the time I settled into what is probably close to the New Normal as I'm calling it. I still have stress but not nearly as bad - which honestly, I don't mind it as long as I'm not doubled over with pain or unable to function like I had been. Emotion is not a bad thing as long as it's not disabling me from living my life.

My dad - well, God bless him, he turned 87 on July 31st with a big birthday party. My brother Dave was unable to come from Seattle due to some heart issues that weren't resolved in time for him to safely fly, but the rest of us were there and it was a fantastic day. My siblings and I all gave speeches and we had lots of hugs and laughs and a few tears.

He is doing okay. It seems like the doctors put him on new medicines that work for a few weeks and then he is so sick from the side effects that it leaves him unable to function. Then he goes off the meds and is suddenly better again. The other weekend he asked me to read through the prospectus for a clinical trial that his doctor wanted him to participate in. Honestly, even at my age I don't think I would want to participate when there is zero guarantee that he wouldn't be in the placebo group...so I told him that I didn't think it was a good idea. He seemed relieved, and that's really all that matters to me. What good is quantity of life if the quality sucks ass? Yeah, not so much. Last week the doctor pulled yet another chemical rabbit out of his hat and started him on a new combination of medicines so it's yet another wait-and-see. His spirits are good though, and he hasn't lost his devilish sense of humor.

Work has been nuts. Three weeks ago I was assigned to a new project - well, let's just say that the old PA got pulled off because apparently she's too busy blowing one of the owners to actually do her job - and this project is a federal job for a facility that is for one of the three-letter agencies that I am not going to write out for fear of being Googled or whatever those creepy people do. Anyhow, she hadn't done jack for 3 months so guess who has been shoveling that shithole out? Yup, me. Good thing for the meds is all I have to say. So this is working for a different project manager and another team in addition to EPOD and Brandon. Egads.

Oh, and I joined a gym. Have been working out with a trainer and trying to whip my old ass into shape. I am really enjoying it, actually. You wouldn't believe how great it has been for stress management, although trying to keep up with a bunch of 20-somethings in one of the classes just about killed me the other day.

And lastly, I got some resolution in an estrangement with a friend that happened a few months ago. We're taking it slowly, little tiny baby steps. But what else can you do when someone texts you with "I miss my friend"? Especially when you miss them too. You pick up the phone, you say what you have to say, and you agree to try again.

Baby steps, baby steps. It seems as though I am learning to walk all over again, and trying desperately not to fall.

It seems like it all turned out all right

2009-07-28T19:34:00.005-04:00

Saturday night, when I was sitting in my cousin Laura's living room getting a dose of psychotherapy (and interrupting her poor husband's movie watching), my Blackberry started to go off like nobody's business. Finally, I picked it up to see what the hell was wrong and when I opened my Facebook application I just about dropped the phone. I think I was probably 12 shades of white and green too.

It was my ex-fiance.

I hadn't talked to him in 16 years.

We have exchanged a few emails since then. We've actually friended each other on Facebook. Joey is fully aware of this, and I haven't had the cojones to ask if his wife approves of this.

By the way, he is very happily married with three adorable kids. Living in North Carolina, owns his own business as some kind of "business coach" which sounds kind of sketchy but hey, I'm not married to him so what do I care?

Amazingly enough, he has been very kind and gracious. I wasn't really expecting that. In one email, he told me that the best thing that had ever happened to him was meeting his wife...and while it stung for a brief second, I felt a huge relief. I never was vain enough to think I ruined his life or anything dramatic like that, but I did worry about him and hope that he had gone on to find the happiness that he deserved. That he had wanted with me and that I couldn't give him. That I have now.

The result all of this is that it's opened up a part of my life that I have never talked about with a lot of my friends. I've also had to explain to Monkey Man that yes, Mommy at one time was going to marry someone else other than Daddy but thankfully she came to her senses. Or something like that. I've had to listen to my mother rehash a careless comment that my ex made in front of her 18 years ago that she's never forgotten or forgiven him for.

And the strangest part of all...seeing him now, and realizing that egads...I dodged a bullet. The years have NOT been kind to him and his appearance. His employment history has been somewhat sketchy which would have been really hard to live through. His parents are still super involved in his life to the point they still try to run it for him. Hell, I have my hands full with my in-laws but they certainly don't try to run our lives for us.

Overall, though, I'm glad that I heard from him again. It's good to put that part of my life to rest and realize that we both went on to meet people that we were far happier with and that love us unconditionally. And maybe that was the best gift we ever gave each other.

Wind in your hair

2009-07-26T09:01:00.004-04:00

His movements now are slow and deliberate. There are days that he barely has the strength to get out of his favorite chair, and then there are days when he wants to go out for lunch and then walks laps around the house with his walker. He cannot bathe himself anymore, he can't shave himself, and can barely fix himself a bowl of cereal. His care has become all-consuming for my mother.

I had been gone to the Outer Banks with Joey and Monkey Man for a week - we got back Friday, I dumped some clean clothes into the suitcase and turned right back around and headed to my parents' house. I decided to drive our new toy down in the hopes that it would give my dad a chuckle at least for a moment.

When I arrived, he was dressed in an old stained t-shirt and shorts and looked like he hadn't shaven in days. He really didn't move around much at all. I sat by his side, talking to him about our vacation and joking about Monkey Man's latest exploits. He offered a few comments but was mostly silent. I worry when he is quiet.

Yesterday morning, he was dressed and had his hair combed when he came plodding out from his bedroom with the walker. He wanted to go out for breakfast, and he wanted my mom to follow us in her car. He ate sparingly, and started to look tired. I offered to take him back home so my mom could run errands in town unencumbered by worrying if he was bored or hot waiting for her.

I put the top down. And decided to go home via the highway so we could get a little wind in our hair. At one point I looked over and he had a faint smile on his face, looking so cool with his baseball cap on and his Ray Bans covering his eyes.

We got home, where he sat in the living room and talked to me about local gossip and family dynamics and money and all kinds of things. He walked at least 10 laps around the house, and then used some recumbent bicycle thing he got from the physical therapy place. He announced that he wanted to go to church on Sunday. I said fine, knowing that each day brings different challenges and that he probably wouldn't be up for going.

He never ceases to amaze me. He got up this morning, gave himself a shower and shave, and fixed himself a bowl of cereal. He's not dressed for church yet, but that will come since it's still early.

"Today is going to be a really good day!" he crowed as he plodded through the house.

I'll take all of the good days that I can get. I'm just glad I got to be here to see a few of them, because they are few and far between.

Don't ask, don't tell

2009-06-17T19:41:00.003-04:00

For one magical week when I was about 5 or 6, my mother and brother Dave took off to Hawaii, leaving my father and I at home. I believe that my mother had an old friend that had moved there and she and my brother were heading there for a visit, but I'd have to ask her to confirm that.

Anyhow, my mother did the requisite cooking ahead of time, leaving us with Tupperware containers with spaghetti sauce and who knows what else. I don't believe that other than K rations, my father had ever done more than make himself a ham sandwich, so my mother's efforts were hugely wasted.

At that time, my favorite restaurant in the world was McDonald's. Even though my mother tried to convince me that the hamburgers were possibly made from kangaroo meat, there was nothing better in my little world than a good little hamburger with those onions sprinkled all over and a good smear of ketchup too. She would moan and roll her eyes every time I asked for McDonald's and just keep driving past, leaving me in the back seat of the car to fog my window up with my unrequited love for the dry little hamburgers.

But not my dad. He just wanted his little girl to be happy. And so every night that week, we sat outside of the Hackettstown McDonald's at the concrete tables and he had a Big Mac and I had my Happy Meal. And at the end, we always had sundaes. He would have a hot fudge sundae, and mine was strawberry. We would sit in silence, savoring not only the sweetness of the sundaes but the forbidden fruit that my mother would surely disapprove of.

"This is going to be our little secret, okay?" he grinned at me. "Don't tell your mother."

I'm not exactly sure what my mother said when she came home to find all of the Tupperware containers untouched.

*****

Fast forward to three years ago. My dad took Monkey Man somewhere in his white minivan that we have affectionately dubbed The Turtle. Later on that afternoon, they came back and I noticed Monkey Man carrying two small motorcycles.

"I'm not supposed to tell you about these. Grandpa got them for me from Toys R Us," he admitted sheepishly.

Some things never change. Not that I'm complaining.

*****

Every time I call my mother, it's something else. On Sunday, while my sister was visiting, Dad fell out of his chair in Sunday School and scared the bejeezus out of everyone there.

I feel the days slipping away.

Big boy

2009-06-12T20:44:00.003-04:00

Dear Monkey Man,

Today is a day I've been dreading for weeks now. The last day of school.

This year has been a magical year for you. I can't even express how happy it has made me to see you excited to tell me every afternoon what your day was like. As we drive down the road to meet Daddy, you entertain me with stories about what you've learned, what your crazy friends have been doing, and all the good gossip from your class. Your face has had that light in it that I recognize because I used to have it myself when I was in first grade.

I never had any fears that you would fit in. Somehow, you have always managed to make your own way and make friends along the way. You have a special something about you that I admire greatly - you are able to give your friendship with a courage that I have lost somewhere along the way myself. I hope you never lose that.

Your reading has exploded beyond my wildest imagination. I remember being your age and carrying books with me wherever I went. I had a passionate, mad love for the written word and devoured everything that I could get my hands on. It gives my heart such joy to see you just as obsessed with reading as I was. And then math - Lord, the math - thankfully you have your father's abilities and seem to have a natural knack for it.

We discovered that you love to draw. And you are very good at art. You love to play sports, and while you're not the superstar of the team, you always try your hardest and you are a gracious winner and a good loser too. Both of which will serve you well later on in life.

This afternoon, I slipped by the school to pick up your EpiPen from the clinic and decided on a whim to stop by and see your teacher, Mrs. B. I wanted to let her know how sad you were today that it was going to be your last day - that you had actually told your father that you weren't really going to miss your friends as much as you were going to miss Mrs. B.

She gave me a huge hug and let me know that of the over 20 years that she has been teaching, that you are one of a handful of students that she felt a special connection with. That you are not only extremely smart, but very mature for your age and have a special care and compassion toward other people. She feels like you are destined to be a big success at whatever you do, and her eyes got a little misty as she talked about your love of history and how you have helped Nicholas with his speech class and how you were always well-behaved and attentive. "Joey is very special," she said, "and I will definitely be keeping an eye out for him as he goes through school. He will do great things!"

All your father and I have ever expected of you are two things - that you try your very hardest to do a good job at everything that you do, and that you are a good, honest, and kind person. And from what Mrs. B. told me today, I think you are well on your way to being the very best little man you can be.

We love you, Monkey Man, and we are so proud. Congratulations on a job well done.

Love you bunches,

Mommy

Love hurts

2009-06-04T19:00:00.003-04:00

Monkey Man's best friend in the whole entire planet, Quentin, has been totally enamored with this girl that lives in our neighborhood named Annie Grace. Yes, that is her name - apparently all of the girls in that family have "double first" names. Kind of sickening but whatever. The three kids were in the same kindergarten class last year and have also been classmates at The World's Most Expensive Preschool for several years. This love runs deep, deeper than the ocean and the mountain of tuition debt.

Last fall, Monkey Man scored an exclusive, private invitation to Annie Grace's birthday party at her house - complete with petting zoo. And a zip line running through the backyard. All the pizza and sugar you could snarf. And he was one of three boys invited among something ridiculous like 20 girls, so it was a little bachelor's paradise. But when Quentin's mom Jay found out, she begged me NOT to tell Quentin about it because he hadn't been invited to the party and would be just heartbroken.

And at this point, I realized that sometimes, obsession over Kindergarten Love can go a little overboard. But whatever.

This year, Annie Grace is back in Monkey Man's room again while Quentin was sent packing to another class. But his love remained steadfast, with Monkey Man coming home with sporadic reports of smooching on the playground and declarations of love forever, or at least until recess was over.

Apparently, though, the love is gone. Finished. Over.

Two weeks ago, we ended up at the local pizza joint one night after baseball and Quentin's family happened to be there. He came over to sit with us while we all waited for our food to arrive, so I asked him how school was going and your typical parental grilling questions. "So...how is Annie Grace, is she still your girlfriend?" I asked.

"Well, Miss Liz," said Quentin sadly, "things aren't going so good. Annie Grace tried to kick me in the nuts the other day on the playground and now she's not talking to me."

I just about fell out of the booth. It was all I could do to keep from laughing. Although a huge part of me wanted to take Quentin to the side and explain that this would probably not be the first time, nor the last time, that a female would attempt to have him by the balls - either literally or figuratively. But I figured that was probably a conversation for another time.

Fast forward to last Friday, when I was chaperoning Monkey Man's class to the state park on a field trip. I drove him to school since I was asked suckered into riding the bus with the class, and on the way to school I asked him who his friends were, who he liked playing with, which of the girls he liked and didn't like....

"So Monkey Man, which of the girls do you not like playing with on the playground?" I asked.

"Annie Grace," he said squinching up his face. "She tried to kick Quentin in the nuts the other day, and he's my peep. I've got his back!"

And they learn so early. Bro's before ho's.

*****

I could apologize for being absent again, but it's kind of pointless. About two weeks ago, we found out that my dad's cancer has spread into his bones now. Leg, spine, ribcage. Not unexpected, but still hard to take. I did make it down to see him two weeks ago and he doesn't look good at all...my sister and I suspect that he is much sicker than my parents are telling me.

Add to this some other issues that I'm not going to get into here but have been weighing heavily on my heart, and I have been just trying to put one foot in front of the other and keep myself going. It's hard, though. I'm realizing more than ever that maybe there isn't much I can control in my life anymore. The pieces are all falling around me and I swear if it wasn't for the people that I love, I wouldn't make it through this with one bit of sanity left. The sadness of it all is overwhelming me at times, yet I realize that life does go on and that I have some amazing people that I share it with - family, friends, coworkers.

And for that, I am grateful. Because even when life kicks you in the nuts, a little love can make it all better.

Pass the ketchup. And a fork, too.

2009-05-17T21:45:00.003-04:00

I have to say, hands down, that my Mother's Day was probably the best one ever.

But let's not be so hasty, because you know there had to be something that went wrong that weekend, right? Oh yeah. A Forced In-Law Interaction.

We had originally worked out that we were going to meet the Outlaws for lunch somewhere halfway between our house and their house, mostly because we had a baseball game at 10 AM on Saturday and plans with friends for Sunday. Not that I really wanted to drive over an hour for lunch with people I strongly dislike, but I figured as long as Sunday remained unscathed and there wasn't the traditional Mother-In-Law Meltdown that I would suck it up. Not to mention it had been a few months since I'd had to see them, so I really didn't see a way out of it.

By Friday night, however, their plans had changed. They decided that they wanted to come up and watch Monkey Man's baseball game and then we would go to lunch. Oh, great. So Joey gave them explicit directions on how to get to the ball field and what time the game was and all that jazz.

To add to the stress of the morning, we were responsible for supplying drinks and snacks for the team that day - of course. So after a stop for ice and making sure we had everything together, we hit the road and were running probably ten minutes late heading to the field. That's when the phone calls started.

At one point, thirty minutes after the game started, Joey tossed me his phone after his mother had already called six times because they couldn't find the field. By the time they called again I figured out that they were driving up and down the street right outside of the entrance to the ball field. The one with the six-foot sign. That they couldn't find.

So I'm trying to watch the game, give directions, and keep an eye out for them when I finally see my mother-in-law come waddling down the pathway. In her typical ADD manner she has forgotten - yet again - not only what field the team is on, but what school he plays for and what color the team's uniform is. Since I had just told her for at least the third time when she got in the parking lot. She announces that my father-in-law is not coming to the field because it's too far to walk.

Well, great.

At this point, one of the other parents, feeling like they are being helpful, tells my mother-in-law that there is another parking lot closer to the field where maybe she could move the car. But instead of HER walking over to look, she asks me to do it. I found a few parking spots there, but honestly had no clue exactly how to tell her to get to said parking lot.

To sum this up, she moves the car...and he still refuses to come to the field because now 20 feet is too far.

Kill me now.

After the game, we ended up going to lunch. My mother-in-law picked O'Charleys, which if you are not familiar with it is a chain similar to a Bennigans or something like that. Nothing exotic, just plain ol' American food. By the time my mother-in-law chose something off the menu - twenty-five minutes after we got our drinks - I was ready to stick a fork in my eye just to be excused from the table.

Did I mention she ordered the till-a-pee-a? You know what that is, right? She ordered the cedar-planked tilapia, which she not only butchered the name of, but also smothered in Heinz ketchup.

My father-in-law ordered ribs, which he ate with his fingers. Which would've been okay if he hadn't also eaten his steamed broccoli with his fingers too. Pretty sad when your seven-year-old has better table manners than a grown-ass adult.

The highlight of lunch, other than the skillful preparation of the till-a-pee-a, was my mother-in-law's 20-minute story about buying a lightbulb for her office. You know, she only needed one fluorescent tube so she had to drive into town...got to the store where they had six individual tubes, or a carton of 20 tubes. And how hard it was to decide whether to buy the six individual tubes, or the carton of 20. And how then the six had to be wrapped. And the drive back to the office. And then how she tripped in the parking lot and fell, gashing her elbows and knees open - but, dammit, the lightbulbs made it unbroken. Wow.

It was at that point where I stuck a fork in my other eye.

On Mother's Day, we went to Busch Gardens with two of the Badasses, their spouses and kids. We had a freaking blast. The weather was gorgeous, the kids all got along, and everyone had a great time.

It was almost worth sticking a fork in my eye. And watching someone slather Heinz all over their till-a-pee-a.

Mental vomit

2009-05-07T20:33:00.002-04:00

Day Three and I realized with some horror - after the post office had closed for the day, of course - that I haven't mailed the first Mother's Day card. Oops.

My Drunk Friday for tomorrow has been ruined yet again by stupid adult responsibilities. Of course the only opening the washing machine repairman had other than NEXT THURSDAY was tomorrow between 1 and 5 PM. Of course. I hope he doesn't mind if I'm sitting in my living room drinking Mike's Hard Pomegranate Lemonades while he works. If he's hot, I'll even offer him one.

Monkey Man is wearing his favorite pajamas - they have freaking Spongebob all over them, and they are hideous. He adores them to the point he wanted to wear them to Pajama Day during school spirit week and I had to ixnay that idea. Not a good idea to show off the package to the ladies, my friend. There are some things that are better left to the imagination.

I have been planning all week to pick out a paint color for my kitchen which desperately needs painting, ideally while we can open the windows and it's not 110 degrees outside. And yet, every time I bust out the paint deck my palms start to sweat and I get panicky. I think I have commitment issues. No, I don't think I do - I know I do.

You know you have crazy friends when you get an email from one of them saying, "Raise your hand if you got drunk and rode a mechanical bull for three hours. My thighs are killing me. But I am totally getting one of those for my house."

And now, it's time for me to collapse into a heap. I spent most of last night watching tornado warnings and waffling between just going to sleep and hoping for the best, bringing Monkey Man down into my bed to I didn't have to try and get him out of bed if I happened to hear an actual tornado, and sheer terror. I probably just should've had a few shots of bourbon and called it a night.

White trash, or don't eff with my cans, yo

2009-05-06T18:12:00.006-04:00

Here we are on Day two, and no one has perished yet in the absence of Joey. Except, perhaps, my 4-year old washing machine which has a very odd electrical burning smell and won't advance past the rinse cycle.

