Friend or foe?

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.

Of dog hair, Oreos, and kissing diseases

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...

I am a technological idiot

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.

Sunday

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!

WWYD? WWOD?

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.

Suckage

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.

Whew. Just think, we get to do this again in four years....

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.

Finally, a title for my memoirs

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."

It's all Greek to me

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.

Packing it in

Tonight I managed to get Joey to relieve me from parental duties at football practice so I could come home and attempt to pack. Our flight leaves at some ungodly hour on Thursday so everything possible needs to be packed by tomorrow night save for our toothbrushes and maybe my makeup bag.

The last time I went to Abilene was in October of 2001. I was hugely pregnant and less than enthused about traveling in an airplane after 9/11, but we had already bought the tickets and I figured if my number was up...well, you know the rest. We got to the airport and of course, I got picked for a random luggage search. I stood there, huge as a house in a very unflattering jumper, while a lady slowly unpacked my entire ginormous suitcase one item at a time. It was almost a shame I didn't have some huge dildo in there or something for her to find. Then she unceremoniously stuffed it all back in the suitcase and handed it back to me.

I was less than enthused. Seriously, does a 7-1/2 month pregnant woman look like a terrorist?

Don't answer that.

So we got to Dallas and discovered that some douchebag had picked up my small black suitcase off the baggage claim carousel. It contained all of my makeup, shampoo, prenatal vitamins, and of course the $500 heart monitor that my cardiologist required me to wear since I'd been having some heart issues during my pregnancy. I think it was three days later - or the day before we headed back to Dallas - when the damn suitcase finally showed up.

Anyhow, once we got to Abilene we found my parents and discovered that they, too, had been picked for a random luggage search.

But they got upgraded to first class. You know, because they felt "so guilty" about picking on a few old people. They got fucking lobster and champagne, people.

I got a bag of pretzels and half of a Coke. Warm. In coach.

Anyhow, I'm hoping that this time - knock on wood - I will not be searched, we will not have our luggage taken, and that we will finally conquer the bad luck that has haunted almost every trip we've been on since we got married.

I've always teased Joey that I traveled all over the world with nary a problem. Then I married him and it became a whirlwind of travel disasters starting with our honeymoon. Lost luggage, the hotel had us booked for the wrong week, and he got the flu the day before we had to fly home, leaving me to carry his ass and 13 suitcases through the Bahamian airport. Good times, good times.

I think that might've been the worst time, although we did have one disastrous trip - I can't even remember where we were going - where flights kept getting cancelled and we ended up stuck somewhere like Cincinnati overnight. That was fun.

Oh, and there was the trip to Nashville where I was probably 12 weeks pregnant and ended up throwing up all over myself in the plane due to turbulence. Then promptly ran into people I knew in the hotel lobby as I was caked with vomit.

Gosh, I could go on and on. All I have to say is that our luck has got to change at some point, hopefully starting now.

Catching up

No, not on blogging. Way more glamorous than that. On laundry.

Seriously, I have done more loads of laundry this weekend than I care to count. And not just clothes, but bathmats and towels and all kinds of stuff.

This has been our first weekend home in a month, and on Thursday we jet off to Texas on what might be summed up as The Most Expensive Short Weekend We've Ever Had. Vegas doesn't count because we can expense that.

So in the meantime, since flag football practice starts with a vengeance this week, I have to get as much done today as I can so it's not all waiting for me Wednesday night. Did I mention our flight leaves at 6 AM on Thursday? Um, yeah.

*****

Speaking of catching up, Joey's college roommate Flash and his wife Debbie (and their 2 kids) were in town yesterday, so we enlisted a babysitter to watch the kids so we could go have a nice dinner. You know, one where no one is fighting over who is looking at someone cross-eyed or invading their personal space.

We all used to be pretty close. Pre-kids, we spent almost every weekend during football season together, and then we took a few trips together. Once the kids came, though, things change. They usually do.

It's not that I'm opposed to religion. Or anyone's religious views as long as they don't try to shove them down my throat or make me feel badly for not having the same views that they do. But honestly, I could go a whole lifetime without every conversation being dominated by religion. And that's how it's been with them for the past three years. Two years ago during their annual Manstravaganza four-wheeling trip, it was so bad that Joey came home wondering if he and Flash could still be friends.