I am envisioning mountains of laundry by the time the effers get out here to fix the thing. Leave it to me to get some off-the-wall brand of washer instead of a damn Whirlpool or something. With the amount it's been raining here in the past week, however, I could probably just lay our clothes out on the grass and let good ol' Mother Nature do her stuff. Of course then there's the thought of the dog taking a crap on one of my BCBG blouses so maybe that's not such a great idea after all.

Did I tell y'all what happened with our trash collection last week? Oh yeah, this is a good one. So we have had a certain provider for the past, oh, EIGHT YEARS and about two months ago I got an email from them asking if I'd like to be put on their paperless billing program. As an alleged tree hugger, I'm all about saving paper where I can (not to mention hello, I pay most of my bills online anyway) so I eagerly signed up for it.

Well...apparently our stellar IT filters caught my invoice up in there somewhere so I never got it nor did it appear on my "gotcha" emails that the server generates every few hours. As in, I get an email that shows (or supposedly does) all of the spam that is headed for my account and then I can choose to release it to my email or just ignore it and it goes away.

Last Wednesday, I got home from work to a voice mail from the trash company saying that they were coming to abscond with my trash cans due to "nonpayment of your account" - namely, I'm a trash deadbeat and they were hoofin' off with my cans, yo. But they were unable to remove the cans due to "a dog that is in your yard" namely Rufus who was probably snarling and chasing their asses all the way back up the driveway. Which actually, one of the cans smelled like something had died in there so the thought of them taking that particular can was pretty appealing. But I gathered my senses...attempted to call their office which had closed a mere three minutes before...and then got online to their website and paid up my account.

Thursday morning, I got on the phone first thing with my confirmation number for payment and called the trash company's office to tell them what had happened. Obviously, the customer service representative either had her period or was just an overall flaming bitch, because she basically told me that A.) I could explain it a thousand times but look, yo, I've heard these stories all week from you deadbeat people, and B.) If I did want to continue with their stellar, unparalleled trash service then it would cost me $25 to reactivate my account.

For reals? $25 to keep the trash service going when I had accidentally not paid my bill? Wow. What a bargain. Not to mention that not only was I a residential customer of this company, but I usually get my dumpsters through them too for work. Talk about good customer relationships, huh?

So with a few choice words, I told her what she could do with her effing trash cans. And that if they could get past Corgzilla in our driveway, they were welcome to come get them.

And damn if I didn't get home that evening to find that we had no trash cans. Oops. Nothing like writing a check with your mouth that your ass can't cash. And poor Rufus looked utterly defeated, so I can only imagine the hilarity that ensued when Frick and Frack showed up to take my (full) stinky trash cans. Between them getting chased back up the driveway to them attempting to get my (full) stinky cans up in their truck, that was probably some Grade A neighborhood fodder right there.

Luckily, said Trash Nazis don't corner the market here in the RVA, so I found someone else cheaper (yay!) that picks up on Wednesdays and we already have our beautiful new can that doesn't smell like ass.

And this time, I'm not doing the paperless billing.

My sweet, precious boy. And tequila!

2009-05-05T19:30:00.004-04:00

I have a sneaking suspicion that this week will give me a renewed respect for single parents.

Last week, Joey called me and asked if it would be okay for him to head down to Florida for a few days. Some kind of fancy-schmancy golf school that his largest manufacturer has invited him to attend on his dime. And like his guitar playing, his golf game could definitely use some improvement - not to mention this is a great opportunity to do a little networking with some other companies in the same league but different parts of the US and Canada to see what the market is doing. So I said fine. And I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say he had a look of glee in his eye as he was loading up his clubs in the Pimp Mobile today. Not at all.

Monkey Man is your typical 7-year old boy. If his head wasn't attached to his body via his neck, he'd probably have left it behind at least a million times. And that's a low estimate. Tonight, we got home from dinner and I asked him to go ahead and take his bath. I followed him upstairs to monitor the starting of the water and also putting the stopper down (he is infamous for forgetting while hundreds of gallons of water go gushing down the drain while he is picking toe fuzz out from between his toes), and then told him to make sure he turned the water off. I headed downstairs to change clothes, got a phone call, and then I suddenly noticed that I could still hear water running. And running. And running. I went back upstairs to discover my kid - who was supposed to be on the toilet taking a dump but instead was reenacting some sort of music video while bouncing up and down on the toilet seat - while the bathtub was probably only two inches from overflowing.

It's gonna be a loooong four days. Good thing we have Xanax and bourbon.

*****

This past weekend we made a surprise trip up to Baltimore for a surprise birthday party for Heather (Mama Maven). Unfortunately, some poor kid let the cat out of the bag the evening before, so she knew there was a party but thankfully was unaware that we were coming along with her childhood friend Sheri.

Scott (G-Man) and all of their friends did a great job planning the party, and I have to say that they really have a fantastic group of friends. There was one slight hiccup to the evening, namely when one of the attendees that we were introduced to actually realized I was Builder Mama. I think my face turned about twenty shades of red and purple, because all I could think was that the poor guy was probably recalling Scott's tale of my Vegas proposition in the elevator. Not really something you want church-going folks to know when they meet you for the first time, ahem. Thankfully, I was not cast out of the house and we got to enjoy some great company as well as chocolate! and tequila! Life doesn't get much better than that.

We also got to see one of my favorite PIM's, Christina, and her great family for a very late lunch on Saturday after we fought our way through the aquarium. Her son and Monkey Man instantly hit it off, while I got to enjoy some quality bouncing time with her adorable daughter. And did I mention that Christina gives the best hugs ever? Yup.

It was a great, fun weekend. And I think Joey and I realized that maybe we, too, could find a church home where people drink tequila.

Doing the right thing

2009-04-25T07:11:00.003-04:00

I haven't talked to my parents or my sister since the Easter Monday Massacre of 2009. When my wounds are still fresh, I prefer to lick them versus having someone pouring salt into them.

It amazes me that still after the past few years and the various blowups we've had about my family making plans and not inviting us to join in that even if I am actively involved in planning it out, somehow I still get fucked. Hard.

I can't tell y'all how many times my parents have come up here to visit and I always get the lament from them or from my sister about how I work "all the time" and "never take time off" when they come. So this time, I specifically took Easter Monday off. Kept Monkey Man out of school so he could spend some time with his beloved Grandpa. My sister and I made plans to take my parents on a little sightseeing trip through the city that could be done via car instead of trying to make my dad walk too much. I was so excited to spend the day with them that I could barely sleep the night before.

Oddly enough, though, when Monkey Man and I arrived at my sister's house that morning, we discovered that my brother-in-law had absconded with my dad to the Rivah to check on his boat that was currently being worked on. And they would be gone all day.

So we took my mom shopping for about an hour...took her to lunch...and then we were summarily dismissed. Told to go home. I finally raised enough fuss with my sister that she grudgingly admitted to meeting us halfway for dinner somewhere that evening so at least Monkey Man could spend some time with my dad. Right?

By the time dinner rolled around, I was so angry and bitter that I let my venom come spewing out. My dad asked me how my "day off" was and I let him know in no uncertain terms that I was sorry to have wasted a day off specifically to spend with him and have him disappear for the day. It sucked. And I'm not sure what's worse, the fact that I was a bitch to my father who has cancer, or the fact that no one even acknowledged my feelings whatsoever. It was like everyone shrugged and went back to their microgreens.

Since then, I've been incommunicado with my family. It is just so frustrating to keep trying to do the right thing over and over again just to be shut down.

Last night, the phone rang and it was my mom. The conversation was cordial but the tension was obviously there. She finally put my dad on the phone and I figured out why they called. While I was busy feeling sorry for myself, my dad had been to the oncologist and yesterday was a day filled with a bone scan to see how far the cancer has spread.

My dad was fairly upbeat. He has already told the doctor that he definitely doesn't want to do chemo. The doctor said it was fine, but he has a few medications that he wants to try to see if he can slow the cancer down. Dad has already ordered the prescriptions and they should be here next week. They will find out the results of the bone scan in about a week too. He feels pretty good about his decision and feels fairly good overall.

And that's when I finally said what I've been wanting to say to him for months now.

I gave him my blessing to do whatever he chooses to do. I know he can't be on this earth forever. I can't force someone to go through hellish treatments when I don't have to go through them myself. I don't want him to suffer, but I don't want him to do anything extraordinary just to get an extra month or two. I want him to be happy and at peace with whatever he decides. In other words, I love him enough to let him go.

His voice cracked. He thanked me and said it meant more to him than I would ever know.

I hung up the phone and cried, big snotty tears. Because sometimes doing the right thing is harder than you have ever imagined.

Back in the zone

2009-04-21T20:29:00.003-04:00

It's official. I am insane.

Come May 31st, I will be here.

It's all Heather's fault. I mean seriously, she is running a freaking half-marathon this coming weekend with such a great attitude that I feel bad grousing about a measly 10K. Hurumph.

If nothing else, this is giving me something to focus on other than obsessing over work, baseball chauffering duties, my lack of housekeeping help of the paid and unpaid variety, and various and sundry other things. I have run every day since last Friday, but tonight is my night off. I blame Heather for that too, because obviously she is the sane one who thinks I need to actually REST every few days versus running myself straight into shin splits or stress fractures.

But for now, it's time to shovel a very unwilling Monkey Man off to bed since tomorrow is his first baseball game. Monkeys should be well-rested, don't you think?

The funk and Vegas recap

2009-04-18T08:09:00.005-04:00

Last week was NOT a good week. Let's just call it the Post-Easter Funk of 2009.

But you know, I'm not going to go into it, because I promised you some damn Vegas stories and funk it all, I'm gonna deliver!

A few months ago, the lovely Heather of Mama Maven fame told me that she had signed up for the half marathon in Nashville for next weekend to celebrate her 40th birthday...and would I like to go?

Hells no. I mean really, I would rather poke my eye out with a hot poker than run 13 miles because I am a wuss of the highest magnitude. And Nashville makes me puke. A lot. (Reference: Morning Sickness 2001 started on the trip we took to Nashville, ew. I always tell people that I've been to Nashville and probably puked in every bathroom there.)

But you know where's a great place to go for your birthday...VEGAS. Right?

Heather graciously tolerated my obsessing over hotel prices and flights for weeks until we finally nailed down some deals. The coup de gras was a room at the Bellagio for...get this...$104 a night. A NIGHT. Hell, you couldn't afford NOT to go at that price, right?

We had a great time. I mean, seriously, who wouldn't have a great time with Heather and her hilariously fun husband Scott (G-Man of Man Overboard)? Holy damn. We ate about 40 tons of bacon, drank a lot of wine and martinis, did a little retail therapy (while the guys holed up at a cigar bar which seriously got Joey cut off...I despise the smell of cigars), saw Wayne Brady, and Heather and I had a spa day. It was awesome.

So one huge highlight of the trip was having drinks and dinner with Joansy and her friend (now OUR friend) Lori on the patio of Mon Ami Gabi at the Paris. I'm sure my fellow PIM's that were on the Vegas reunion trip remember having lunch there...it is soooo good. Not to mention the weather was gorgeous and the people watching was primo. I always love seeing Joansy and it was wonderful to get to spend some time with Lori who is just the perfect friend and foil to Joansy.

And then, there was the potential of the hook-up. It was around 4 in the afternoon and we were all heading up to the room to freshen up and catch a few minutes of rest before heading out for the evening when in the elevator lobby Joey spied a disabled man having trouble getting onto the elevator - so in typical Joey style, he hopped off of our elevator and said he was going to help the man and he'd catch up with us upstairs.

That left me, Heather, Scott, and this other couple on the elevator that were all over each other and obviously on their way up to the room for a little bumping of the uglies. As our elevator door closed, I yelled out to Joey as a joke, "Don't worry honey, I won't hook up with anyone else when I'm by myself" or something stupid like that. Well, that opened the door. The other couple started talking to me and then kinda asked me to go back to the room with them. I thought Scott was going to burst over that one, mostly because I was too freaking stupid to understand exactly what the hell the people were asking me. Duh.

At that point, poor Joey realized that maybe it wasn't a good idea to leave me alone for more than two minutes in Vegas, because obviously trouble follows me wherever we go.

Heather and Scott departed on Saturday afternoon, which left me and The Hub alone for the evening. After looking at the concierge's list for shows, we couldn't find a thing that we wanted to see so we ended up booking dinner at Le Cirque - someplace that I had always wanted to eat. Let me tell you, it was a Top 5 meal of my lifetime...between the ambiance, the service, and the spectacular food, it was really amazing. Not to mention we ate dessert.

Overall, this was a notable trip for several reasons. First, I always love seeing my friends - I don't allow much time in my life to do that here recently. Second, this was the first trip I went on where I didn't have serious stomach issues or get sick. Yay! And...I actually came home ahead versus losing my ass on the slots. That's a win-win if you ask me!

If you want to see pictures and Scott's take on the trip, go here and here.

Not tonight, dear

2009-04-09T20:22:00.003-04:00

So we've had a banner day here at Builder Mama Headquarters.

It looks like Joey is going to be able to fix his big mistake at work that I referred to the other day. Basically, the Cliff Notes version is that he transposed some numbers on a bid and then actually signed the contract with the wrong bid number on it. To the tune of already being in the hole almost $300K.

Yeah. He had to change his undies after discovering that little gem.

Last night, he got a call from the contractor basically saying that they want to work things out too. So that's good, I hope.

The other big news - since we took a bath in stocks last year, we actually...Got. A. Tax. Refund. The accountant called today, and it's a nice ol' chunk of change. We were prepared to do our annual Bend Over, Here Comes the IRS pose. Not necessary this year, though.

So we've had some celebratory beverages and I think as soon as we get Monkey Man stowed away, maybe a little celebratory somethin'-somethin'. And then I'm going to bed, y'all.

There is no way that I can do a post about our Vegas trip any justice tonight, so come back tomorrow when I will be sober, well-laid, and ready to spin a good yarn.

It seemed like a good idea at the time

2009-04-08T18:56:00.002-04:00

In the midst of all the reunion madness, I made the executive decision to finally give Reyna the boot.

Don't get me wrong - I think she's a super nice person. She cleaned our house for us for over SEVEN YEARS. She did a great job for about five of the seven years.

I know I mentioned previously that she had ripped a hole in our living room carpet and then tried to cover it up, right? After having some serious heartburn over it, I decided that having help was better than doing it myself so I sucked it up and said nothing.

The cleaning quality had gotten kind of spotty. She would do a fantastic job one week, a mediocre job the next week, and then a crappy job the next week. Lather, rinse, repeat - this went on for a while. We had more good cleaning jobs than bad cleaning jobs, but it was irritating at best.

Then, a few months ago, she fell down our stairs while carrying our Dyson Animal. After my initial concern over her well-being (and lack of insurance in all likelihood), I was really annoyed because 1.) we have a perfectly good vacuum cleaner up on the second floor that made it totally unnecessary for her to carry said Dyson up the stairs, and 2.) the damn Dyson was now broken. Gone. Toast. Three-hundred-and-fifty smackeroos down the drain.

But, in the spirit of good will (and again, because I am a lazy bastard), I got yet another Dyson, got the old one resuscitated and put it up on the second floor, and called it a day.

Then, sometime in February, I noticed a few odd things on Thursdays after she cleaned. A few things went missing...nothing valuable, but stuff that she usually moved every time she cleaned and always put back, but seemed to be missing this time around. Lights left on. The cleaning wasn't quite up to par. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it was just really odd.

I came home one week to a note on the table asking me to pay her in cash from now on. I had alternated between checks and cash for years - most of the time (80%) paying her by check. It is not always convenient for me to have $65 cash on hand on a Thursday morning, mostly from the fact that I rarely carry cash and then to get money from the ATM and then have to get change...ugh. Yeah, remember - I'm a lazy bastard, right?

But my antennae went up. And then, that weekend, I was out in the yard when one of the neighbors approached me and asked if I'd gotten a new cleaning lady and how she was working out.

A ha. She was having someone else clean my house without telling me. Thus the need for cash. And the misplaced items.

I was done at that point. I understand that sometimes people feel overwhelmed by their jobs or maybe have bitten off more than they could chew, or even have personal situations that make it necessary for them to make changes. But communication, my friends, would have solved the whole problem. I was more pissed that she was trying to be so freaking sneaky about it than the fact that she had someone else cleaning for her. Well, that was pretty bad too, because who wants a stranger in their house?

In the typical mode of the Dear John letter, I left her a note that basically said that we were cutting expenses due to the economy and that we wouldn't be needing her anymore. I didn't really want to burn the bridge since my sister still uses her and really would it make a difference if I confronted her about it? Probably not.

So now housekeeper has been added to my list of responsibilities. And while I kind of hate cleaning, I kind of like it too. If only the critters that live in my house would be a little better about picking up after themselves, it would be a whole lot easier.

As soon as I can make sure that I'm not on the verge of losing my job, though, I WILL be on the mission to find someone else. Because really, I much prefer being a lazy bastard.

Reunited...and it feels so weird

2009-04-07T18:45:00.011-04:00

After exfoliating myself to the point of no return, I packed my shee-it up and headed up the highway to my friend Shai's house. Her real name is Laura, Shai is her middle name which we all called her in high school and it's been a hard habit for me to break since apparently I'm not supposed to really call her that anymore. But I do.

Shai lives up in the northern part of Virginia and the game plan was for me to come up to her place on Friday night, spend the night, and then we would take off for New Jersey the following morning. Shai is married to a great guy named Dave and has FOUR GIRLS ages 8 and under. Lord help me, there is a special place in heaven for her, preferably with a lot of wine and sushi.

We hadn't really had any time alone together in about ten years, so the second I hit the door Friday night we pretty much only stopped talking long enough to eat and sleep. It was NUTS. Seriously, my throat was scratchy for three days after we got back, probably more so from the

talking than from the vomiting.

Oops, spoiler alert!

On Saturday, we rolled into our hometown around 2 PM. We grew up in a bucolic little town in northwest New Jersey called Long Valley. It is truly one of the most beautiful places on earth.

New Jersey???? Beautiful???? You probably think I'm insane. And in some ways, I am, but I am totally being truthful here. It's in the mountains, it's very New-Englandy with all of the old homes and small towns. A lot of that had fallen away from my memories since it had been a good 20 years since I'd been back there, and as we drove along the winding roads lined with trees, I was totally overwhelmed by exactly how beautiful it truly is there.

We had a pretty idyllic childhood. It was such a time of innocence there - we remembered riding our bikes up and down the mountain, exploring through the woods and gallivanting down to the country store to get gum and ice cream. Things that kids really can't do anymore. Things changed when we were sophomores, and one of the underclassmen in our school was raped and murdered. Everything changed once Rachel was gone.

We went to the Brew Pub for lunch (we have an effing BREW PUB? Egads!) and then spent a few hours driving around all of our old haunts and remembering all the good and bad times. Really, there were way more good than bad times there. We were lucky, so lucky.