I guess sometimes we outgrow our friends like an old, comfy t-shirt that finally shrinks up so much you can't wear it in public anymore. Sure, you can wear it in the yard or to lay around on a lazy day, but you don't wear it like you used to. It makes you feel uncomfortable.

I think that's where we're at with this friendship. It's not that we don't love them, and we certainly don't expect them to give up what they believe in. And it's not that we feel like everyone we know has to play beer pong with us. It's just...well, the religion talk is stifling. And uncomfortable.

Anyhow, it was a nice dinner and the food was great. The conversation, though, was awkward. So I'm not sure we'll be doing that again anytime soon.

*****

Another thing I need to catch up on is my reading. I ordered a book about my dad's World War II unit so that I could read it before we leave for Texas. Well, the sucker got here on Friday and I haven't cracked it open yet. I better get motivated....

*****

Last, but not least, I heard from an old high school friend yesterday. Long story short, Dave and I have known each other since probably 2nd grade. We dated a few months in high school and it just didn't work out - no hard feelings. We had a lot of classes together and he was always one of my favorite people (despite the fact that he was one of Mr. Magliaro's pets in trig class and I'm only mildly bitter about it since I barely skated by in there).

Back in January, I had gotten one of those silly emails from Classmates.com about someone signing my "guestbook". They totally suckered me in to paying for the membership so that I could see who it was. And it was Dave - and I didn't email him back.

Enter Facebook...he sent me a friend request and when I checked him out, his profile picture had him and three cute little boys. Okay, I felt better about responding. Is that shallow or what? We've been exchanging emails for the last 24 hours and it's been good to catch up. He has become pretty successful, as I figured he would. Happily married with three adorable sons. I'm really happy for him.

Will we talk again? Who knows. But it's kind of nice and fun to find out what happened to him. He was a great guy.

Now, who else will come creeping out of the woodwork from my past....

Held hostage by crazy people

I am one of the few people that you will ever meet that will willingly admit to being a control freak. And not in an angry, bitter way - just as a "this is who I am" part of me.

I try not to impose my opinions or wants on other people. But if I feel like I don't have control over a situation, it makes me feel a little sick inside. Okay, really sick inside.

I've worked on it some. And I've embraced it a little, too. I think you can do both, right? RIGHT?

Okay, losing control. Must focus.

This weekend is shaping up to be fun for the most part. In about 30 minutes we will have the following equation take place:

2 moms + 4 kids + 1 Brazilian au pair + 2 bottles of wine + 1 swimming pool = FUN.

Yes, I'm meeting Jay and her crew at the pool. This is our first venture out to our neighborhood pool this year, not exactly sure why but I'm kind of looking forward to it. Not looking forward to blinding everyone with the whiteness of my thighs, but there's going to have to be a point where I have to do that in order to fix the problem.

Then there's tomorrow. Baseball game followed by a trip to Heather's pool with husbands and kids - there will be plenty of beer and good food. Oh, and I have to sneak out and pick up Joey's present from Monkey Man which is ready.

And then, there's Sunday.

As I mentioned last time, the dreaded in-laws decided that they were coming. Then not coming. Then maybe coming. And now, we have no freaking idea exactly when they are coming or if they are coming or if we're meeting them halfway or what. As in, now we have no concrete plans for Sunday waiting on their stupid asses to make up their minds what they are willing to do.

I hate being held hostage by crazy people.

So until then, I am determined not to give Joey any eye-rolling, not to make any snide comments, or undermine his opinion that his parents are the most considerate people on the face of the planet. I think it's pretty evident that they're not and we all can see it, even if he can't. I still have faith that one day, he too will realize that they are psychopathic idiots of the highest magnitude.

Whew, that felt better.

*****

A good thing and a bad thing. Bad things first.

Cat Door's wife - The Mrs. has a very small family. I guess her family didn't reproduce a lot, and her own parents died years ago, so she has a brother (with wife and kids) and a cousin she is close to (and his wife, kids, and parents). Well, she lost one uncle on Tuesday to cancer, and then another passed away this morning unexpectedly. So if you don't mind keeping her in your thoughts, I'd appreciate it. Two funerals in one weekend, and she's taking it pretty hard.