Eventually, it was time for us to head to the hotel to get all gussied up for the reunion. And when we got there, it took me a bit to kind of warm up and feel comfortable seeing faces that I hadn't seen in decades. Old boyfriends (total: 3), my arch-nemesis from childhood, good friends that I hadn't talked to or seen in years. I did have one former classmate dogging me all night to hook up with him, but fortunately (or unfortunately at the expense of losing dinner), I ended up with food poisoning and ended up hugging the toilet bowl around 1 AM. Seriously, the guy was so persistent that I finally snapped at him, "Dude, unless you're planning on holding my hair while I puke, this is NOT going to happen." He did actually email me a few days later and apologized for being so forward, thanks to The Devil Alcohol. Whatever, dude. I didn't even have the balls to tell Joey about it, since he wasn't exactly happy about me going to the reunion without him and knowing The Old Boyfriends were going to be there...

So a few cool and yet odd things happened:

1. I reconnected at last with my friend Diana - we have been friends since 3rd grade and due to a lot of personal BS she went through right after college, we lost touch. It has been fantastic to get back in touch and we have been corresponding regularly since December. I also got to meet her most awesome husband Jason.

2. I also saw my friend Tina - her dad was my dad's doctor (got that?) and she and I have been friends since probably 4th grade. She is absolutely one of the smartest effing people on the planet.

3. My arch-nemesis since childhood came up and threw her arms around me, screeching how happy she was to see me and how she remembered that she, Diana and I were BEST FRIENDS. And Diana, who has zero filter on what escapes out of her mouth, snapped right back, "That's not how I remember it!" Priceless, truly priceless.

4. The popular kids were still cliquey. And that was okay. My friends looked way better than they did, snap!

The next day, we dragged our hungover asses out for some good ol' diner food and then headed down to Hackettstown to our former church. We had intentions of slipping in to check out the sanctuary since we spent hundreds of hours there at the church, and when we got in there we ran into our former minister and choir director...who REMEMBERED US INSTANTLY. It was freaky. And they had just finished a huge, gorgeous renovation of the sanctuary that was so amazing that it made me cry. I felt like I had just walked right back into my home.

And...speaking of home...that was the WORST part of the trip. Seeing my childhood home.

My parents bought the house in 1968 for about $25,000. A modest brick rancher with a front porch and a full basement. We had a huge old oak tree in the front yard, a big back yard bordered by a nature preserve. It wasn't anything glamorous, but it was ours. It was my home until I was 17 years old.

So we drove by the house to take a picture. I don't think we have a single good picture of the house, and we had heard from a former neighbor that the dentist that purchased the house had put an "addition" on it.

Addition my ass! Look at this!

It bears no resemblance at all to our former house. And the damn oak tree is gone. I double-checked the address to make sure it was the right house and then burst into tears.

It was almost like having my childhood taken away from me. Yeah, it's just a house...but it was my HOME.

Anyhow, we arrived back home late on Sunday night, hoarse and hung over and exhausted. It was a ton of fun but the driving and riding was really a lot to cram into less than three days.

I was really glad that I went, mostly from the standpoint that sometimes you have to revisit your past to appreciate what you have in your life right now. My friends and I huddled together over a glass of pinot and marveled at what a charmed life we had back in those days. And all of us have gone on to have pretty good lives for the most part. I would like to think that things will just continue getting better and better.

And the best part - realizing that even though times change, and people change, your friends will probably still be the same. And you will talk until you are hoarse and laugh until your sides hurt.

Me, Tina and Diana

Me and Shai

Self-improvement tragedy #467

2009-04-06T19:31:00.003-04:00

Knowing that my high school reunion was coming up at the end of March, I was kind of freaking out a little bit about what to wear. You know how that goes - you want to look fantastic without spending a fortune. I had already lined up haircut and color (albeit I realized about a week before the reunion that I really mischeduled it and my hair was not looking so fab), a dermaplaning, and all that good stuff. I figured everything would just fall right into place.

So after meeting Amy for lunch that Saturday, I bit the bullet and on Mer's advice headed straight to Nordstrom where some lovely saleslady took pity on me and whisked me into a fitting room where she brought tons of dresses, shoes, and - God help me - Spanx. I heart Spanx now. After about 30 minutes, I walked out of Nordstrom with a fantastic dress, Spanx, and the cutest slingback, open-toed shoes.

Um, slight problem brainiac. I have the legs of an albino chicken. And said adorable shoes were not pantyhose friendly whatsoever.

And thus began self-improvement tragedy #467.

I began the search for the perfect self-tanner. Not something I was going to have to do every darn morning and smell like chemicals all day, but preferably something I could put on maybe a few days before the reunion and it would be perfect THAT DAY. Some friends tipped me off to this stuff that Elizabeth Arden's spa sells called St. Tropez...well, that turned out to be backordered until the year 2023. Maybe for my next reunion it will show up.

Desperate, I ended up at Sephora where I stood before the gleaming shelves with two of the palest salespeople they had, both recommending different products. I ended up with a Clarins self-tanning "milk" which didn't seem to smell so bad and looked easy to put on. Both of the salespeople had used it before and raved about it.

Well, every night I would tell myself that "this is the night!" and then puss out. Finally, the weekend before I was due to leave for Jersey, I decided that I was going to go for the gusto.

And then I forgot. So Monday morning, I got up a little earlier than normal, exfoliated the hell out of my chicken legs, and then put the self-tanner on so I had a good hour for it to dry before I had to get dressed for work.

It went on like a breeze and actually didn't smell too offensive. I noticed a slight difference right away, and by the time my hour was up I figured I was good to go. I put on some trouser socks and then my ankle boots, then finished up with dark pants and a loose top. Sounds good, right?

It was later that night when I got home that I discovered with great horror that apparently the trouser socks had served almost like a Reynolds Oven Bag on my ankles and feet...causing everything from my lower calves to my toes to be a nice golden brown while the rest of my legs were...well, slightly tinged with color but definitely not nearly as dark as my ankles and feet were.

Oh. My. God.

My history of beauty debacles is well-documented. Rubbing a raw spot on my face with a Buf-Puf. Ripping skin off trying to wax my 'stache at home. Oh, and the infamous hermetic sealing of my panties to my crotch post-waxing. And those are just the highlights.

I decided since it was only Monday, I'd try and exfoliate twice a day until it was time to leave and see how it went. Um, not so good. Not to mention I was surprised at how resilient the skin on my ankles is...there was actually skin LEFT after all the scrubbing. Finally, I resorted to some cut-up lemons and baking soda to try and even things out. The night of the reunion, I kept asking my friend Laura if it was really as bad as I thought it was...and what I got was one of those noncommittal answers like she figured I'd throw myself off of a bridge if she said, "Yeah, looks like shit."

Thankfully, it was dark at the reunion...so no one probably noticed my ankles or my adorable shoes either. Hurumph.

*****

In tomorrow's episode, I'll talk about how you really can go home again...and then discover that your home has been bastardized by the stupid-ass people who bought your home. Not that I'm bitter or anything.

Old friends

2009-04-05T17:02:00.004-04:00

So today, I logged on here as usual to go down the blogroll and check in at all my favorite blogs and realized HOLY CRAP it has been almost two months since I posted anything. And really, my posting in 2009 has been downright pathetic at best. I think it was Joansy that said that she finds herself getting on Facebook way more than Blogger and how you get to missing the outlet that blogging provides. I think it's safe to say that I fall into that category too...there's only so much of myself that I want to put on Facebook for the world to see. Like pictures of my boobs, right?

Sorry. I'll try to do better.

We have a lot of catching up to do. I have been busy as hell with a few important things that have been going on...reuniting with my college friend Amy, my high school reunion (!), and of course our trip to Vegas with Heather and Scott of Mama Maven and Man Overboard fame. Not to mention just regular life in general and spending a lot of time trying to hold onto my job. I finally let Reyna go after seven years and having the last straw with her, so now I have housekeeper to add to my list of responsibilities. Joey has been having a ballbuster of a time with work, culminating with a colossal mistake at work that left him reeling. My father's cancer is spreading, spreading, spreading.

And yet, I have a lot to be thankful for. Monkey Man is the light of my life, and even when things are crazy and bleak he manages to make me smile by just walking in the room. I have a wonderful husband who, even when things at work were going to hell, didn't hesitate to bring me a yummy dinner home and then turn around and run out to get sugar cookie dough at 9:30 at night for Monkey Man's spring party at school. I have great friends that buy me beer and wings and make me laugh until my sides hurt.

And of course, there are the marathons of Real Housewives of New York. What about that doesn't make life seem better?

*****

Let's start the catching up with going waaaay back to February and my lunch date with Amy.

Amy was one of my best friends in college. We were as close as sisters, and then my feelings got hurt when she ended up dating my ex-fiance. Not good. We hadn't spoken in probably 12 years when suddenly she tracked me down through The Devil Facebook and we eventually ended up arranging to have lunch one rainy Saturday in February.

I was nervous. NER-vous. I called Mer on my way over to the restaurant, feeling pretty panicky about how things were going to go. Was it going to be icky and awkward? Were we going to click like we used to? Was the dreaded subject of HIM going to come up? Ugh, I was scared.

Lunch ended up lasting almost three hours. It was just like the old days, just a little grayer and wrinklier. She's married with three girls now, living up in northern Virginia. We caught up on what we'd been doing, how we met our husbands, and all that good stuff. And we laughed. A lot.

As things started to wind down (she had a deadline to be back at her mom's to get the girls), I asked her how her old roommate Marie was doing. "Oh," she explained, "I haven't talked to Marie in years...she ended up hooking up with a guy that I was dating...."

The words hung heavy in the air between us. What to say, what to say - the wrong thing could implode this delicate dance we'd been doing for the past three hours.

"Well, you know, we all do stupid things when we're young without thinking. The important thing is moving forward and forgiving people," I said. She exhaled loudly, and a visible look of relief washed over her.

It was good. We are actually planning on visiting her family later in May for a weekend sightseeing in DC, so that's exciting.

*****

Tune in again for updates on what else has been going on, which may or may not include being propositioned for a threesome, vomiting, and baseball season. Which may or may not all have happened concurrently. Later!

Reconnection

2009-02-19T20:14:00.003-05:00

It's been an interesting few weeks in my life.

Let me back up to December. On December 5th, my birthday, I got an email from one of my oldest friends, Diana.

I had not spoken to Diana in probably...oh, 16 years maybe? And it wasn't like we had any big falling out. She had a series of personal crises that kind of took over her life and she fell off the face of the earth. Y'all wouldn't believe the story if I told you, and honestly I don't really want to post it on The Internets, so you're just gonna have to believe me on this one. It was pretty bad.

So back to my birthday. She sent me an email on Facebook basically saying, "I know today is your birthday, I think about you often and would love to talk to you." I just about fell out of my chair, and jumped right back on email and sent one back. And over the past two months, we've been delicately rebuilding this friendship again.

Then, I found out that my high school in New Jersey is having a 20th reunion...albeit a year late, but hell, we're doing it! I kind of hemmed and hawed about going, and finally Diana talked me into going. And now one of my other close friends from high school - who happens to live about 2 hours from here - and I are going to roadtrip up there for the reunion. I finally got confirmation from Laura today that she was up to going. Poor thing has 4 kids under 8 years old, she NEEDS to get away for a weekend.

Slowly but surely, I've been reconnecting with friends from high school on Facebook and email. I thought they had all forgotten about me. Hell, I moved the summer before our senior year, and really didn't stay in touch with much of anyone - why would they care? But they do. One of my exes (not a serious ex, kind of a "let's date, oh this was a bad idea" ex) emailed me earlier this week and put it well - "You HAVE to go. Who knows if we'll ever have another reunion? And besides, I think you don't realize how many people remember you and ask me about you. Not to mention, my wife is dying to meet you...." Okay, so if the wife is in, well...I have to go!

So while all this high school fun was going on, remember that friend request I got from my former best friend from college? The one that dated my ex-fiance? Well, I accepted the friend request. We messaged back and forth a few times. Then, a few weeks ago, she sent me a message saying that she missed my friendship and wanted to see me.

We're having lunch on the 28th. I am so freaking excited I can't stand it.

I guess 2009 is turning out to be my year of reconnections. I've determined that come hell or high water, I'm going to reconnect with old friends this year. There's no reason not to. I think in the past I've been scared to stick my neck out and reconnect just from the standpoint of not wanting to face rejection if they weren't interested. But...they are. And that's the amazing part to me.

*****

On another note, but definitely friend-related, Cat Door's biopsy came back completely normal. He has some, um, calcium deposits in his prostate gland that he's taking medication in the hopes of dissolving them (I guess into the bloodstream? Not sure how that works) but other than that, he's good to go.

I am so freaking relieved.

Here I is!

2009-02-05T19:03:00.002-05:00

That's what Monkey Man used to say to us when he was playing hide and seek, at least.

I've been around. Most of my daily life has been filled lately with counting points, running, and of course my stupid job which seems to take up way more of my life than necessary.

As far as my job goes, exactly how do I go for weeks with literally NOTHING to do all day long except shuffle papers around on my desk in an elaborate ruse to appear busy while my coworkers are getting the ax, and then suddenly this week I am so busy that I forget to pee? How did this happen to me? It would be nice if the workload would kind of level out so that I could at least pee on a regular basis, but also so that I don't have to spend days trying to appear like I am so busy that I can't pee. If that makes any sense.

*****

As of January 5, I went back on Weight Watchers. Remember if you will, back three years ago I lost an ungodly amount of weight and managed to keep it off for about 2.5 years...well, so, I gained some back so I decided to get back on the wagon again.

I worked out like crazy. I stuck to my points religiously. And nothin'. Well, the first week I lost the usual 4 pounds, but after that I stalled out. One day, in desperation, I went into April's office to vent about how freaking hungry I was and she suggested checking out Livestrong.com and their food journaling section called "The Daily Plate". I did, was mildly interested, and put it on the back burner.

Then, after like 10 days of not losing jack and starving to death, I emailed both Maven and Mer to see what their opinions were since they are also veterans of Weight Watchers. The general consensus was - maybe I just wasn't getting enough food. I decided to take a few days and journal both in Weight Watchers and Livestrong just for giggles - it was a huge pain in the ass, but very interesting. They were right. It wasn't nearly enough food, and I guess my body had gone into "starvation mode" and I wasn't losing jackshit for weight.

So I switched over to Livestrong. Basically, all you do is journal all day, and they give you your calorie guidelines based on your height, weight, age, and activity levels. On the days I don't work out, I get less food. On the days that I do work out, I get a little bit more. And I love the activity level calculators - like who would've guessed that 18th century dancing counted? Or vigorous sex? I'm all about that.

Since I switched over, I've lost two pounds a week. I have been way happier with not only what I'm getting to eat (which is basically what I like, just smaller portions) but the quantities too. I don't feel deprived. It's awesome. I am now down 9.5 pounds since January 5th, and have been living a pretty normal existence.

The working out has been a bit of a challenge. After twinging my sciatica a few weeks ago, it took me a good week to get back up to speed. I realized too that working out every day does NOT work for me. I am so tired by the end of the day that doing it every day results in crappy, short workouts. Doing it every other day not only gives my muscles (and poor feet) time to recover from the previous workout, I get in a much more intense workout and I actually look forward to it.

Okay, that's a lie. I still hate to work out. But whatever.

*****

I found out today that two young women in our community have committed suicide in the past four days.

I didn't know either one of them, but one of my friends knew both of them. From what I hear, they were both beautiful, intelligent, loving women. Everyone is stunned.

I'm not sure what drives people to do that. It's something I've wondered a lot, especially after my nephew died seven years ago. What is possibly so bad that ending your life seems to be the only answer?

So, if someone you know seems troubled, or reaches out for help, I urge you to listen. Hug them. Call Hopeline for help. See the link on the right...it's something I believe in with all of my heart. If one person calls Hopeline, then that's one more light that will stay bright.

*****

I hate to end this on a downer, but would like to ask for some positive thoughts and prayers for my friend Cat Door. He goes in tomorrow for a biopsy on his prostate and an ultrasound as well. He's had chronic problems for years due to scar tissue from a car accident in his teens, but his PSA has been alarmingly going up and down for the past year and the doctor is getting a little anxious about it.

He's anxious too. And to see him freaked out, freaks me out. Although I'm not sure what is freaking him out more - the actual biopsy, or having an ultrasound wand shoved up his wazoo.

All I know is that he has to be okay. I won't accept any other answer.

Wah, wah, wah

2009-01-21T19:54:00.002-05:00

We had a nice trip, save the frigid temperatures that pretty much kept us hunkered down in the hotel. I will admit that the natural-spring-heated pool, which was a toasty 98 degrees, was wonderful.

Dieting on a vacation is never fun, though. I struggled to make good choices, but the demon alcohol got the best of me. I swear, the martini glasses were really tiny...really they were....

I came back to find out that two more people were let go - both performance related, so they weren't really part of the whole layoff thing. One of the guys started work the same day that I did. I'm starting to get a little concerned for myself because I am so not busy it's not even funny. I spend probably 80% of my day trying to look busy. It's a double-edged sword trying to ask other people if you can help them with anything, because then inevitably someone will figure out that I have nothing to do. Which probably wouldn't bode well for my long-term employment.

Anyhow, Monkey Man came down with a cold before we left town, and Joey is now sick with a bad head cold. I am just trying not to kill anyone. So sorry for the brief nature of this post, but the general summary is: We're back, we had fun, everyone is sick except me, I'm exhausted.

In search of snow

2009-01-15T09:21:00.002-05:00

Tuesday came and went, with two more people gone. One being my friend Melissa, who was secretly delighted since she's been struggling a lot lately balancing two kids under 3 years old and a husband that constantly travels, and the other one being Jon who worked on my team...if you can call it "working". He was pretty useless and arrogant too, so I was glad to see him go.

That afternoon, the president got us all together to talk about what had happened. The Cliff Notes version is that yes, they laid off a total of seven people. Yes, they are done...for now. No one can predict what the market will be like, so there are no guarantees. They are aggressively pursuing projects in the hopes of keeping everyone else employed. Hoo boy.

Once I had a chance to breathe on the way home, I started thinking about the seven people who got the ax. Two were part-timers who were "overhead" costs versus being reimbursable like most of us are. One was working out onsite at a project that was pretty much done and they had nowhere to send her. One was a superintendent that had quit three weeks ago, asked to come back and work things out, and then obviously was on the list to be cut. And the other three were project managers who were relatively new at the company, didn't have a lot of projects going on, and really didn't have any oomph in their resumes that made them a "must keep". The core group is still here, still kicking ass, and honestly once the meeting was over it was like a huge weight had been lifted off the office's collective shoulders.

*****

In the comments on my last post, Marcia Ann asked a question about LEED projects that I wanted to comment back on. In terms of difficulty of these projects, it kind of depends on what side of the table you're on. As a designer, it's difficult because you have to design the whole building including all of the systems inside to meet LEED requirements and get enough points to have the building certified. As a contractor, you are required to comply with the requirements and document, document, document. On a LEED project, I spend an enormous amount of time chasing down documentation not only from my company, but from my subcontractors and suppliers. Frankly, it's a pain in the ass. West Coast contractors have a distinct advantage in that they have been building "green" much longer than we East Coasters have been, so trying to make a supplier in West Virginia understand VOC requirements can be like talking to a rock. It has gotten significantly better in the past four years, but we still have a long way to go.

Then, Marcia, in terms of the attorneys in your office getting LEED certification, I would imagine it would benefit them if they practice construction law. They would need to understand the credits and ins and outs of the system for litigation purposes. Let's say, for example, that we came down to the wire on a LEED project and as the contractor, we suddenly got blamed for not making one of the credits happen. Our attorney would need to understand the credits, what we could and couldn't realistically do, what was required by our contract with the client (because it's gotten to the point where they specifically spell out what credits we are responsible for), and so on. LEED is like the "hot" thing right now and if you're in construction law it certainly will become a big part of any litigation in the future since it's becoming such a huge part of the industry.

Marcia, I hope this sort of answers your questions...if not, definitely email me at buildermama@gmail.com. LEED-er at your service!

*****

Today, we leave for the state convention for general contractors. We're going for Joey's business, not mine. No one from my company is attending this year. And I am going with the intention of trying to help him network with some of my competitors in the hopes that he can pick up a few projects and hopefully not have to lay anyone off at his office. Yay.

We're headed here. It's supposed to be something ridiculous like 12 degrees, but they have one important thing we haven't seen in years here. SNOW. Lots of it.

Monkey Man is beyond excited.

*****

Two days ago, in the car...

"Mommy, can I call you and Daddy 'Mom and Dad' now?"

"Sure sweetheart, why?"

"Well, you know, I am seven now and all."

So now, I'm officially Mom. And a little piece of my heart is broken.

And so it begins

2009-01-12T19:51:00.002-05:00

The layoffs started today.

The rumblings have been going on for weeks. The rumors about a "list" have been running like wildfire. I have had an anxious pit in my stomach since New Year's, thanks to EPOD.

We made it through last week. Whew, I thought...maybe they're not going to do anything after all.

Oh no. No. They're doing them. They did them today, and there will be more tomorrow.

The one that hurts the most? My friend Beth. One of my best friends here in the RVA. We've worked together for nine years. We were pregnant together. We eat lunch together every day.

Around 2:30, she called me and asked if I'd come to her office. Her voice was shaky, but I figured maybe she'd had a fight with her husband and just needed a pep talk. I walked across the street to her building, knocked on her door, and walked in to see her red-eyed and packing up her stuff in a few boxes.

We hugged and cried. I know this isn't the last I'll hear from her, she lives about five miles from me and is really good about staying in touch. And luckily for her, her husband owns a small construction company so they will be just fine financially.

Some others today won't be that lucky. And that sucks.

And if there's a bright side to things, I was told today that as of now our team is safe. For now. They are going to be shuffling people around in the office, and today I was told that I'm going to have to help one of the younger project managers with big federal LEED project that he's having difficulty with. And that's fine...the more indispensable I can make myself, the better off I will be in the long run. I hope. I'll still be working with EPOD, but I think with his years of experience in doing huge projects (as well as some really complex projects that no one in our company has the experience to run), we'll be okay.

Tonight might be a happy pill night. The first time I've had chest pains in weeks.

So much for all that good clean livin'

2009-01-09T19:08:00.002-05:00

I have tonsillitis. Or maybe an early diagnosis of strep throat. In the words of Dr. W, who took one look in my throat and kind of groaned, "Well, your rapid strep came back negative...however, if we were on a desert island and I didn't have the ability to give you a strep test, I'd err on the side of caution and give you antibiotics. Amoxicillin okay?" Why yes, yes indeedy. And by the way, I like this desert island where I can get pills that make me better.

The diet and exercise is actually going extremely well. I'm excited to weigh in on Monday, because so far I've lost 4.5 pounds. Of course, I didn't work out yesterday and won't today because of feeling kinda crappy, but I got the green light to go for the gusto tomorrow if I'm feeling up to it. I suspect I will be. As for the eating, I've been watching my points carefully and ingesting more fruits, vegetables, and water than I have in YEARS. Seriously, even better than when I originally lost all the weight 3 years ago.

So far, I've noticed a few things - some good, some bad.

Hummus is good.

Hummus is good, but unfortunately it has a rather bad effect on me in terms of making explosive poop.

If I drink water, my skin looks better. And my joints don't creak.

If I drink water in copious amounts, my coworkers get mad because I'm always in the bathroom. Oops.

My body feels better from eating good, wholesome food.

My body feels better, but my mind still wants a large pizza with sausage and pepperoni. And extra cheese, natch.

*****

No layoffs yet at work, unless they happened this afternoon after I left for the doctor. I've heard some rumblings at the office that apparently EPOD, Rookie and I are going to be spared - but two other people that our team inherited might be on the block. It won't really change our workload any, because we've been handling one of their projects already (hence probably what will ultimately do them in) and someone else is getting their other project. The atmosphere around the office has been super tense, but I'm keeping my eyes on the prize and staying focused on taking care of myself and not stressing out about things that I have no control over.

Not to mention, worrying about every bite that is going in my mouth is certainly giving me something else to obsess over.

*****

Have a good weekend, y'all. I'm off to throw some cookies in the oven for my boys, and I have just enough points left for the day to enjoy two of them myself. Yay!

Tell me this isn't the truth

2009-01-05T21:33:00.002-05:00

This morning, in the office kitchen...as we are all standing around talking about our stereotypical New Year's diets....

Me: I hate being on a freaking diet.

April: Liz, don't think of it as a diet - think of it as a lifestyle change!

Me: I hate going through a lifestyle change.

*****

And so it begins. I ran on Friday, Sunday, and tonight. Tonight's run was actually pretty good and I realized (ding ding ding!) that all the extra water I'm drinking during the day is really helping me with leg cramps. I don't usually drink nearly enough, and stupid me didn't even link that to my problems with my legs cramping.

Joey is also cutting back and getting on the treadmill too. It's hard enough doing it alone that having someone at least trying to do it with me really helps.

And, I signed up for the 10K on March 28th. Maven is coming down to do it with me. And she's already found a race up in Annapolis for us to try out in May. I think that will help keep me motivated, or at least I hope so.

A small bit of good news - not only did my bloodwork from my doctor visit come back perfect (including all that pesky stuff like triglycerides and such) but I haven't had chest pains at all in the past five days. That's huge. And it makes me smile.

New year, new crap

2009-01-03T09:27:00.002-05:00

Hopefully everyone had a great (and safe) New Year's Eve and Day!

WARNING: Panic attack to follow.

Ours was quiet. Just the three of us, having a picnic on the floor in the Man Cave while we watched the bowl games. Quite a contrast from 2007 when we had a houseful of Badasses and various friends. Yeah, I wasn't doing that again this year...and in typical Badass fashion, no one else stepped up to the plate to do anything so there you go.

On New Year's Eve, I had the misfortune of being at the office for almost the entire day. It was deathly quiet and there were only a handful of us working - EPOD and myself being two of the people. As I walked by his office, he beckoned to me and said he wanted to talk to me.

What commenced was an hour-long diatribe about how I need to prepare myself for the possibility of layoffs. I had asked for two days off in mid-January to accompany Joey on a business trip (going to our state general contractors' association convention, which is a prime networking opportunity and Malcolm deemed necessary for us go so we can hopefully drum up some business), and EPOD basically said "Well, I'm not saying not to go, I just wanted to give you a heads-up in case you get any phone calls while you're on your trip that they've laid people off. Or that you're done here." I asked him if he was worried about our team being laid off, and he shrugged and said that yes, he is worried - they have guys younger than him with smaller paychecks that could probably replace him. And of course, I am one of the highest-paid PA's at the company and have seniority, but that doesn't mean I'm irreplacable. No one is irreplacable.

If I hadn't gotten the shaft at review time and been denied a raise, I probably wouldn't give all of this a second thought. He is, you know, Eeyore Prince of Darkness and can find the worst in any situation. Then there's the whole fact that I have heard rumblings that there is a "list" of people that are going to get the ax in January. These rumblings come from pretty reliable sources. EPOD and I will be out of work come May unless we pick up some new projects (which with the market the way it is probably isn't going to happen). The projects are far enough along at this point that someone else could come in and pick up the pieces with little or no problems. If they did decide to lay him off and keep me on, it would probably only be temporary situation until I clean up the detrius and then I'd be shown the door. Or perhaps given to another team to work with.

So, basically, I'm freaking out. We could be okay without me working for a while - sure, we'd have to cut back on things, but we won't have to eat the dog or live under a bridge. We are really lucky in that we are financially in pretty decent shape. Staying home wouldn't be a permanent thing, though - financially and mentally it's important for me to work. I know I shouldn't worry about something that I have no control over - and that may not even happen anyway - but I can't help but feel a little panicky over the whole situation. How easy is it going to be to find a job when the economy is in the crapper and no one is hiring? Ugh.

All this comes on the heels of me being sick of myself and my weight. Monday starts my renewed commitment to living a healthier lifestyle. I need to eat better, I need to move more, I need to commit to controlling my anxiety and taking better care of my emotional well-being. It scares me to think that I might lose my job, because even as prepared as I might be *if* it happens...well, it's going to be hugely devastating. How will I handle it - by plowing myself into a vat of chocolate pudding, Lifetime movies, and misery, or can I keep it under control?

On the good side, I have discussed it with a few friends and might have some possible employment opportunities out there. In all likelihood, I probably wouldn't be out of work forever...I'm just going to have to work at it instead of having opportunities fall into my lap like they have in the past.

So there you have it. Oh, and if anyone wants to virtually bitch-slap EPOD for dropping that little bomb on me on New Year's Eve, please feel free.

The best Christmas gift ever

2008-12-29T09:04:00.004-05:00

If anyone even noticed (heh) I didn't even bother posting around Christmas. Mostly because stories of doctor's visits aren't really something people love to hear about when they're decking the halls and gorging themselves on eggnog and ham, right?

So like I said last time I posted back in the Stone Age, I've had this pesky chest pain thing going on for a few months now. Early on Christmas Eve morning, I dragged myself to the new doctor where I was greeted warmly and with little adhesive patches all over me for a lovely holiday EKG. Nothing spells holiday spirit like having little patches ripped off of your skin. Then, Dr. W came in and spent a good 40 minutes with me discussing the various things going on in my life, my medical history, and all that good stuff. Well, probably at least 10 minutes was spent discussing Cat Door and his love of all things Cat Door and all that - turns out he is preparing to do a big master bathroom renovation similar to ours so I promised to email his wife pictures of how ours turned out. So once we dispensed with all of the formalities, he told me that he was going to draw some blood for lab work "just in case" but pronounced me pretty much healthy as a horse.

Except...it seems like I've developed some anxiety issues. It seems as though the fact that my father has cancer, my mother is a basket case, my sister and mother aren't getting along, my husband's business is in the toilet due to the economy, I have been worried about layoffs at my own company, some friend drama, and just the logistics of getting through every day is maybe a little much for me. Not enough to put me on daily meds, but enough for him to write me my very own prescription for Xanax with a promise that I wouldn't be chewing them up hourly like breath mints. "I think you do a great job identifying when this stuff is going on with you, but you need a little bit of a security blanket if that makes any sense," he said as he handed me the script. He told me to do things like deep breathing or taking a quick walk when I start feeling stressed, try to fit in a workout two or three times a week, and to make sure that I get some personal time in my day even if it's just 20 minutes.

I walked out of the office feeling like a huge weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. First of all, I absolutely LOVE Dr. W and his staff. They were awesome. Secondly, it really helped for someone to tell me that I'm fine and not one step away from a heart attack...but third, knowing that now I have this little bottle in my purse is like having a warm blanket to wrap myself in when things get really bad.

So Saturday, as we all loaded up in my mother's minivan to take a day trip, I started feeling it. Cruuuuunch. It almost takes my breath away sometimes.

"Be right back," I said and I got back out of the van and walked around the hotel parking lot a few times, breathing deeply and doing some stretching. Within five minutes, I was feeling much better and was able to jump in the van and drive us around for the rest of the day. No little happy pill needed.

I'm not saying I'll never need them, but I think that I'll probably be able to control a good portion of the chest pains without resorting to them. And that makes me feel a lot more in control of things. Not to mention that knowing I can get through a whole three days of my mother without taking the entire bottle of Xanax is pretty darn sweet.

*****

The other fun thing going on is that yes, Virginia, I will be back on a diet/exercise regimen come January 1st. It's not a New Year's resolution as much as procrastination at not wanting to deprive myself during the holidays and deal with all the BS. The pants are getting a little snug again, my abs are flabby, and overall I just feel not very good about myself. So get ready for a lot of whining about eating cardboard and how much I hate to sweat and such.

*****

I hope everyone had a great Christmas! Ours was blissfully quiet, we had a nice visit to my parents' for a few days, and now this week is juggling Monkey Man around since The World's Most Expensive Preschool is closed for the week. Fun!

*****

Edited to add - Since we were lazy slackers and didn't send out Christmas cards this year, I'd love to share our family photos with you. If you're interested in seeing them, email me at buildermama@gmail.com and if I deem you are not a stalker, I'll send you the link. I can't post the linky love here since it's some kind of copyright violation or some such ilk, but the pictures turned out AWESOME! Although a little Photoshopping of my double chin and stomach rolls would've been nice. Ahem.

The recap

2008-12-17T19:59:00.002-05:00

It's been a long but fun day today. We hired a photographer to come to our house to take some cool black & white "lifestyle portraits" of us as a family, she was here about three hours and I am wiped out. Trying to look skinny takes a lot of energy.

Amber, the photographer, likes to take pictures of you doing things that you normally do. They're not really posed pictures, which I like. So Monkey Man and I made brownies together, he read a book to Joey and me, the boys played video games, we worked on homework, and one specific thing I had asked her for was to document his absolute obsession of all things football. We still had some daylight left, so we threw on our Hokies jerseys (well, my shirt wasn't a real jersey but a t-shirt that kind of looks like a jersey) and headed outside to have some fun.

It was going great. We were all laughing and having a great time, but the whole time I was very self-conscious because my shirt was a little on the snug side and all I could think about was "does this look horrible or what?" I was so distracted that I never noticed....

WHAM. The football. Right in my eye.

"I think we're done," said Amber, as my eye started to swell. Ouch. Good thing.

*****

EPOD has had a miserable cold for the past few days. And usually, when he's sick, he develops this habit of picking on us mercilessly. Finally, yesterday, I had just about run out of my goodwill about being the brunt of his wrath and asked him if he was going to be mean all week.

"But it makes me feeeeel better..." he whined. Oh, yeah, I forgot - it's all about YOU.

On the other side, he actually broke down and got a physical done over a week ago and can't get anyone at the doctor's office to call and give him his results. As in, they left him a message, he calls back and can't get a human, then they leave another message for him to call in, then he calls back and can't talk to anyone...you get the picture. We had a health fair back in the summertime and his numbers were so bad that I am surprised he hasn't stroked out at his desk with all the stress he's been under anyway.

*****

Cat Door has been working with Drunk Al for the past few weeks with one goal. For Al to make one good decision a day.

On Monday, Al showed up for work drunk as a skunk. Like drank two 40-oz. beers at 5 AM and showed up for work at 6 AM. So Cat Door told him that he would take him along, but he wasn't allowed to get on the ladder until he sobered up. Around 10 AM, Al seemed like he was okay so he started to climb up the ladder...slipped on the second rung...and fell into the biggest mud puddle ever. He got up, brushed the mud off of his face, and announced that he wanted to go home. "Um, hell no," said Cat Door. "You showed up drunk, you've done nothing but stand around all day, and now you want me to take you home? Forget it." So Al finished up the day, spending most of it earthbound and just running siding pieces back and forth.

"Maybe you are a little overambitious," I told him. "Maybe one good decision a WEEK would be a good place to start?"

He just rolled his eyes. His heart is in the right place, but I'm wondering how long he's going to limp along with Al before he either finds Al dead one morning, or Al finally pisses him off to the point of no return.

*****

Joey's Rotary club party was last Friday night. I ended up leaving my office party really early so I could get home and get gussied up to go. Two years ago, they moved it from the ghetto country club (which to call it a country club is a huge stretch) to a very nice private banquet facility about 30 minutes from our house. The food is fantastic and we usually have a pretty good time.

I actually purchased a new dress to wear to my company's fancy Christmas party this year, and I had the idea that Friday would be a good test drive for the dress - I'd have over a week to get it cleaned in time to wear to my company party. But when I got home, Joey had kind of already decided that he didn't want to get really dressed up so the party dress went back in the closet and I picked out another dress.

The dress I ended up wearing was one I bought to wear to a wedding last winter - it is burgundy and very pretty - however, it's pretty low-cut. I always make sure I wear a great bra with it to keep the puppies in line, so it's not like I'm going to fall out of the thing.

What I forget about Rotary is that most of the men are in their 60's, very wealthy, and apparently pretty horny. I spent most of the night having the codgers standing in line and asking me to have my picture taken with them. And inevitably, they would put their arm around my shoulder and squeeeeeeze just so, making the sistahs a little more pronounced than they should've been. And, in one super-ballsy move, one of the members actually gave me his business card and told me he'd like to take me to lunch sometime so he could get to know me better. Is that what the old people are calling it nowadays? Geez.

I guess the bright part would be that if anything should happen to Joey, there are a lot of old, rich, horny dudes out there just waiting for me.

Ew, I think I just threw up a little.

*****

My dad. Well, he seems to be doing about the same.

The week after Thanksgiving, I got a frantic phone call from my sister that my dad was having problems with his bladder leaking, so he was headed to the doctor to have some tests run including a scope of his bladder. All I could think of was that the cancer had moved into his bladder, probably causing this loss of control.

So on my birthday, he went in for the tests and they didn't find anything in his bladder. The doctor thinks that he should probably cut back on iced tea and drink only like 3 glasses a day versus, oh, 3 gallons a day. No, he doesn't drink that much, but it seems like maybe he's drinking way too much. Then within a few days, he fessed up that he's getting up every two hours at night to pee...so my sister and I are thinking that maybe it's a UTI now that was stirred up from the scope.

My sister and I are headed down to visit my parents for four days after Christmas. Joey will bring Monkey Man down for a few days too and squeeze an in-law trip in there as well. I think a lot of the trip will be trying to pin my parents down, because I have a sneaking suspicion that they are candy-coating a lot of this because they don't want to worry us.

He has been in great spirits, however - and is so excited that we are coming that he says it's all he can think about. That makes me feel great!

*****

As for me, well, I've been having chest pains off and on for the past year. The past few weeks have been bad - bad to the point that the day I decorated the Christmas tree I had to stop everything and just SIT. I never do that.

I finally did what I've been needing to do - I booked an appointment with a REAL doctor versus the urgent care place. I chose Cat Door's doctor since he and the Mrs. have been ecstatically happy with this doctor and I think the doc has done a great job working with Cat Door's low blood pressure problems. Not to mention he will do house calls. And he's my age, so no chance of him retiring any time soon.

My first appointment is Christmas Eve - a "sick" appointment so they can "find something" that will allow my insurance to pay for a full physical at no extra charge to me other than a co-pay. I could rant and rave about the fact that it's insane for the insurance company to not let me have a stinking physical (even though the last time I had one was when I was 18) without there being something wrong...but I won't.

In the meantime, the strangest thing is that since I made the appointment I have only had one or two small twinges. I know it's stress, but I'd feel better having someone tell me who might actually be qualified to make a diagnosis. And if nothing else, it's a chance to build a relationship with a doctor which is something I've needed for a long, long time.

*****

Have a great Thursday. I have GOT to finish up my Christmas stuff and have no freaking idea what I'm going to get my mother, so pray for me. Ehhh.

Technical difficulties

2008-12-16T22:08:00.002-05:00

Guess what I got right after my birthday?