And a good thing. Today is the last day of school, and my boy is officially a rising first grader. With a perfect report card. Mama couldn't be happier.

What exactly is normal, anyway?

I was going to call this post "Back to normal" but what exactly does that mean around here, anyway?

Joey came home last night. I have to admit that I've grown to enjoy his yearly Manstravaganza, especially now that Monkey Man is older and grown to be so much fun. We packed so much crap into five days that it was unbelievable. And fun.

And you know, I secretly enjoy having a few days where I don't have to worry about anyone's schedule. With Joey's job, it's a constant struggle to work everything around when he's going to be done. I know his cell phone rings at 5:15 every night with me on the other end wanting to know what the plan is for the evening and he probably cringes. So having a few days where it is me and my little buddy is fun. Not saying that I want it that way all the time, but it's a nice break.

Of course, this weekend is Father's Day and somehow I had the inkling that my in-laws were going to rear their ugly heads this weekend. Sure enough, the hair was standing up on the back of my neck as Joey pulled into the restaurant parking lot tonight at dinner and he was on the phone. Yup, my mother-in-law. It seems that they will be going to a nephew's graduation party about 40 minutes from our house on Saturday night (we were not invited, go figure) and they want us to meet them for breakfast or lunch for Father's Day.

Holidays are a serious sore point around here. Especially Mother's Day. Starting with the year that Monkey Man had turned one, my mother-in-law started with her theatrics the Friday before Mother's Day. She locked herself in her bathroom at her house and cried for hours because "her boys" (a.k.a. Joey and his brother Kenny) weren't coming for Mother's Day. My father-in-law called Joey and cussed him up one side and down another for "disrepektin yo mama" or some bullshit like that. So he was upset all weekend and basically we barely spoke.

The year after that, she locked herself in their bedroom crying. Again. So Joey decided after his father's angry call that WE had to go down to see his parents on Mother's Day weekend.

Um, I say bullshit. Again.

I was so angry with him that we ended up fighting again the entire weekend. And for at least a week after that. It got to the point where we had to actually sit down and come up with a written "contract" of what holidays would be spent where and all that stuff. It worked for about a year, and then fell by the wayside. The point being, I think he finally got it.

My whole bone of contention...not that I wanted him to disrespect his own mother, but I really felt like Mother's Day should be my day with my family. As in, the three of us being my family. At that point, my mother-in-law had gotten 32 Mother's Days all to herself. I had gotten two, both of them ruined by her fucking theatrics. It was mean and unfair. Joey's point was that she is his mom, and how could he ignore her on Mother's Day?

My point was...you don't have to ignore her - make plans to do something with her the weekend before, the day before, or the weekend after. Call her on Mother's Day. Send her a gift and/or a card. But dammit, Mother's Day should be our family day together. I never dragged him to see my father on Father's Day, so I expected the same courtesy. All I ever wanted was just to get to choose what *I* wanted to do on Mother's Day. Which would not involve spending the day with people I can barely tolerate.

Believe me, if you know my rocky relationship with my in-laws, you would know by now that my idea of the perfect day would be to get as far away from them as possible.

So anyhow, since the big blow-up I have gotten Mother's Day to choose whatever I wanted to do. And he has gotten Father's Day, and almost every year we have had to tolerate meeting his parents for lunch. I hate it, but it's his day and I just suck it up and pray that it's over quickly.

The worst part is that now that I know that we're going to have to see them this weekend, I am automatically on the defensive as well as feeling pretty snippy about the whole thing. My mother-in-law has called Joey's cell phone three times tonight and they are whispering about who knows what, probably some scheme she has come up with for Sunday. It makes my stomach hurt.

Maybe my father-in-law will share some of his hooch with me. That might make Sunday more tolerable.

Martha Stewart I am not

With all the chaos currently going on at Builder Mama Headquarters, I've pretty much been slacking off in the parental involvement department in terms of those pesky emails that I get several times a week from the Class Mother (sound of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir in the background) begging for us to send stuff in. Next year, there is no way in hell that I'm signing up for both the PTA volunteer list and the class volunteer list. No way. No. Freaking. Way.

School officially ends on June 13th and after the Field Day festivities of a week ago (including the requisite emails asking for a myriad of things like a cooler, ice, water bottles, etc.) I breathed a huge sigh of relief that the class parties, except for probably a party on the last day of school, were over. Done. Finito.

Yeah, right.

Yesterday, I get an email from the class mother at 4 PM telling her faithful minions that the teacher has decided to have a July 4th party on Friday. That would be this Friday, May 30th. Not July, May.

Uh, okay. So then the email goes on to state that she needs things like hot dog buns, napkins, and then the real kicker. "It would be nice if one of the PA kids' mothers would provide dessert for the class like cookies or cupcakes."

Oh it would be, wouldn't it? Sure, if you're not one of the moms of the PA kids.

PA stands for Peanut Allergic. And yes, my kid is PA. There are actually three PA kids in his class, one of which can't even be in the same room as peanuts or she goes into anaphylactic shock. It's serious stuff, folks. Thankfully, my kid is not put into a life-threatening state by the presence of peanuts, but we keep all nuts away from him with the hopes that by reducing his chance to exposure, he will never have to worry about dying because someone left a speck of peanut butter on the table.

The agony of all of this is that unless people have a kid with food allergies, or know someone like Monkey Man that has food allergies, they think it's no big deal. Seriously, I have had people tell me that I worry too much, that he'll grow out of it, and all kinds of other insane things.

No, he won't grow out of it. Yes, it's serious. Yes, it can potentially kill a person who is highly allergic.

After living with this for so many years, I've become kind of numb to the whole thing. You get so used to checking packages, to asking questions, to bringing your own treats to birthday parties, that it just becomes routine. And you really stop expecting people to understand how freaking hard it is and you just suck it up and do the best you can do.

You might ask - what irritated me about the email? The fact that we were singled out and made to feel like if we didn't provide the treats, the class would go without them. So it's either suck it up and spend the next 2 nights baking and decorating cupcakes, or be known as the mean mom who didn't bring dessert for the class. That's what it makes me feel like. Never mind the fact that I have to work both days, I had to drag a very unwilling dog to the vet tonight, have to shovel out the mess so Reyna can clean tomorrow, then tomorrow night I have a haircut right after work and will have to come home and deal with the cupcake fiasco.

It just rubbed me the wrong damn way. So sue me.

And I'm sure that Martha wouldn't turn up her nose at me for using, gasp, prepackaged cake mix and canned frosting, right? Right. Even she wouldn't be that mean.

*****

On a somewhat related note, I had to drag a very unwilling corgi to the vet this afternoon. Seems as though he got a goopy eye about five days ago and although I've been putting his usual "goopy eye salve" in there it hasn't gotten better. Not to mention the poor guy has been kind of gimpy around the house lately, struggling to walk without a severe limp.

If you've seen a corgi, almost all of them are overweight unless they are show dogs. And yes, poor Rufus has been told today that he has to lose 15 pounds.

This is so not going to be fun. He already acts like we don't feed him enough and spends every spare second in the house scouring the carpet for any wayward crumbs or morsels of Oreo Goodness. He is downright pathetic already, let alone now being fed DIET DOG FOOD. He was glaring at the bag the whole way home from the vet with palpable hatred.

Sicko

I probably should've known something was amiss on Friday afternoon when I got home from cabinet shopping with Yancey and Cat Door. For one thing, I was immediately irritated to find the drywall people working at the house - I was totally jonesing for a nap and this sent me into total orbit. Then, I was supposed to go out for dinner with the Badasses and seriously, it took wild horses to drag me out of the house to go. Actually, it was the fact that I had promised Jay that I would drive her since she has night blindness and couldn't drive herself. I really felt like I couldn't bail on her at the last minute so I put my big girl panties on and went.

On Saturday, I was relieved that it rained enough that we didn't have baseball practice. And we didn't do a damn thing all day other than just putz around the house.

By Sunday, I was feeling a little more like myself until after lunch. Then I started to feel run down. And my chest grew tighter. And then the coughing started.

Chachi had come into work sick three days last week. On Friday, he called in sick but was kind enough to come by to tell us that he'd finally gone to the doctor and had bronchitis. This would be after three days of him coughing all over the place including all the filing cabinets in my office. Bleh.