A nasty computer virus. Yay me! So my home laptop has been out of commission, and since work blocks anything fun I haven't had access to Blogger in what seems like an eternity. I guess I could have used Joey's computer down in the Man Cave, but he's been chained to it every night for the past two weeks trying to work and pick up some projects. After trying all of the tricks he could to debug the laptop, he finally scrubbed the whole thing clean and started new. Sigh. But hey, I'm using it now, so hopefully this will work when I click on "publish".

It's late, and I need to go to bed, but I promise that tomorrow night I'll update y'all on everything that's been going on - including an update on my dad, reconnecting with an old friend, the latest exploits of EPOD, new Cat Door stories, and just for GMan, I might even talk about my boobs.

Hot stuff!

2008-12-10T06:41:00.000-05:00

Looking for that perfect gift idea for the car-crazy kid that won't break the bank?

Speed on over to Picks and Pans today to see two great sets from Hot Wheels Trick Tracks that will get anyone's motor running!

Get more great gift inspirations from my friends over at Parent Bloggers Network...can't we all use a little help this time of year?

Blown away

2008-12-05T06:45:00.002-05:00

The birthday card from my parents this year blew me away.

If you've been reading the blog for a while, you know that my relationship with my mom can be very tenuous at times. Not exactly warm and nurturing, you know?

So inside my package (which has two hand-embroidered pillowcases), there is a small white envelope. The card has the Shaker Tree of Life on it, and on the inside my mother wrote:

Dear Liz,

Seeing the Shaker Tree of Life, I was reminded of how delighted we were with the news that we had a girl! It was December 5, 1969. A family inspection revealed that you had black curly hair, piercing eyes, ten fingers and ten toes. Our prayers had been for a healthy, intelligent child. We were blessed.

Love,
Mother and Dad

Maybe 39 won't be so bad after all.

Hard day

2008-12-03T19:19:00.002-05:00

Actually, it's been a hard week.

There haven't been many moments in the past week that I haven't felt like I was on the verge of tears. It's always there, hanging right behind my eyelids and stinging to the point that I almost want to leak out a few tears just to get rid of the pressure. As everyone reveled in their Thanksgiving tales of family dysfunction, I did my usual polite nodding and smiling, even letting out a laugh or two just because that's what I do. I'm supposed to be the funny one, the one who can crack a joke at a funeral and have it be entirely appropriate.

So, how was your Thanksgiving? they would ask.

Eh, not so good. And then that infernal burning in my eyes would start.

Isn't there anything that can be done? they would inevitably ask.

No. There's nothing. And then I would return to picking at my food or shuffling papers on my desk. Anything to keep busy, to keep my brain from drowning in misery.

I put in some vacation requests today with EPOD to take some time off between Christmas and New Year's. My plan is to go be with my parents for a few days. EPOD generously mentioned that if I got there and felt like I needed more time, then I can just call and let him know.

You need to do what's best for your dad, you know.

Yes, I know.

How long do you think he has?

I don't know. We don't know. It could be days, weeks, or months. We don't know, and maybe that's the worst part.

Burning. More burning.

Finally, today, I spent most of the day feeling like I could cry at any moment. And of course, in his typical fashion, Cat Door reemerged after a long Thanksgiving trip to visit family.

This week marks the fifth anniversary of his mom's death. They were very close. She was the emotional touchstone of the family. Her death changed him in ways that I can't even describe.

No one gave hugs like my mom, she would hug you for like twenty minutes and it would feel like forever, he told me, choking up.

Does it ever get any easier? I asked.

No. There are times when I'll be listening to the radio and one of her favorite songs will come on and I'll just start to cry. I miss being able to call her and hear her laugh. I miss her every damn day.

Just hearing him and the deep ache in his voice finally made the burning stop. My tears flowed freely for the first time since last week. I sobbed like a little girl and finally after I regained my composure and we finished up the conversation, I went into my room and buried my head in my pillow and just let the fiery tears stream down my face into my pillow.

My sister called a while ago and said that my dad is supposed to go on Friday to have a battery of tests done because his bladder is leaking. I suspect it's related to the cancer, but we won't know for sure until the test results are back.

I'm scared. I know it's going to end, I just can't face my own grief right now. I'm scared of the unknown. I'm scared that he's not going to make it until Christmas.

I hope I'm wrong.

Down

2008-11-28T08:22:00.002-05:00

I'm not really sure how to even start.

Earlier this summer, we discovered that my dad's prostate cancer was getting worse. There are only so many treatment options available, and he is on the last option before chemo becomes necessary. The doctor gave him new meds that are supposed to supplement this hormone treatment he's been taking for the past few years with the hope that it would be kind of like a booster to the hormone therapy.

My dad has decided to stop taking the new meds. He's done.

The side effects of the new meds were hard for him. He looks terrible. He has hives from head-to-toe. He spends most of his time dozing off in the chair in front of the television. His quality of life has really gone down since he started taking the meds. So I get it. I really do.

It doesn't make it any easier, though. Now we just watch. And wait.

I just want my daddy to be better. And I know it's not possible.

It's hard.

Craziness

2008-11-25T19:54:00.003-05:00

It's been a hectic week. And it's only Tuesday.

Monday, I came into work to find out that EPOD had gotten a call from Brandon (Chachi's replacement) over the weekend that his father had passed away very unexpectedly. It was a huge, huge shock - I knew Brandon had gone to his parents' for the weekend since his sister was flying in from Minnesota. I'm glad they were able to be there with their mother, and his brother was also able to come in from Florida.

So we launched into crisis mode since we don't know how long he'll be gone. I get the impression that he is the pillar of the family, the one who always wrangles the problems to the ground. So I think his mom is going to need him a lot in the months to come.

Meanwhile, the sucky economy is playing havoc on a lot of our subcontractors so I have been inundated with phone calls begging for early payment. It sucks because WE don't have the money, either...we pay the subcontractors when we get paid, it's very standard in the industry (or at least in these parts). I've worked on the subcontractor side before, and I feel their pain - and there's not much I can do to help. By 3 PM today I had stopped answering the phone since I was getting nothing done.

I need to make two pies tomorrow when I get home. I left the damn pie crust and sour cream in the fridge at work. And I'm out of foil.

Instead of whining about everything, though, I have a good Monkey Man report. He is sleeping. And not coughing, knock on wood. I actually went in his room on Sunday night to watch him sleep for about 10 minutes and was astonished at how much better his quality of sleep has become. No snoring, no tossing and turning, and just slow and steady breathing. He wakes up in a much better mood, isn't nodding off in the car when he sits still for longer than 2.7 seconds, and is overall just looking better. He says he feels better.

And now I'm wondering...what took so long for us to realize what was wrong? Huh.

My brother Dave is flying in tonight at midnight for the rest of the week. I am super excited. It has almost taken the pain of the upcoming Forced In-Law Interaction away. And my parents are coming in tomorrow.

I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving for the first time in a long, long, long time.

Sunday

2008-11-23T18:05:00.003-05:00

I'm feeling much better today, thankyouverymuch.

*****

In a few minutes, my lasagna will come out of the oven in all of its cheesy glory. I'm looking forward to eating at least half of the pan. It's been a lazy, lazy weekend. I have read more and watched more TV than I should be allowed to. I'm kind of relieved that we have no one coming to our house for Thanksgiving this year because I'm just not that into it. Don't worry, I will be appropriately into the holiday spirit by Thursday, but not a minute before that.

My only commitment this week? Apple pie to bring to my sister's house. I'm not taking jack shit to my in-laws' Thanksgiving circus. Not after last year's Ugly Cheesecake Incident. No way, no how.

Hope they enjoyed it. Bastards.

I'm a little bitter because this year we will have to drive 2 hours to eat lunch with my in-laws, and then almost 3 hours to my sister's house (which is 45 minutes north of our house) for dinner. The thought of spending the whole day in the car is not appealing - however, we've dodged the bullet for at least the last two years so I guess my luck has run out.

On the good side, at least they're not coming here. Nope. No cheesecake will be stolen this year.

Do I seem bitter about it? Sorry. It was only the most beautiful cheesecake ever. Ever. It was so pretty it made me cry a little.

*****

So today I found out that a former high school classmate that I went out a few times in high school won the freaking Pulitzer Prize a few years ago. How freaking cool is that?

It's times like this when I feel woefully inadequate. I know I shouldn't. But I do.

My mom the other day, when I mentioned the fact that I didn't get a raise this year, started barraging me with the whole "now is your chance to go back to school and DO SOMETHING with your life." Um, I thought I already did? My mom has this funny way of always making me feel woefully inadequate no matter what I do.

She stayed home with four kids. I work with one kid. Not to compare apples to oranges, but life is a lot different than it was in the 60's and 70's when she had us. I wish she could walk in my shoes for just one day to see what it's like.

*****

Is anyone else's kid driving them crazy with their Santa list for this year yet? Egads.

Have a great Monday, y'all. I'm looking forward to a short work week!

When karma and sleeplessness collide

2008-11-22T19:25:00.002-05:00

On Thursday, after the unpleasant Badass drama of Wednesday, I came in to work to find out that EPOD was scheduled to be out of the office all day. It was at that point, or really at lunchtime, that I decided to do what any good employee would do. I took two of my friends to lunch and we polished off two pitchers of sangria.

We laughed, we giggled, and had a really, really nice time. I finally relaxed for the first time last week since Heather and I chilled out Saturday night with some vino. It was nice to just have my girls with me.

While we were waiting for the check, I noticed that my throat was really starting to hurt. Hurt as in "pain of a thousand flaming swords stabbing my throat repeatedly." I shrugged it off as possibly being very dry and hot in the restaurant, and we headed back to work.

As we pulled back in the parking lot, I noticed that EPOD's car was back. SHIT. I went slinking back to my office and after dropping my purse off, went into the restroom and proceeded to gargle as much citrus-flavored mouthwash as I could, put some Visine in my eyes, and then sprayed myself all over with stinky hairspray. I went back into my office and shut the door quietly, and then pounced on my Blackberry...

Me to Cat Door: "Great news, cat scan is normal, went out at lunch and got drunk. Is that wrong?"

Cat Door to me: "I thought you did that every day."

Yeah. Not so much. So after about an hour, I finally was summoned to EPOD's office to review some reports with him and I managed to keep my shit together. The buzz had worn off and I was just back to my usual goofy self.

Note to self: Catching a buzz at lunchtime on Thursday is not a good idea. Catching a buzz at lunchtime on Thursday and having your boss show up unexpectedly and then trying to hide it is guaranteed bad karma.

By the time I got home Thursday, my throat was really hurting. Like worse than the flaming swords. So I brewed a whole pot of green tea and guzzled it down, popped some Motrin, and then crawled into bed as soon as Monkey Man went to bed.

Friday arrived and I felt better. Or at least in the morning I did - at lunchtime I went and met Cat Door downtown for lunch and felt just fine. By the late afternoon, I was feeling like pure death and decided that throat lozenges were only going to prolong the agony without actually solving anything. I drove straight to the urgent care place, was in and out in 20 minutes with a diagnosis of an upper respiratory infection in the very early stages. So early that if I hadn't had my usual doctor, they probably would've sent me home with nothing but the "it's only a virus" speech. After hearing my tales of woe about my eight sleepless weeks, he hooked me up with some antibiotics without question and sent me on home.

So I've been laying kind of low - other than a trip to WalMart and hauling Monkey Man to a birthday party complete with petting zoo, I have been in bed watching lots of Real Housewives episodes. Joey has disappeared to Bleaksburg to watch his beloved Hokies and with a 5:30 game time, it will be really, really late when he comes home. And if he wakes me up, I will kill him. Period.

I actually do feel better. I think/hope I caught it early enough to keep it from moving into my chest. And I have really rested today. And I have been taking Tylenol Multi-Symptom Cold - normally I eschew such things, but this time I am determined not to be miserable and therefore make everyone around me miserable. I need to kick this thing before my parents come, because the last thing my dad needs is to catch some crud from yours truly.

*****

I decided to accept Amy's friend request. She posted on my wall right away, I replied back and asked if she's coming into town during the holidays.

Maybe we can meet for coffee or something. I'm throwing the olive branch out there, so we'll see what happens from here.

WWYD? WWOD?

2008-11-20T18:59:00.002-05:00

Lots of times, Mer and I will be trading emails back and forth about things and a situation where we don't know what to do will come up. The inevitable question is often - WWOD?

What Would Oprah Do?

Since she's turned herself into a modern-day messiah of all things, it seems only fair to use Oprah as our barometer of all that is good and right in the world. Don't know what to serve at your next dinner party? Don't know how to tell a friend that they've overstepped the bounds of sanity? Don't know where to go on vacation? Just ask yourself - What Would Oprah Do?

Well, first of all, Oprah probably wouldn't give a shit what she was serving at her dinner party since she has People that worry about that stuff for her. So if Oprah deemed that dinner would be Eye of Newt, her People would fly all over the globe to make sure the appropriate Eye of Newt was acquired in time for the dinner party.

Secondly, Oprah has Gayle. Gayle is perfect in Oprah's eyes. So there would be no need for Oprah to even worry about a wayward friend.

As for vacation, well, Oprah can go wherever the hell she wants to. So she wouldn't be stressing about how many days to get on her damn Park Hopper pass at Disney.

Wouldn't it be nice to have the resources not to have to worry about stupid bullshit? Then you could just truly decide what you wanted to do based on what you truly want. WWOD?

So last night, after having my teeth kicked in by Badass Friend, then being somewhat publicly smacked in the face on my wall in Facebook by another Badass, I got a friend request that took me by surprise.

It was Amy. Amy was my best friend in college. We were inseparable, to the point where when we graduated I even lived with her parents for about four months while I got a job and found a place to live. We were almost like sisters.

What ended the friendship, you ask? Well, she dated my ex-fiance behind my back. He and I had a very amicable breakup, and if she had bothered to ask me if it was okay to go out with him, I would've been thrilled. He was a great guy, she was a great girl, and they would've had a good time together. Instead, the two of them decided that sneaking around was preferable. When I found out, I was so hurt that I stopped returning her phone calls and finally told her that the trust between us had been broken.

The last time I saw her was 12 years ago - I was in a David's Bridal up in the northern part of the state with my mom and sister to try on wedding dresses, and she just happened to work there. It was awkward, stiff, and strange. It had been three years since she and I had parted ways.

All of my close friends know that I'm a World Class Grudge Holder. I've been known to hold grudges for decades. I've been trying to be better about it, because really all it does is weigh me down with negative energy. And don't I have enough bullshit going on without harboring a bunch of old grudges?

Her friend request still sits untouched. I really don't know what to do. Part of me misses that friendship - and part of me is still kind of wounded that she chose someone else over me. Yeah, I'm like a jilted lover, I guess.

So, what would you do...accept the friend request, or just ignore it? I'm interested in what you would have to say. Especially since this is probably way beneath Oprah, since Gayle is probably not interested in Steadman anyway.

A letter to my son

2008-11-18T19:42:00.004-05:00

Dear Son,

Tomorrow, you will turn seven. And while inside I'm quietly freaking out for selfish reasons (like, how the hell did I suddenly have a seven-year-old???), I'm also amazed at the person you have become.

You've had so many challenges over the past seven years. Repeated illnesses, and not just your boring run-of-the-mill cold or anything like that. I was thinking about it yesterday as we were walking down the hall at the hospital - there really aren't any areas of that hospital untouched by your presence. But for my sanity's sake, let's keep it that way, okay?

Last week, we found out that you have asthma. You sort of understand what it's all about, and maybe I understand too much. It's hard for me to wrap my brain around the fact that not only do you have your peanut allergy to deal with your entire life, but possibly asthma too. It just seems so unfair, although in the grand scheme of things you've gotten off pretty lightly compared to a lot of other kids. But, just like your peanut allergy, you will figure all of this out and you will be able to handle it just like you handle everything else - with cautious confidence and the knowledge that we are all looking out for you and your best interest.

Health issues aside, you amaze me with the broad scope of information that you have soaked up like a sponge. You are like a Renaissance man for the first grade in your school. While most boys your age are into sports or video games, you have this thirst for knowledge about everything in the world. I have to admit that this thrills me more than just a little bit because it reminds me of myself when I was your age. I wanted to touch, taste, feel, and experience everything - there were no limits to what I wanted to learn about. I want that so badly for you, because my life has been so much richer for all of the experiences that your grandparents gave to me. And I hope I can give that to you, too.

But other than being sick (a lot) and being pretty darn smart, you are truly one of the most wonderful people that I know. Your heart has no limits for loving everyone and you are so compassionate for every living creature that it makes me cry a little thinking about it. There will be a day at some point when someone or something will disappoint you and break your heart, and as much as I want to keep that from happening to you it will make you grow stronger and more determined to love.

Your dad and I have so many dreams and hopes for you. But most of all, I hope that you will continue being the wonderful little boy that you have always been. You are smart, funny, and loving. There are times when you drive us a little crazy, but we know that you are a normal boy and that brings with it all the fun and not-so-fun stuff like testing the limits of our sanity. We get that, and we will do our best to be there for you not only in the good times but in the bad times too.

There will come a day when you won't even want to be in the same zip code with us. Well, at least that's what I hear and what I remember from being a teenager. I hope when all is said and done, that you will always remember that your dad and I love you more than anything in the world.

Love always,
Mommy

PS - By the way, if you ever need bail, call your Uncle David. He's way cooler about it than anyone else in our family would be.

Surprise!

2008-11-17T19:26:00.003-05:00

This morning, Monkey Man and I made a quick stopover at Starbucks for some fuel before we drove up to the hospital on the other side of the city for his x-ray. I was hoping to get there a little early for the mere fact that parking is usually a bitch there and I wasn't entirely sure where we were supposed to go once we got there so we needed some fudge time to figure all that out.

Once we got there, I found a parking place right up front (score!) and after chugging my drink we headed on inside. One slight misdirection and then we ended up at "outpatient registration" where a very unfriendly and apparently ice-hearted woman checked us in and then walked us down the hall. Seriously, she must have been a total kid-hater because she made no attempt to engage Monkey Man at all, and I barely got more than an icy stare.

It was at this point when I received our little surprise. It wasn't an x-ray at all. It was a freaking CAT scan! I started to silently freak out as we sat in Radiology with a million other people, most of whom were at least double my age. Monkey Man had brought the WalMart Christmas Wish Book along so he was happily chattering away as he selected about twelve pages of goodies for himself. Finally, a nice older lady called out, "Mr. Builder?" I started across the room with Monkey Man in tow and she said to me, "I'm looking for Mr. Builder." "Um, yeah, this is Mr. Builder," I said as I presented Monkey Man who was clutching his precious WalMart book and grinning from ear to ear. She seemed to be surprised, probably because most of the people in the waiting room probably had underwear older than Monkey Man.

More paperwork. A few more minutes of waiting and then it was back to the CAT scan room. The technician couldn't have been nicer - not only did he have a 6-year old son himself, but he was a Star Wars fan so he chattered away with Monkey Man as he positioned him on the little bed part of the machine. He asked if I wanted to stay in the room or go back in the booth with him, and as much as I wanted to look inside Monkey Man's head to see what was going on I figured that it was probably better to stay there with him. I donned the lead apron and the tech disappeared back into the booth.

The machine whirred to life. A cross-section of red lasers formed a target on Monkey Man's forehead. My stomach felt sick. This was real.