The good news is that I did take today off and went to the doctor and caught up on rest. In the doctor's words, roughly paraphrased, apparently I'm not as sick as I feel - I'm just really tired. Like the Friday night fire alarm fiasco and then coughing all night last night really kicked my butt. So I got antibiotics, came home and slept for an hour, and then laid around all day doing a whole lotta nothing. Oh, other than an entertaining email exchange with Mitzi about the Rock of Love II finale last night. That was fun.

A big part of this whole equation - other than just being sick for the third time in two months despite doing pretty much everything in my power to stay well - is that I'm kind of emotionally spent. The bathroom renovation is nearing eight weeks at this point and there's really nothing I can do about it. Cat Door's tile subcontractor has been a thorn in my side since day one, the glass guys are having difficulty getting the shower enclosure 100% right (hell, I'd settle for 95% right at this point) and I am kind of tired of never knowing who I'm going to find in my house when I get home. It's a fine line to walk - I know, as a contractor myself, that there is only so much control we have over subcontractors and sometimes it's frustrating as hell. Cat Door has had a lot of frustrations with the tile guys and they just aren't responsive. Replacing them really isn't an option at this point because the price they gave me to replace the floor is so doggone cheap that I could never get that anywhere else even with a bounty of sexual favors. And the glass - well, apparently this is the first such enclosure to be put in here in the city so we're the guinea pigs and it might take a while for them to get it right. I really hadn't counted on being the training ground for the glass people but I guess it is what it is.

I know when it's all said and done, it will be incredible. We will use it every day and be glad that we went through it. And hopefully I won't end up losing a friendship in the process. Joey keeps reminding me that Cat Door is doing the best he can - and he has only so much control over the subcontractors - and we have to be patient. We haven't had a ton of inconvenience, but my own personal preference is for the house not to be torn up for months on end. I want to have a brand new sparkly bathroom, he wants to do a good job, and we will make it through. Eventually.

Off to get a little rest. I suspect I'll have to drag myself into the office tomorrow so some sleep would be very helpful.

The beeping, stop the bleeping beeping!

Ever since about a year after we moved into this house, we've had trouble with the smoke detectors. They are hard-wired into our electrical system with a 9-volt battery backup, and they're known to start blaring out for no discernible reason whatsoever. It hasn't been a consistent problem, but always seems to happen in the middle of the freaking night - and usually it's not a weekend problem, but a Wednesday night problem where you then have to drag through Thursday at the office running on about two hours of sleep.

The last major alarm problem happened last July. At that time, I consulted with a few friends who had the same issues at one point or another and they claimed it was either a dead backup battery, or that there was dust clogging up the sensors. We got on a routine - every 3 months like clockwork we would change the batteries in each alarm, vacuum out each alarm, and then reset the whole system. I think since July we might've had one incident on a Saturday afternoon where they went off, but we managed to figure it out in about 10 minutes and the problem vanished.

Sooooo...about a week ago I woke up in the middle of the night thinking I heard something. I wasn't really sure what it was, but I settled back to sleep after lying in the bed and straining to listen in the darkness. The next morning, I remarked to Joey that we were about due for a battery change and vacuuming session so we needed to plan a night or a day to do it.

At 3:43 this morning, the alarms started blaring. So we got out the stepladders, grabbed the big Costco pack of batteries and the canned air and serviced five of the eight alarms. And as we're doing it, the stupid system keeps going off over and over. Finally, after about 15 minutes it all stopped and we crawled back into bed exhausted.

My problem with being awakened unexpectedly in the middle of the night - whatever the reason - is that I can't turn my brain off at that point. Seriously, I laid there and obsessed for about 52 minutes about the stupid smoke alarms. Finally, I drifted back to sleep...for about two minutes...and then WAH, WAH, WAH, WAH, the stupid alarms started blaring again.

Dammit.

So then we did the other three alarms, giving them new batteries and a quick cleaning. Things were quiet, so we went back to bed. I was just getting back to sleep and then...WAH, WAH, WAH, WAH, WAH.

At this point it was almost 6:30 so I was pretty much resigned that we weren't going to be going back to sleep. We were running all over the house trying to figure out which of the stupid alarms was triggering the rest of the system - and then realized that the little warning lights and "active" lights weren't working the same on each unit.

Great. So how do you figure out what's going on when no unit is acting the same? ARGH.

Long story short, the stupid things proceeded to go off for the next six hours at an average of every 30 minutes. I called my friend Cathy, whose husband Patrick is an electrician - and he gave me a call back and said he'd be by after work today to help us out. Joey went to Lowe's and purchased eight new smoke detectors along with 10-year lithium batteries to put in for backup, we prepped everything, and Patrick put them in. And wouldn't take more than a few beers for payment. We are so going to take them out for a nice dinner next week to thank him for doing that for us.

The interesting thing was that as I was reading through the websites for different alarm manufacturers trying to pick out what we wanted, I noticed that one manufacturer noted that if your system is continuously going off without any reason and you can't reset it, that one of the units is bad and needs replacing. I'm kind of wondering if several of ours weren't faulty or something since the stupid lights were never the same. These new ones also have a "hush" feature to prevent from "annoyance alarms" which I'm all about. Hopefully we won't have to use that feature that often though.

The biggest problem? I keep hearing those blaring alarms in my head. And I am tired to the point of wanting to just fall right over. And the dog, between the thunderstorms we had today and the stupid alarms, is a neurotic mess. Or I guess I should say more of a neurotic mess than usual.

Unfreakinbelievable

No questions today. But I'm good with that, because I have other things to talk about.

Mainly, my crazy-ass family. Seriously, people, they are making Joey's parents look like the normal people in this whole equation. And I can't believe I'm even thinking that.

Y'all know my dad means the world to me. He is my biggest hero, not just because he's my dad but he's also a decorated war veteran. The man served in World War II, in the Korean War, and then later on went to Vietnam seven times during the war working for NATO. He's a serious guy, my dad.

I've written about his World War II experience before - it was a trip to Abilene, Texas back in September of 2001 that finally opened my eyes to all of the horrors he'd experienced during the war. Go ahead, click that link and read it and you'll see what I'm talking about.

His Division from that war gathers once a year in various cities around the country for a few days to have a little reunion. And this year, it's back in Abilene. My dad has been talking about it for months, and it's pretty evident that he really wants us all to go along too.

Let's face facts. He'll be 86 in July, he had a major health scare two years ago where we almost lost him, and his prostate cancer seems to be rearing its head again. He went on a trip to Seattle a few months ago with my sister and brother-in-law and it was pretty rough on him. So I think this is it...his last "big" trip and certainly his last trip to Abilene.

I'll be completely honest and say right now that the thought of spending thousands of dollars to go roast my ass off in Texas in August is not exactly my cup of tea. But dammit, the man wants me to go and I'm going to go if it takes everything I have to make it happen.

Yesterday I had talked to my sister and we discussed how to get my brothers to go. I think Dave, my brother in Seattle, will almost definitely go. He's good like that - if you ask him to do something, he'll do it. It's just that you have to ask.

Then there's my brother Paul. The one married to the religious nutjob. The one that caused the major ruckus last summer when my parents and sister drove up to Pennsylvania and were treated like crap. Yeah, click on that link too. The kicker was that my sister-in-law then wrote a rebuttal letter to my parents and sister and refused to take any responsibility for her actions...and then during her next visit to my parents' house locked herself in their Winnebago and refused to come out until she got an apology. For what, I don't know, but my mom told my brother that she was welcome to come in the house but that there would be no apology, so if she wanted to stay out in the Winnebago she was welcome to. An hour later, Cindy gave in and finally came in...but acted like nothing had happened. She is a freak.

Anyhow, I crafted this letter to my family that read like this:

"The highlight of the Abilene trip is going to see the museum. We went when it first opened back in 2001, it was pretty impressive - but they've done a lot more work and it should be a lot of fun getting to see what they've done since we were last there. Not to mention meeting those gentlemen who are still with us and all of the "legacy members" like us is really a lot of fun!

Dad will be 86 this year, and I suspect that this will probably be his last trip to Abilene. He and Mom have both been dropping hints like crazy that they would love it if we could all go to Abilene and make it a big family trip. Not to mention it's about two weeks after Dad's birthday so wouldn't that be a great birthday present! We are planning on taking <> with us and I know he will be excited to see Texas (although he was mad yesterday to find out that people actually drive cars there and don't ride horses...not sure where THAT came from). It would be great to get as many of the grandkids there as possible too.