"Mommy! There are laser beams cutting through my skull! This is awesome!" crowed Monkey Man. "It's like being in Star Wars!"

And just as quickly as it started, it was over. The tech told me the results would be ready in one or two days and the doctor (my brother-in-law) would be in touch. He patted Monkey Man on the head and asked if he was okay...."Yup. That was way easier than that time I got the spinal tap!" he said cheerfully.

"Spinal tap?" asked the tech.

"It's a long story. A really long one," I sighed.

So this morning, after meeting up with Joey so he could whisk Monkey Man away to school, I got online on the American Lung Association website to read up on childhood asthma. Two things stuck out immediately - night coughing, and chronic sinus infections. Huh. We have both of those. But the website was very encouraging about treatment options and it seems like we are on the beginning of a good path. Last night, he slept the entire night without a single cough...I woke up at 2:36 AM so freaked out that I actually stumbled into his room to make sure he was okay. And he was.

Monkey Man went on to school and got his report card which was handed out on Friday. Unfortunately, Joey allowed him to open it and he was crushed to find out that he didn't get all E's, he got a few S's. "I think we're in trouble, because he read it and he was PISSED," warned Joey. So I made sure that when I picked him up tonight that I let him know how proud we were of his hard work and we made a special trip to the Armpit of Hell (a.k.a. Toys R Us) to pick out a little reward. I am all about bribery.

Damn you, Weather Channel, for leading me down a false path of hope

2008-11-16T14:46:00.004-05:00

Several months ago, Heather over at Mama Maven and I decided that it would be great fun to run an 8K that is part of the local marathon. Heather is a bona fide triathlete who works out regularly and has done several different races this year.

Me...well, if you count racing to the nearest bar after work as a workout, then I'm a professional. Other than that, I've got nothing.

So as last week arrived, I got a little panicky. I hadn't run in four weeks, and that last run was pathetic at best. I think Coughstravaganza 2008 has taken its' toll on me emotionally as well as physically. All I have wanted to do is get through the day so I can crawl into bed and hopefully get a few hours of sleep.

As the week rolled on, the forecast started calling for rain. Then thunderstorms. Hmmm...I started fantasizing about how the race would probably be cancelled and then Heather and I could engage in other sports like shopping. And sleeping. I started obsessing on Thursday and checking the hourly forecasts for Friday and Saturday to see what was going to happen.

Heather came rolling in on Friday afternoon and was obviously enthusiastic. Finally I had the courage to ask her what she wanted to do if the weather wasn't good. She had plans to run unless there was lightning. Cold was okay, rain was okay, but lightning...well, probably not so good.

Around 2 AM Saturday morning, I woke up to pouring rain and lightning. I smiled a little bit to myself and rolled over and went back to sleep.

When the alarm went off at 5:15, however, it was a different story. No rain. Not a drop. SHIT.

Well, that was that. Heather came bounding downstairs full of enthusiasm, so I was obviously screwed. There was going to be no talking her into skipping the race and hitting the mall instead. So Heather and I crammed down some bagels and got hydrated the best we could, and Joey and Monkey Man took us up to the race. Nothing like a little door-to-door limousine service, right?

The temperature was around 64 degrees with a light breeze and no rain. Humid, but not unbearable. The excitement around us was contagious, because as we were lining up for the 8K the half-marathon and marathon participants were all arriving and were cheering us on.

The run was hard. I probably hadn't hydrated enough so within the first mile both legs started cramping terribly and I had to start walking. Heather blazed on ahead and I watched her white hat bob on up the route, farther and farther away. Finally, at Mile 2 they had a water stop so I wrangled two cups and chugged them down. I'm not sure if it was that or that I was just getting more warmed up, but by the end of the second mile I was able to get back on track and run more.

The last mile of the race is all downhill and finishes in downtown. My lungs were burning and my legs were worn out, and all I kept focusing on was getting to the end so I could get a damn drink. As I crossed the finish line, I heard Joey calling my name and I looked over to see my boys standing there cheering. "Yaaaaay Mommy! You didn't die!!!" yelled Monkey Man.

Heather finished a few minutes before I did. We each got a finishers' medal, picked up the obligatory bananas and PowerAde, and went off to find the Pimp Mobile so we could get pancakes. Yum.

So anyhow, if running five miles wasn't enough torture, we had something worse in store for us. Monkey Man's birthday party at the laser tag place. All in all, it went well - if you like being boiling hot and being engulfed in the smell of Sweaty Boy Armpits. Gah. The kids had a blast, whereas Joey emerged from the Thunderdome with sweat rolling off of him and declared that we were NEVER coming back there again. So obviously, the party was a huge success.

Most of all, though, I was so glad to see Heather and get to spend some time with her. She is one of the most easy-going, fun people that I know - you can definitely be yourself and just relax and have a good time. I love friends like that! Not to mention the fact that if it hadn't been for her enthusiasm there is no way in hell I would've gotten up yesterday and done the race. No way.

Today, I'm sore but in a "I did something good" way. Nothing a little bourbon and Motrin won't cure.

*****

On a totally different note, we found out Friday that Monkey Man does indeed have asthma. When they do the pulmonary capacity test, if they do the nebulizer test and see a 12% improvement in breathing afterwards, then it's considered asthma. He ended up with a 22% improvement, so that was that. We're trying Advair, along with another 3 weeks of antibiotics to make sure that any infections lurking inside are gone, and then his regular allergy meds on top of that. And, of course, the coughing is now even worse and we were up every other hour with him last night.

Tomorrow, we go to the local hospital for x-rays of his sinuses...I guess my brother-in-law wants to see what is causing all the chronic sinus infections that then turn into upper respiratory infections and so on. Sigh.

I just want him to be better.

Suckage

2008-11-13T19:27:00.003-05:00

Today was my annual review. Usually I look forward to them with a mix of anticipation and nerves - because I know they're always going to be pretty favorable and of course, I'll get a little more moolah.

I know the economy is in the shitter. The local marketplace has really slowed down. We, however, seem to be doing just fine. So I listened to EPOD's boss - who handles all of our reviews - go on and on about how fortunate my company is to remain pretty much untouched by the whole recession thing. My eyes started to glaze over, in all likelihood, because it's pretty much the same stuff every year.

I have never, until the 4 years ago when I went to work for EPOD, have a situation where my direct boss really didn't review my performance. Now, EPOD fills out the form, and then his boss basically does whatever the hell he wants to. Most of the time we end up shooting the shit for 15 minutes, I get my raise and we're done.

There was no raise this year. Despite the fact that when EPOD was finally allowed to speak I had the most glowing review ever. According to EPOD's boss, "we're not really doing much this year for anyone, and I'm not going to be able to give you anything this year..." and at that point, I pretty much mentally checked out of the review process.

The kicker to all of this is that he didn't even fucking read my review from EPOD prior to the second I walked into his office. Seriously, he had already made up his mind what he was going to do before either EPOD or I got in there. The look on EPOD's face when his boss dropped the bomb that I wasn't going to get a raise this year was priceless...a mix of shock and disgust.

Later on, I was beckoned into EPOD's office where he profusely apologized and assured me that 1.) if he'd had any idea that I was going to get the shaft, he would've certainly prepped me so I wasn't caught with that "deer in the headlights look", and 2.) the lack of raise certainly didn't reflect on my performance this year. Period.

While that was all nice and warm and fuzzy, it left me with a serious case of the pissies. Yes, I'm one of the senior females in the office. I'm probably at the top of my pay range. And yes, in this day and time I am so lucky to even have a job so I probably should quit bitching now, right?

But what I was left feeling like was that the decision - which obviously wasn't made based on my performance - was probably based on the fact that I am in the fortunate position of not needing to rely on my salary to put food in my family's mouths or make my mortgage payment. And while yes, I'm thankful for that, I'm pissed as hell. Since when did that become grounds for deciding if someone deserves additional compensation? Hell, I would've been happy with a mere cost of living increase.

Add to this that we've now entered Week 8 of Coughstravaganza 2008 and my attitude is decidedly shitty. Sorry. And if you're one of my friends, I'm not avoiding you as much as saving you from me either ripping your head off and stuffing it down your throat or the unpleasant idea of me bursting into tears because I missed last night's episode of Top Chef. Sleep deprivation is a bitch, my friends.

On a much more pleasant note, Heather of Mama Maven fame is headed here tomorrow where we have plans to run the 8K on Saturday (if the weather holds out, and by run I mean "stagger until I drop into the gutter and show up on the front page of the Sports Section in the Embarrassment Column"), celebrate Monkey Man's birthday with a passel of Badasses, and catch up on some good girlie time. I love spending time with Maven! So it will be all good.

Tomorrow is the asthma test. Joey will be handling that, while I will be at work attempting to put on a happy face. Or not.

Taking the breath right out of me

2008-11-11T19:17:00.004-05:00

Here we are, entering Week 8 or something like that of Coughstravaganza.

Not a lot of sleeping going on at our house.

We had a blissful four nights of silent sleep last week. And damn it, the coughing has started again.

Based on all of this my brother-in-law has decided it's time to do what we've been putting off. Testing Monkey Man for asthma. Apparently, from what I've read, night coughing is a big sign of asthma.

Depending on his technician's schedule, this will happen either tomorrow afternoon or Friday.

I knew this was going to eventually come to fruition. I've been kind of in denial about it because with all the food allergy bullshit we have to deal with, it kills me to know that possibly there's another "lifetime condition" that Monkey Man might have to deal with. He's such a good kid, he doesn't deserve to feel like crap all of the time.

And yeah, I feel guilty even complaining about it when there are kids out there that face far greater challenges every day. But, this is my boy. My boy. The only one I've got.

This sucks. I just hope we can figure out why we can't get him better. I'll take asthma over anything more serious, though. I just want answers.

So much for self-sufficiency

2008-11-10T19:31:00.003-05:00

Yesterday, we made the tragic decision to actually venture out of our house with the hopes of buying Monkey Man some new clothes. We'd all been slumming around in our pajamas so finally Joey came out of the Man Cave and announced that if we were serious about going anywhere, we needed to get our asses in gear, hop in the shower and get a move on.

Okey dokey. Don't have to tell me twice! So I turned the shower on and let it get good and warmed up while I putzed around straightening a few things up. Monkey Man was parked on the sofa watching the umpteenth episode of iCarly and Joey was last seen headed into the powder room off of the kitchen with a magazine.

As an aside here, what is it with men and their need to carry reading materials into the bathroom? Honestly, maybe it's just me, but I go in there to take care of one thing and one thing only - flush and then done. Joey will sit in there for what seems like an eternity reading, it's almost like he's dyslexic unless he's actually sitting on the toilet with his pants around his knees.

But, I digress. So I'm all in the middle of my shower, shampoo done and conditioner in my hair while I shave my legs when suddenly, Monkey Man appears out of nowhere sobbing like a hysterical animal.

"Honey, what's wrong?"

"Mwaaaaaaah, bbbgptth...waaaaaahhhhhhh...." he howled. Seriously, I couldn't even begin to imagine what the hell was wrong.

What I managed to piece together was that apparently he had to visit the potty as well...and being the little independent man that he is and finding that Daddy had ensconced himself in the powder room, he decided to go up to his bathroom on the top floor and do his business. But when it came time to wipe, he encountered some problems...hollered for help and of course, no one came. Oops.

So he did what any six-year-old would do. He pulled up his britches and started to come downstairs, and then the reality hit. Shitty britches. Therefore probably winning him a serious tongue-lashing from his Mommy. Therefore producing said hysterics.

I told him it was okay...everyone has accidents...so I had him strip down with the idea that he could just hop in the shower with me. I figured he was already so emotionally scarred from the whole poop thing that seeing Mommy naked was probably not going to make things any worse. I told him to go ahead and get a washcloth out of the closet in our bathroom - which he did - and then he came on in.

Oh. My. Lord. There was poop everywhere. And to my horror, all over his hands...which had been in my linen closet digging for a washcloth. Not to mention he had to get from the second floor down to our bathroom...Ye gods.

Anyhow, thanks to the little handheld shower head I managed to defunk him pretty quickly and wiped the tears away, he got fresh clothes and the world was good.

My linen closet...not so much. Thank goodness for Clorox is all I have to say.

So one small step for self-sufficency, one giant leap into obsessing over what else in my house could possibly be smeared with poop.

Somebody stop the pounding

2008-11-09T21:11:00.003-05:00

It's official. I've had a migraine since Thursday.

I'm one of the "lucky" people that gets cluster migraines. They can last for days...never bad enough to make me go on migraine meds, just bad enough to be annoying as crap. I will trade them anyday over the migraines I used to get 15 years ago which were so bad that I used to end up in the ER on a regular basis. That might have had something to do with the jackass I was dating at the time, but I digress. Migraines suck.

I guess it's a good thing that most of yesterday was migraine-free. I slept ten hours Friday night, got up and ate breakfast and then went back to bed for two more hours. I NEVER do that. I had one when I woke up, but a few Excedrin later I was good to go for the afternoon. Good thing, because we went to see the Trans-Siberian Orchestra. Ever heard of them? It's like heavy metal with violins. They put on one helluva show, complete with the first half of the concert being Christmas-themed. With snow. There was a moment when I had my head resting on Monkey Man's shoulder (he was perched on my lap due to two freakishly tall people sitting in front of us) and I was watching the snow fall from the Coliseum ceiling along with all the lights and music and I thought this...this is what having fun with your kids should be about. Sharing cool stuff like this.

Then there's stuff like clothes shopping. Maybe it's a good thing I have a son, because if I had a daughter we'd be bankrupt by now. Monkey Man hates shopping...but he hates it even more if I buy him clothes and bring them home. He wants editorial approval, I guess. His jeans have gotten to Urkel-like lengths and most of them have holes in the knees thanks to playground antics so off to Kohl's we went. $236 later and we have five pairs of jeans, a new hooded sweatshirt, and probably eight shirts. Plus socks for Monkey Man and Joey. I think we did pretty well. I did notice a penchant for shirts that have either guitars or motorcycles on them, so if that's any indication of my future with him as a teenager I am sooo screwed.

So anyhow, I'm now in my lime green polka dot pajamas (gift from my sister who apparently thinks I'm not only 12 years old but also a size 4) and ready to crash for the night before the coughing starts. Yes, Monkey Man is coughing yet again. We made it about five nights blissfully cough-free...thankfully last night I made him use his inhaler before bed and it did seem to help.

Here's hoping for a headache-free day tomorrow. I've got sooo much to do tomorrow, plus going to work late won't help. I have to meet the tile guys that did the shower (or rather, a different installer that will hopefully fix what the other guys f-ed up) at 7:30 AM to discuss how they are going to fix the base grout. Sigh. As if I don't have to deal with enough of that BS at work, I've got it at home too.

Get out the tissues

2008-11-08T08:25:00.003-05:00

You will laugh so hard you will CRY.

I have spent the last hour going through Cake Wrecks. I haven't laughed that hard in ages.

Enjoy. And it's going on the blogroll. Good stuff!

Verbal diarrhea

2008-11-06T17:40:00.005-05:00

I really have the beginnings of a migraine - and I know it has nothing to do with politics and everything to do with damn Aunt Flo and her ability to ruin my life (whilst I stuff my face with enough cheese, salt, sugar, and crap to kill an elephant). So this will be a short one today.

Today I got this crazy-ass email that trickled down through the family, but it originated with my sister-in-law, wife of The Salsa King. It was so horrible and nutty that it makes me think that the two of them are going to take over living in the Unibomber's cabin in the woods and we'll start getting manifestos from them. On the good side, no more shitty Christmas presents.

It kind of breaks my heart a little that my brother - who was raised just like the rest of us - married this woman who has completely gone off the deep end and dragged him right along with her. If y'all had read this big, steaming pile of crazy, you would smack yourself in the forehead, say "wow", and probably seriously consider the fact that my sister-in-law would be saner if she was a crackhead. The bad thing is that I think the election has driven her completely off the deep end even further than she already was.

It's kind of a shame. But really, I'm glad I have no relationship with them (or let's just say it's sort of a facade of a relationship) because I could not stand to listen to that bullshit all the time.

I wish they'd go back to selling salsa. They were a lot more entertaining then.

Whew. Just think, we get to do this again in four years....

2008-11-05T18:00:00.002-05:00

I don't think I've ever been so glad to seen an election over. Seriously.

Virginia was one of the "battleground states" but never did I realize that I would end up being bombarded over so many days for my vote. I almost felt sorry for people who were undecided because it was just so much information that it was almost overwhelming at times.

I'll be honest here - and it probably won't come as a surprise to most of you that know me - but I chose to vote for John McCain.

Go ahead, roll your eyes. I know you want to.

There were a multitude of reasons, but honestly my biggest beef was that I really wasn't wild about either candidate. Not at all. It was like choosing the lesser of...well, evils would be too strong of a word, but you get the idea. And honestly, I felt like either candidate would be a huge improvement over George "What, I'm Still Here?" W. Am I right in saying that? I am so sick of that fucker phoning it in for the last few years that I could scream.

I've called myself a "compassionate conservative" for quite a few years. I tend to be financially conservative yet socially liberal. A maverick, so to speak - and not in the John McCain sense, either. There are a lot of the social ideals of the Republican party that I find pretty outdated and can't bring myself to agree with. There are a lot of the financial and foreign policy portions of the Democratic platform that I don't agree with either. So sometimes, it's hard to find someone that I click with on all those levels.

A big part of my issue this year was that we are small business owners that fall into that magic income bracket that will most likely end up paying higher taxes. And yeah, I'm selfish - I don't want to feel like I'm being penalized for our hard work. Period. Sure, you can tell me until you're blue in the face that it's probably not going to happen, but I can't believe that until I see it with my own two eyes. And it's not that I don't want to help people that need help, but it totally grinds my ass when there are so many ways that the super wealthy can dodge paying taxes while the rest of us get it stuck to us right in the wallet. Why can't we fix that instead?

I could rant and rave for days but I won't. I will say this much, though. Yesterday was a day when I was proud to be an American. As I stood in the line at my polling station in the rain and saw people of all walks of life coming to get in line to vote, I was amazed at how much we as a country seemed to actually give a fuck this time. We wanted change, and we went after it. We felt reenergized. We had that fire in our bellies again. And I credit Barack Obama with all of that. He made each of us want to care, whether we agreed with his platform or not. He made us all think about how America can be a better place. He got us all talking about our country and what a freaking mess it is right now. And he got us to do something about it.

So while he might not have been my choice, I applaud him. And I stand behind him, and hope for the very best for the new administration. Because Lord, we're all going to need to stick together on this one.

Validation

2008-11-04T21:16:00.002-05:00

What a rainy, crappy day it was today.

I got to the polls this morning bright at early at 6:45 AM hoping to breeze in and out like I normally do. Nope - I had to wait over an hour in the rain, which really sucked. Although I have to admit, a huge part of me was thrilled that so many people were voting. Every polling place that I passed in my travels across the city today was packed which has never happened in my memory.

No matter who wins, I can say this much - it will be a vast improvement over what we have now. I'm just sayin' - I'm tired of him phoning it in all the time.

We had dinner with one of Joey's suppliers and his girlfriend tonight and it was sooo good. Like so good that my stomach is absolutely about to burst. I am miserable.

Anyhow, I have to brag on my Monkey Man for a minute. Just bear with me.

Yesterday was parent/teacher conference day. When I got to the classroom, there were four little kids sitting out there - obviously siblings - with the obvious classmate of Monkey Man's sitting there working on homework from last week. And, I noticed, he had a black eye.

His mother literally erupted from the classroom with a look of fury splashed all over her face. "Come on, I've heard enough!" she barked at the kids as she scuttled them out of the hallway.

Great. Just great.

So I poked my head around the doorway and waved at the teacher. "Hi, I know I'm about ten minutes early so if you need time I'll just sit out here until you're ready...."

The look of relief on her face was priceless. "Oh, no - come on in! I've been looking forward to your conference all day because it is going to be the best one that I do."

So for about ten minutes, she regaled me with tales of this marvelous student of hers - how smart he is, what a sweet child, his passion for all different subjects in school. I just could not believe that it was my kid she was talking about.

Sure, I know he's special. He's my kid - don't we all think our kids are special? But somehow, I always feel like maybe I don't do enough with him. We have friends that do flash cards and worksheets and all kinds of stuff at home with their kids every night. My kid plays football and gets to watch Spongebob when he gets home. I just let him be...a kid. He's in school all damn day and then goes to The World's Most Expensive Preschool for before- and after-school care where they make him do homework and then he might get to go outside if the stars are in alignment. Maybe.

"He is one of the best students I've ever had," she said. "And I don't know what you and Mr. Builder are doing to raise him, but keep on doing what you're doing because he is one amazing kid."

I told Cat Door today - I went out in the car and cried. Because sometimes, just sometimes, you have to be reminded just how wonderful your kid is.

It was a great day.

Oh, and one more thing...

2008-11-03T16:32:00.002-05:00

Um, I probably don't have to remind you, but get out there and vote tomorrow. I don't think there has been an election this close in our lifetimes, so it's important to get your voice heard. Don't be complacent and think that your vote won't count - because it does. Every vote does. Hello, Florida in 2000?

And, as Mom-101 brought up in today's post, there are alarming reports coming in from all over about voter fraud. Here in the RVA, people were going into areas with high concentrations of black voters and handing out flyers that due to high voter turnout that they could vote on Wednesday if they preferred. Um, not so much.

So if you see anything sketchy, speak up. Mom-101 has the scoop on that. '

No matter what side of the fence you're on, there is nothing cool about denying people their right to vote, PERIOD.

And while I've been keeping my feelings under wraps, I will say that I hope that no matter what the outcome, that our country can pull itself back up. I really do.

NaBloPoMo uh-oh

2008-11-02T20:47:00.003-05:00

Yeah, so since I'm a member of NaBloPoMo, I thought it would be entirely appropriate to completely forget to post yesterday. Oops.

It's been a hectic two weeks since the last time I posted. A general summary:

Monkey Man finally seems to be making some improvement, thanks to lots of steroids. Unfortunately, said steroids made him behave like Skrat in Ice Age. I'm just sayin', not a good thing.

Work sucks. We don't have much work going on and the rumors are flying about potential layoffs. I believe we're the last GC in town to start laying people off, which is kind of nice but scary too. Having been here 12 years this coming Tuesday and being pretty overpaid makes me nervous. Really nervous.

I had to make a homemade Halloween costume for the Fairy Tale parade at Monkey Man's school. Thanks to WalMart, he picked out some black and grey fur that ended up exploding all over my kitchen, the "no sew" instructions sucked so bad that I eventually broke out a stapler to put the stupid thing together, and my son ended up looking like a demented chinchilla rather than what we were aiming for - the Big Bad Wolf.

I have a race with Maven in two weeks and I am not ready. Not at all. I am scared out of my mind that I will end up dying because I am such a wuss.

So anyway, a lot more has happened but in the spirit of NaBloPoMo, I'm saving it for posting material. If I remember to post.

Have a great Monday, y'all! Snapped is on, and I've got to study up.

Finally, a title for my memoirs

2008-10-20T21:32:00.000-04:00

Just when things had been relatively quiet around here, it happened.

A Forced In-Law Interaction.

And it was just as bad as you could imagine.

Let me preface this by saying that the past four weeks have not been fun around here. Monkey Man has still been sick - we moved on last week to a second prescription for antibiotics along with an inhaler, and then this past Tuesday the Vomitstravaganza started. It was really odd that he would barf one day - be absolutely fine (no fever, no aftereffects), and then exactly 48 hours later he would barf again. Huh. Anyhow, we have now been almost 48 hours vomit free (yay!) so hopefully we are on the tail end of all this crap.

Therefore, we have had serious lack of sleep. Or, I should say that I have. Joey has to be relatively mentally sharp to do his job or it can be really, really bad. Me, I can phone it in most days with no problem. However, when I've had four days of sleep without any night wakings in 26 days, even I can become a flaming bitch. I even had the courtesy to go into EPOD's office on Thursday and apologize in advance if I happened to rip his head off and shove it down his throat. I'm thoughtful that way, and evaluations are coming so I figured that was the right thing to do.

Okay, so back to the Forced In-Law Interaction. So my father-in-law's 70th birthday is today, and since no one in their right mind figured that this chain-smoking alcoholic could make it to 70 it was time for a celebration. Yay.

Joey and I tried to plan the whole thing (or let's say he had all the ideas and I was trying to fit in phone calls to places trying to figure it all out) until my mother-in-law decided that she was going to take control. Or, as I've found out, it is roughly translated into "I will plan to do something super spectacular knowing that in the end I will stick Joey and Liz with the bill for the entire thing." I've been down that road before, so although Joey protested that *this* time was going to be different, I kept my mouth shut and secretly knew that at the end of it all it would be our Visa card picking up the tab.

We had Monkey Man's homecoming game on Saturday, ran home to take showers, and then hit the road. I was exhausted and slept most of the way there, mostly because it the days of yore I could usually hole up in a bedroom and take a nap at the in-laws' house, but since they started letting their goddamn cat in the house I cannot put any part of my body except my ass anywhere without my throat closing up and wheezing like crazy.

When we arrived at their house, we were met in the driveway by Buddy the Psycho Dog. Buddy has absolutely no redeeming qualities whatsoever other than he breathes. And honestly, he's a waste of oxygen. He proceeded to jump all over each of us, getting mud all over our pants (which we had no extra pants for, yay!).

Everyone ran inside where we found my father-in-law in the recliner, drunk. He then got up and proceeded into the hallway bathroom to sit on the toilet and grunt, groan, and whatever else for thirty minutes. With. The. Door. Open. Since I've been on the receiving end before of this eyeful of redneck goodness, I stayed in the living room and prayed that I didn't need to make a trip up the hallway for any reason lest my corneas become seared from the sight of my father-in-law's naked ass sitting on the commode. Not to mention that he had to leave the door open because the exhaust fan wasn't working, God forbid he actually have to put up with his own bodily odors without sharing them with the rest of the family.

I could go into huge detail here, but there were a few key elements that I'll just briefly touch on so this doesn't become the modern-day version of Moby Dick. First of all, their house is back to being as nasty and filthy as it was last year before the big "renovation" (translation: interior painting) took place. My mother-in-law had previously sent her computer tower up to Joey via my brother-in-law a few weeks ago because it was making a funny noise...and when he opened up the panel, it was so gunked up with dirt, hair, and grease that he had to use a toothbrush to get the crap out since the compressed air and the little vacuum didn't work. Ick. So if the computer, which is basically encased, was that bad...you can imagine what the rest of the house was like.

Then there was the gun. My father-in-law, apparently, has taken to sitting in an armchair in the living room and shooting his shotgun out of the sliding glass door. There are several pecan trees right off of the deck and he has been protecting the nuts from scavenging crows, so obviously the reasonable way to do that is to sit in your armchair all cozy like, with your travel mug full of bourbon, slide open the sliding glass door and shoot the motherfucking crows with your double-barrel shotgun. Doesn't everyone do that?

Well, if they do, hopefully they put said shotgun away before their grandson comes to visit. Instead, it was laying in the armchair with the butt hanging off and all I could envision was Monkey Man bumping into the gun, knocking it into the floor, and someone other than my father-in-law getting their head blown off. 'Cause it was loaded, of course. Finally, my mother-in-law moved it to the dining room table, and then at Joey's behest finally moved it...somewhere, I'm not sure exactly where.

At this point, my head was about ready to explode and Joey had finally gotten his mom's computer back up and running and spent an hour downloading some antiviral software via dial-up. We decided to head to the restaurant for dinner...an hour and a half early.

By the time dinner rolled around and all of the other 45 people were there, I was just done. I can only deal with the lunacy for so long on a good day, but when I'm already sleep deprived it's a whole other story.

The kicker, perhaps, was after spending almost a thousand dollars between the dinner and the present we got him (which I'm not exactly even sure what it was, that's how interested I was in the whole thing), do you know what his favorite gift was? Want to take a guess?

A cooler full of uncooked chitlins. Or chitterlings, if you want to be more technical about it. Uncooked pig intestines. And no, smartasses, that wasn't what we gave him.

All I have to say is that I'm thankful we came back home Saturday night, because he was practically foaming at the mouth with the anticipation of cooking them up bright and early on Sunday morning. And if you've never smelled chitlins being cooked, they smell like ass. Go figure.

As I was relaying the story to my friends over the past two days, there was a distinct mix of laughter and horror. Just when you think the stories can't get worse, they do. And I'm convinced that one day, either when I'm divorced or widowed, I will be able to finally write about it all and make millions - "Shotguns and Chitlins - The Memoirs of a Long-Suffering Daughter-In-Law."

Attention video game fans!

2008-09-30T21:28:00.003-04:00

Do I have a great review...the VTech V-Motion Active Learning System. It's a great system with fun, educational games aimed at kids from 3 to 7 years old. Stop on by Picks and Pans to get the scoop!

Cabo Redux

2008-09-29T10:17:00.003-04:00

We're back, by hook and by crook....

Overall, Cabo was really awesome. Things at home, though, weren't so great.

Wednesday morning, Heather the Babysitter came to our house at 4 AM so we could leave for the airport. Her task for the day was to take Monkey Man to before-school care and then her sister Valerie was going to pick him up after school and bring him home until Heather finished her school. She's in dental hygienist school, you know.

By the time we got to Chicago, we were sitting at breakfast at Macaroni Grill (more on that later) and got a voice mail that she had locked herself out of the house. Luckily she had everything that she needed for the day and didn't need it unlocked right away, but someone had to get over there before Monkey Man got out of school. Immediately, I called Cat Door who is the only friend we have with a key to our house and he agreed to go over there as soon as he got a chance to unlock the door. He texted me later, "Don't worry, I'm here and will take care of everything. HAVE FUN DAMMIT."

If only it had been that easy.

By the time we got to Cabo and did the grind through customs and immigration and did the ride to the hotel (which, by the way, was vastly improved from the last visit where the road was still under construction and we had to go on goat paths half the way), I was so ready for a drink. We went immediately to the pool bar, met Malcolm and Paula and this cool British guy named Duncan who was on our flight from Chicago, and bellied up for some drinks and something to eat.

Then, I checked my voice mail. Heather had called, and she had gotten a call from The World's Most Expensive Preschool. Monkey Man was sick. Of course.

Long story short - he ended up with almost a croupy cough, runny/stuffy nose, and a fever. So my sister, God love her, went and swooped him up and kept him until we picked him up at 1 AM this morning. She has been saying for a while that she wanted to keep him for a weekend, but I don't think that this is necessarily what she had in mind. Honestly, I was probably more worried about her and my brother-in-law because they are totally not used to have a six-year-old around, let alone one swimming in green goo and demanding Spongebob. I think I'm going to have to do something nice for them, like an all-expenses paid trip to Europe or something. Or maybe just a gift card for dinner out somewhere nice.

Monkey Man, however, had the time of his life. With my sister's two gargantuan greyhounds at his beck and call, he was the king of the roost. My sister spoiled him absofreakinglutely to death. He told her yesterday that he really, really, really liked staying at her house. I can only imagine what thoughts were running through her head since she probably got NO sleep the entire time thanks to Sir Coughsalot.

So it definitely put a damper on the trip. It made it really hard to relax at all because I was worried about Monkey Man plus my sister and brother-in-law (who at least could escape to work every day, but when you're a pediatrician...well, that wouldn't be much of a break at all, would it?). I called twice a day to check on things and tried to keep my spirits up, when in reality all I wanted to do was jump on a plane and get home.

Oh, and the Macaroni Grill breakfast? Was just what my stomach needed to start me off with the shits before we even got to Mexico. I think it was worse than Montezuma's Revenge could ever be. All I can say is hey, people in first class on our flight down? Yeah, I'm sorry. Seriously, I tried to wait for the line in coach to go down and use the john with the rest of us peasants, but it didn't happen. And when that "vacant" light was on...well, yeah. I violated your potty. I'm sorry.

And both of us ended up with some form of intestinal distress throughout the entire trip. And it wasn't the tequila, dammit.

Anyhow, Cabo...we did a spa day. We spent one day just hanging at the pool. We went into town and did some shopping. We went out and drank. A lot. Did I mention drinking a lot?

But yesterday was time to come home, so we got to the airport early and once we got to the ticket counter, the lady told us our flight was delayed at least an hour. Um, not good, considering we only had 2 hours in Chicago anyway to get our luggage through Customs and make our next flight - and you know it never goes smoothly, right? Anyhow, everyone's flights were delayed so we ended up sitting around the airport - along with Duncan, whose flight got moved too and he ended up being rerouted to Chicago on our flight - and eating Burger King. For some odd reason, I walked by one of the flight status boards at one point and noticed...hey, the flight was leaving earlier than they thought! So we got on the plane and crossed our fingers that we might make our connection in Chicago.

Once we got to Chicago, we literally RAN to Customs...got our luggage (which for some reason ours was within the first 10 suitcases that came out) - rechecked baggage after going through immigration and customs - and then hoofed it over to the other terminal.

YES! We made the flight. By like 10 minutes. And cocky little bastards that we are, we were high-fiving each other in the plane.

Oops. Our luggage didn't make it. It's still in Chicago. I just got off the phone with the airlines and hopefully we'll have it back today. Which would be a good thing considering my hairdryer and makeup bag is in there.

Anyhow, we finally got home around 1 AM with Monkey Man in tow. Got jack for sleep. And I called in sick today, so I'll have to face the wrath of EPOD tomorrow which makes my stomach hurt just thinking about it.

Or is that the tequila? I'll never tell.

Rupture

2008-09-21T19:27:00.003-04:00

I don't know what it is about me, but it seems like every time we're getting ready to leave on vacation I get sick.

Last week, my ear started giving me some trouble. It seemed like just another lovely wax clog, so I got Joey to dose me up with some ear goop a few times and attempted to flush my right ear out. It really didn't seem to be any better when I finished, but I figured my ear just needed to drain.

By Thursday, my throat was feeling a little scratchy and my ear was kind of itchy. The kind of itchy where you feel like sticking an icepick in your ear for some relief. I went to football practice for a little while, Joey came to relieve me so I went home and literally crawled into bed.

Friday, I worked a half-day and then came home and fell asleep on the couch. A quick nap. A quick nap that lasted two hours and left me feeling like I'd been hit by a truck.

So after dinner, it was off to the urgent care place. A double-ear infection, and when they flushed both of my ears out my left ear bled. Yippee. I've had a few doses of my Z-pack and feel better for the most part, but I'm wary. The doctor warned me that if I hadn't come in, in all likelihood my eardrum would've burst when I got on the airplane on Wednesday. Not exactly what you want to hear when you're going to a foreign country, right? Ew.

*****

Wednesday morning, we are headed off to Cabo San Lucas. We went two years ago and had a great time, so I'm excited to be not only going back to such a fantastic place but getting away for a while.

Meanwhile, I've been trying to coordinate Monkey Man's schedule along with the babysitter's work and school schedule. She has gone back to school - dental hygienist school - and between classes and a big test on Saturday it's been somewhat challenging making sure that Monkey Man will be taken care of and be safe and sound. I trust her...I just am a little freaked out because we're having to use some friends to pitch in and cover things a few times while we're gone. This is one of those times when I wish either set of grandparents was able (or willing) to step in, and I really wish my sister would've offered to help. But, as usual, it's just us. Sigh.

*****

While we're gone, there's going to be some serious discussin' going on.

I got a job offer last week.

A former mentor of mine from work - who left two years ago - started his own company a year ago and is finally ready to hire some help. He does home renovation work - kind of like Cat Door, but on a bigger scale. We went to lunch last week and I totally thought he was taking me to pick my brain about LEED when in reality he threw out the job offer on the table.

It's tempting. Scary, but tempting. Basically, I would be able to set my own hours. I would be working part time. I would get away from the toxic environment of my office. We could probably do away with The World's Most Expensive Preschool. I would get to work from home sometimes. We might actually get a home-cooked meal every now and then. I could be more involved with Monkey Man's school.

Then there's what I would be giving up. The stability of a job I've had for twelve (!) years. My friends. The financial freedom of a full-time salary. My great 401(k) plan which includes 50% matching.

Things here at Builder Mama HQ have been kind of rough as of late. Basically, we're both working our asses off and are so tied up in everything else, we are like two ships passing in the night. We started date nights a few weeks ago so we could at least have a few hours together every few weeks to talk without being interrupted a million times. We're both exhausted.

I can't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, it's time to sacrifice a little of the money to get a little better quality of life. I'm just not sure Joey is buying into that, though.

It should be interesting.

Flasher in the pan

2008-09-17T19:08:00.003-04:00

It's getting so ridiculous at this point...the lack of blog posting...that I'm not even going to apologize for it anymore. Heh.

*****

Is the election over yet? I'm about ready to move to Canada or something. I've had enough.

*****

Two Fridays ago, Joey and I arrived at The World's Most Expensive Preschool to pick up Monkey Man from the after-care program and were met at the door by Lisa, The After-Care Director.

"Well, he didn't have a great afternoon. He was talking back to the teacher, not listening, and wouldn't stop pushing one of his friends," she whispered.

I can tell you this much - there wasn't a lot of whispering going on in the car on the way to dinner. Stern talking, as in If I Were Your PaPa I Would Be Beating Yo Ass With My Big Belt. And the promise of worse punishment if we had any more problems at after-care - as in, NO FOOTBALL.

Yup, we were so freaking smug. We figured out his currency and we cashed it in, dammit. There was no way that our kid was going to be anything but a model citizen from now on.

Can I have a slice of humble pie now?

Last Friday, I arrived at after-care and was greeted at the door by Lisa again. Crap.

"Um, yeah, we had a little issue today. Actually, a big issue. Monkey Man...um...well, showed his privates to two of the boys today. This morning, actually."

Hell what?

Long story short, he was IN the classroom when he decided to show off his winky to two of his buddies. They were all laughing when the teacher came over and asked what was so funny...Monkey Man got hauled off to Lisa's office where he promptly confessed that the two boys had dared him to do it. So they had a little chat with him and the two boys, and she asked me if I could follow up with Joey and have a serious talk with him about the whole thing.

My face burned. MY kid? My good, sweet kid? My kid that almost never gets in trouble for anything? I thanked her, went into the classroom and I knew by the look on his face that he instantly knew he was in Deep Shit.

I can't remember a time when I was more angry with him. Seriously, it's probably a good thing that CPS wasn't lurking out in the parking lot because I got that boy in the car and let fly with a screaming fit like no one has ever seen. Joey called in the midst of all of it, told me I was overreacting, but by the time we met up for dinner he was about ready to turn the kid into a big greasy spot in the parking lot.

I can laugh about it today - I mean seriously, I get it. Boys - and men - think that their winkies are the most important thing in the universe and they should be able to display it no matter what. But here's the thing - this was serious. First of all, our county schools have zero tolerance for this kind of stuff - they don't care if you're six or sixteen, ya don't do that shit. It's called sexual harrassment and is grounds for suspension or even, heaven help me, expulsion. Secondly, not only did he show his privates to some other kids, but he LIED about it to Lisa. The boys didn't dare him to do it at all...he did it because he thought it was funny.

And do you know why he thought it was funny? Because another kid had done it to him in summer camp. At the lunch table. Seriously. The World's Most Expensive Preschool apparently has a bunch of flashers in the first and second-grade groups. I've heard numerous stories from other parents about this stuff going on (and other similar things all focusing on winkies) so obviously there are some supervisory issues going on.

Not that it excuses the behavior, mind you. And not that it excuses me or Joey from not emphasizing that private parts are exactly that...PRIVATE. Hoo boy.

So anyway, we discussed everything at length and tried our best to teach him that private parts are private...and nothing to be dirty or ashamed of...but also the issues involved with showing them in inappropriate ways...and also the whole lying thing. It was simply awful.

The punishment we came up with was multifaceted. And maybe a little harsh, but honestly I felt like the crime deserved it.

No cartoons.
Clean up the playroom without assistance (including pulling out old toys to give to charity)
Removing all stuffed animals from his bed (this was huge, he cried the whole time because he freaking loves those things)
And worst of all...no football. But I did make him go to his first game and stand at the fence to watch his teammates play. He cried the whole time.

I don't think we scarred him for life, but hopefully he's learned his lesson.

And I learned that sometimes, being a parent really, really sucks.

It's all Greek to me

2008-09-07T18:15:00.003-04:00

Or, maybe more appropriately, Chinese.

At the end of the school year, we received a letter home from Monkey Man's school that they were going to introduce a new part of the curriculum for the 2008 - 2009 school year:

Mandarin Chinese.

At first, I was a little irritated. How about Spanish, since it's becoming increasingly useful (especially around these parts)? But then I thought - well, that's cool.

Until I saw the homework. With no instructions on what the hell he's supposed to do. So I guess we'll be taking a stab at it and I'm sure she'll let us know next Friday when he turns it in if he did the right thing. All I can think, though, as I look at the sheet that she gave him, is that it's going to be a hell of a long year. Mandarin Chinese will be the death of me, I'm afraid.

*****

Monkey Man's first football game of the season was cancelled this weekend thanks to the tropical storm or monsoon or whatever it was we had yesterday. It rained cats and dogs most of the day and although the wind wasn't really bad it was WET.

Somehow, the dog got outside and ended up cowering on the front porch without anyone realizing he was out there. Eventually, I went looking for him and found him there, so he happily burst through the front door and spent the next few hours hiding in the laundry room spooning with his dry food bucket.

Later on, I tried to get him back outside and he wasn't having any parts of that. So he remained in the laundry room until heard Joey and Monkey Man goofing around in the basement with the football so of course he had to go galumphing down the stairs. (Note: If you ever have the opportunity to watch a corgi go down stairs, you should definitely watch from a safe place. Anatomically, they are not designed to go down the stairs like a normal dog so they do this crosswise gallumph all the way down...and if you're in the way, Lord help you.)

I was parked on the sofa watching some idiotic TV when I heard Joey start yelling at the dog. I went running downstairs and apparently, Rufus had gotten so excited that two perfect pieces of shit had come rocketing straight out of his ass.

I guess he was so excited his poor little sphincter finally relaxed and...well, all I can say is thank God that Cat Door gifted me with some fantastic enzyme carpet cleaner from Peestravaganza 2008.

*****

I just realized that I hadn't talked about Cat Door in a long time. He's been busy. Really busy. Like so busy that most days he barely takes lunch and is working from 6 AM until 6 PM.

A few months ago, he was going into Home Depot when he saw this bum-looking character hanging around as usual. The guy would always kind of wave at him and of course, Cat Door always gave him The Marine Nod and moved on his way. That day was different, though - the guy asked if Cat Door would give him a job. He said yeah, but only on a provisional basis.

So here we are a few months later, and Al - the Bum - is still working for him. Why, I'm not sure, because these are just a few of the highlights of Al's employment:

*His first week, Cat Door paid him and then got a phone call not even 24 hours later that Al had gotten drunk and lost all his money. And wanted a loan.

*Two weeks after that, Al was getting ready to get evicted from his trailer so he decided to go door-to-door in the trailer park trying to pick up side jobs fixing things so he could get rent money. He ended up finding two women who were in the same predicament so they all decided to move in together. Then I guess Al and one of the ladies (ahem) started hooking up, so Cat Door was treated to reports on an hourly basis about how Al hadn't gotten laid in SIX YEARS and damn, he'd forgotten what he was missing. Keep in mind, this guy is 62 years old - I'm just hoping he doesn't have a heart attack or something after a drought like that.

*A few weeks later, Al told him that he had to take a half-day off in order to bomb his trailer for roaches. Cat Door had the other helper drive Al home (because, of course, he hasn't had a driver's license in like 20 years), and when the helper came back he said, "Mike, I don't think he's going home to bomb his trailer. He had me drop him off at the liquor store." Three hours later, Al started drunk-dialing Cat Door's cell phone every 10 minutes for the next few hours even after Cat Door cut his cell phone off. He also quit about five or six times. Eventually, the next day, he called Cat Door and asked if he could have his job back.

*He lost his cheapo Wal-Mart reading glasses, but instead of fessing up he came on to work without saying a word. He then proceeded to cut 27 pieces of siding incorrectly because he couldn't see.

*Last Monday, he called in sick because he said he'd had a little accident. The following day, he showed up with an elbow swollen up to the size of a grapefruit - he'd chipped the bone in a car accident. Oh, and he needed another loan.

So I think over the past few months, he's averaged about three days a week. Cat Door was bitching on Friday about how busy he's been and how he really wants to go on a motocross trip to Vegas in October and he doesn't have anyone reliable to keep an eye on things while he's gone. "Why, Mike, can't you hire anyone decent?" I asked.

"Liz - I can't afford decent. I can afford breathing with a pulse."

And I'm thinking that surely Al must've worked for Joey at some point, because that's exactly the caliber of employee that they have at The Bane of My Existence.

Have a great Monday, y'all.

Something to think about

2008-09-04T22:05:00.002-04:00

This is what I call the definition of optimism:

Getting only one napkin in a kids' meal at Wendy's.

Age before beauty

2008-09-03T21:36:00.002-04:00

As I've mentioned, oh, about ten zillion times, I worship at the altar of Celeste the Skin Goddess pretty much every 5 weeks or so.

Or at least I used to. Before she mysteriously disappeared.

The backstory on all this is that this lady named Sheri owns the skin place. Celeste worked for her for about...oh, two years? Sheri is probably in her early 40's whereas Celeste is a whopping 26 years old.

I felt like they seemed to get along okay when I first started going there. But over the past few months, I noticed that as Celeste's personal life seemed to get rockier, things at work weren't going so well either. Celeste is a really sweet girl, but she is a freaking emotional trainwreck. She broke up with her boyfriend of three years back in January and had been dating this guy in a rock band off and on over the past three months. She had been living with the ex and got so dependent on the two-income household that moving out on her own had proven to be very difficult - not only financially, but emotionally too. Not to mention the rocker guy was way immature and younger than her, so they broke up and got back together a few dozen times. Every time I went in there, she had some new stories to tell me.

Honestly, I enjoyed it. She was fun to talk to, and of course who doesn't like to play the Mama Bear in a situation like that. She always listened to my advice and even if she didn't take it, I think it helped her just get some things off her chest.

Then, a few months ago, she mentioned to me that she hoped she hadn't ever offended me with her stories. I guess maybe someone had complained to Sheri, her boss, about it? I assured her that no, it hadn't offended me at all and actually I enjoyed having an hour of just girl talk. It was fun.

Four weeks ago, I got a call from the skin place's receptionist telling me that they needed to cancel my appointment with Celeste because, um, she no longer worked there. Huh? I immediately panicked. What was I going to do?

In the back of my mind, though, I was a teensy bit relieved. Let's face it...I'm not getting any younger. After the previous few visits, I had become a little dissatisfied with Celeste's service. She was constantly pushing products and trying all kinds of crazy stuff on me. And I felt like my skin wasn't really getting any better - if anything it was getting worse. It felt dry and rashy and was very prone to breakouts as well. I had been toying with the idea of switching over to Sheri with the hopes that having an "older" woman handling it that I would be happier with the results. So I set an appointment with her and went.

I'm glad I did. She set me up with a slightly tweaked program and enough samples to get me through a few weeks. And I have been pleased. Very pleased. Not to mention I have fewer steps to my skincare regimen than I ever have, with much better results.

Today, I walked by April's office and she waved me in. She had heard from Celeste - as a matter of fact, they had lunch a few weeks ago and Celeste said she's moved on to a new place. And she wants to know if I'm going to follow her.

No. I'm not going to. While Sheri isn't as "fun" as Celeste, she certainly is nice. And really, the last appointment was really relaxing as we talked about our kids and green tea and summer vacations. I walked out with a bag of samples and was very happy with the results. Not to mention that I was totally relaxed. It was just what the doctor ordered.

Maybe this old lady needed another old lady after all. And a big bottle of thermal spring water, to boot.

First day

2008-09-02T19:45:00.003-04:00

The last week has been a whirlwind of football practices, a quick trip to Charlotte (of which we will never speak again because the Hokies sucked that bad), some fun and frolic with the Badasses, and of course...the first day of school today. Sigh.

I was thinking back today about the first day of school when I was growing up. I loved school (freak). I couldn't wait for school to start. But my first day was never special. I suspect that by the time I came along - kid number four to a mom who was worn out from having teenagers - my mom was happy to just push me out the door to the bus stop. I don't ever remember her walking me to the bus stop, or doing any kind of first-day rituals with me. No pictures, no cookies after school, nothing.

Gosh, I'm getting kind of sad now.

And then there's Joey, who was basically raised by his grandparents. His parents were so busy working trying to keep a roof over their heads that they were almost never home. And his grandparents didn't drive, so it really limited what he was able to do. Like he never got to play any sports in school because there was no one to pick him up. He did play baseball for an independent league, but only because he had buddies whose moms would pick him up.

Again, sad.

So, when Monkey Man asked me yesterday if I was going to come to The World's Most Expensive Preschool to watch him get on the bus on the first day of school, I kind of gulped and said yes, I would be there. I hadn't planned on going - heck, I was planning on getting to work early and everything knowing what a busy week we were going to have - but I couldn't let the boy down. If he wanted me there, I was going to be there, dammit. I left EPOD a voicemail explaining what I was up to and that I would be in around 9:30.

I crept into the school this morning where the kids were lined up waiting on the buses. I started snapping pictures when he looked over at me and waved me to come over.

"MOMMY. I'm not in kindergarten anymore, so really, you don't have to be here."

Oh. My bad. So I went back over and stood against the wall, just observing the kids.

He beckoned to me again.

"Okay, well, I just wanted to say that I'm still glad you're here." And he hugged me.

The little shit.

He really likes his new teacher, and has a few buddies in his class (albeit none of the Badass kids are in the same class this year, what were the odds of that?). And he got one of his beloved cafeteria cheeseburgers for lunch, so the world was good.

Football frenzy

2008-08-25T21:11:00.003-04:00

By the way, congrats to Michelle B. who won the Yoplait Kids giveaway over at Picks and Pans!

There is still one prize left, so if anyone is interested please leave me a comment over there and I'll zip it to you as soon as I can get my head above water!

*****

Football has totally taken over Builder Mama Headquarters. All football, all the time. Practices four days a week, and this weekend was the "jamboree" which is just a translation for multiple scrimmages while the parents sit out in the sun and dirt.

I have to confess, though, that it was fun. I love watching Monkey Man play. He adores football and would eat, sleep, and breathe it if he could.

He's fast. Really fast. He sure didn't get it from me, and he didn't get it from Joey either. "All I ever do is see him sprawled on the couch," complained Joey the other night. Yup, that about sums up his existence. Until football.

He has this really odd obsession about uniform colors and mascots. It's probably a good thing that his school colors are yellow and black, or we'd probably have to move. And every team he plays he has to know what the mascot is.

His team is called the Gators. So every team that he plays, he will repeat some silly thing like "Mommy, we're gonna chomp the Cardinals this Saturday!" And usually, I'm focused more on things like not running over kids in the parking lot so I'm going uh huh, yeah, great.

Last Friday, we were riding down the road when he asked me what team they were playing on Saturday....

Monkey Man: So Mommy, who are we playing?

Me: All I know is that you're playing Weaver in the first game.

MM: Weaver? What's their mascot?

Me: I don't know, son. I have no idea...

MM: I bet it's the Beavers! The Weaver Beavers!

Me: I doubt it. I don't think any teams around here are called the Beavers.

MM: But it rhymes! Weaver Beavers!

Me: Mmm hmmm...

A few moments goes by, and you can almost hear the wheels turning in his head....

MM: Yup, we're gonna eat some Beavers this weekend!

Holy crap. I just about drove off the road with that one. It was all I could do not to pee my pants trying not to laugh.

It's gonna be a loooong fall.

Brain power!

2008-08-21T06:10:00.000-04:00

Do you want something free?

Do you want to make your kid smart?

Duh! Of course you do! So hop on over to Picks and Pans to check out my review on Yoplait Kids. And I have a giveaway! And a free coupon!

So get moving!

Texas - part two, the revenge

2008-08-19T21:34:00.002-04:00

After the unit dinner on Friday night, we took Monkey Man to the pool to blow off a little steam and then hung out with my family on the outdoor patio. It was pleasantly cool and we traded a lot of stories and laughed a lot. It was a pretty nice evening.

Then, in the middle of the night, the thunderstorms started. I am not kidding when I say that they probably lasted about five hours of nonstop crashing and banging. The power even flickered off in the hotel a few times. I think the only person in the whole hotel sleeping was Monkey Man, go figure.

So Saturday morning, we groggily headed over to meet my family for breakfast before we left town. Meanwhile, my poor nephew Steve got stranded at the Abilene airport thanks to a power outage and the thunderstorms that were still going on at flight time (5:30 AM, egads!) so there was a brief chance that we were going to have to pick him up on the way to Dallas, but thankfully he managed to get the last seat on a flight to Dallas. Poor guy ended up then getting put on another airline, sent to Cincinnati, and then back to Richmond. He was supposed to be home by noon on Saturday and I think actually got in around 6:30 PM instead.

We had previously decided to head back to Dallas on Saturday in order to take Monkey Man to the aquarium. Dallas has a pretty cool aquarium, and we had visited it back in 2001 when he was still in utero so we felt like hey, let's do it again.

Another mental note to self: Going to something like an aquarium during the weekend in the summer is tantamount to shooting oneself in the foot repeatedly. With a bazooka.

The aquarium was wall-to-wall people. And strollers, God, the strollers. I think Baltimore has the right idea to forbid strollers. There were two couples in front of us with infants (and no other kids) and those huge travel systems that were the size of a Honda Civic - which was pretty annoying when they decided to park said systems in the middle of the already crowded and narrow pathways. Not to mention, why do people let their kids run wild in places like this? Maybe they are hoping that someone will kidnap them so they can go have a beer? I don't get that at all. I'm all about letting kids blow off some steam and be kids - but letting them run wild in a place that was already chaotic and crowded was pretty idiotic in my opinion.

That being said, Monkey Man had a total blast especially when we got to the penguins. The kid is totally enamored with penguins so of course we had to pick up a stuffed penguin at the store on the way out. Did I mention he got a few airplanes from the museum store in Abilene, and then my sister-in-law Karen had bought him some new books too? The kid made out like a total bandito.

By the time we finished at the aquarium, our nerves were totally shot. We headed straight for our hotel - a Marriott that was close to the airport, and we have always had a great experience at every Marriott that we've ever stayed at so we were really looking forward to it.

Um, not so much. A tip for you - if the Marriott is one of the older properties that has had the interior decorating all redone, chances are the walls are made of something like tissue paper. But more on that in a minute.

They had a steakhouse at the hotel so we opted to stay in and eat there. We ordered dinner and a nice, inexpensive bottle of red wine which I promptly managed to spill all over Monkey Man. And no, I hadn't even had a drop yet. So they graciously moved our table, cleaned it all up, replaced the wine (for free) and were kind enough to present Monkey Man with a very cool organic cotton t-shirt from their gift shop to change into. Again, for free. We were impressed.

Later on, we got some Haagen Dazs from room service and chowed down on some ice cream while we watched the Olympics. A perfect night after not getting much sleep the night before, and we settled in knowing that we would be well-rested on Sunday morning for our long trip back.

This would be where the irony starts.

Around 1:30 AM, I heard some very loud and drunk people come down our hallway. Turns out that some of them were in the room next door, and the others were staying across the hall. They jabbered on for about 20 minutes and I could've been a beeyotch and told them to STFU, but I figured hey - I've BEEN that drunk person before, so I'd just wait a bit and they would eventually shut up. I drifted back off to sleep...

Whee....wheeeee....wheeeeee....

What the hell? It sounded like a baby crying. I perked my ears up, groggy, still half-asleep.

Oh, hell no. It was the rednecks copulating. And she was squealing like a pig.

For real.

This went on for forty-five minutes. Forty. Five. Minutes. Wheeeee....wheeeeee....wheeeeee....

The first five minutes, I have to admit - I was kind of turned on. But after twenty minutes, I was annoyed. I mean, come on, people!

They finally stopped. I drifted back off to sleep....

Wheeeee....wheeeee....wheeeeeeeeeee....

Twenty minutes. Then stopped.

Back to sleep.

Wheeeee....wheeee....wheeeeeeee.....

Holy damn. Again? This time, I finally heard the guy let out a loud groan/primal yell and I was like Thank You, Whoever Made This Possible. And I went back to sleep.

Wheeeeeeeeeee.....

At this point, I turned to Joey - who was asleep in the other bed with Monkey Man (who slept blissfully through the whole thing) and said, "Maybe I should go over there and volunteer to help them, because they really need to wrap this thing up!"

We got to giggling so bad we couldn't stop. And finally, at 5:12 AM, I heard the last squeal and it stopped.

The alarm went off at 7 AM. And if you guys think I was quiet trying to get ready to leave, you'd be dead wrong. Not to mention, I was scanning all of the faces of the couples in the restaurant trying to see if any of them looked like they had been up all night playing farmer and pig.

So we were already exhausted...our flight leaving Dallas was delayed so when we got to Atlanta we had less than 20 minutes to change terminals and of course our gates were at the total opposite ends of the terminals...we barely made our flight and there was no lunch to be had. We had one apple NutriGrain bar tucked in Monkey Man's backpack so we gave that to him, we survived on the miniscule packages of pretzels and vowed that the minute we hit the ground we'd find the nearest place to eat and get some food.

I think we ordered about $30 in appetizers alone. We were like wolverines.

Thankfully, all of the luggage made it and other than being hungry we made it home, safe and sound. But tired. Exhausted, really.

And if I lie in my bed at night, I can still hear the sound of a woman squealing like a pig. I'm hoping that will fade away soon.