Kathie and I have started thinking things through as far as checking airline flights, thinking about transportation and of things to do while we're there. We would love it if as many of us as possible could go and make it a special time not just for Dad, but for all of us. So keep the dates in mind, start checking the airlines for flights, and get your cowboy hats packed!"

Sounds good, right? Not pushy, but kind of a "let's get our act together and go have some fun!"

So this is the response that I get from my sister-in-law. I am so pissed that I am spitting nails. And I am leaving it just as she wrote it, spelling mistakes and all. Keep in mind that this is someone who has allegedly been working on her Ph.D. for at least the last 15 years.

"Liz thanks for adding Paul and I to the mix but it most probably not happen for us. We have done our local hospital's craft show for 27 years. I remember the one year Dave was due within a few weeks. Our dear friend runs the show and there is no one at this point to do it for us. It is a time when we meet with old friends and neighbors. It runs from Aug 13-16. I have expained that to Julian and Ruth but it may be did not register. We must set up all day Tuesday before the show. We had a great time years ago when we went to the Oklahoma reunion. Chris wil be serving once again as an adjunct professor at Kutztown University and Dave would not go alone. We have not shut the door totally but see no way to do the show and the reunion. We are sure it will be a memorable time. Family memories are worth more than money can buy. I sure hope you dad will be at amny more reunions. I am beleiving for that.

Keep in touch. Love Cindy"

Yeah, I'll keep in touch all right. NOT.

I can't even tell y'all how pissed I am about this. They have done NOTHING for my parents for years. And the one freaking time we ask them to do something, they think a stinking craft fair is more important?

I am about ready to send her a go-to-hell email. If you were dealing with a nutjob like her, what would YOU write to her?

*****Edited to add - sorry about the funky fonts, I've been trying to fix it to no avail. Dammit.

Seriously? I've had enough.

When I was talking to Mer this morning, she said, "You sound remarkably composed considering you've had a sick kid for a week and now Joey's back is hurt too." Do you know why? Because I'd already had my meltdown on Thursday night, that's why. Just ask Cat Door, who arrived to drop off paint samples and saw me covered in Monkey Man's blood and when he asked what happened I burst into tears. Not a banner moment, especially since he immediately launched into "Scared Man Mode" and you would've thought I'd just shown him naked pictures of my mom or something. Geez.

This morning Joey dispatched himself to the urgent care center, and three hours later arrived back home with painkillers, muscle relaxers, and a bag from McDonald's. I guess I should be thankful that since he'd been in with back problems twice in less than six months they decided to x-ray him and discovered that yes, it's muscular. I was starting to wonder if maybe he had a slipped disc or something else since it seems to flare up...but nope, just muscles that don't like being contorted. I think at this point he and I both need to work every night on strengthening our cores which then should help both of our twingy backs. And he probably needs to lose about 30 pounds, but don't tell him I said that.

Monkey Man made it through the night last night with no medication except for his antibiotic. I suspect he had developed a little gastritis from all the different medications we'd been pumping him with for the last few weeks - remember, he had just finished up 10 days of Augmentin about 10 days ago, then all this other crap started. All that stuff, even with using probiotics, can give you a case of nasty sour stomach. So anyhow, we skipped everything but antibiotic and believe it or not, he made it all night with no coughing, no vomiting, and only minor snoring. Hallelujah!

So today I had Monkey Man for most of the day. He was in a pretty peculiar mood, ranging between sulking on the couch and bouncing off the walls. Joey is a very active father and I know that once Monkey Man was finally feeling better he wanted to do a little wrasslin' in the basement and maybe some video games...whereas Joey was only capable of lying on his back and sleeping (with some pretty major drooling action). We did venture out to CiCi's Pizza and to the movies where we saw Horton Hears a Who. Very, very cute movie, perfect for all ages.

Let's talk about CiCi's for a minute. If you don't have one of these in your area, you should probably thank your lucky stars. It's basically an all-you-can-eat pizza buffet with some of the worst pizza you have ever wrapped your lips around. And in an effort to seem hip, they make weird pizzas like Macaroni & Cheese Pizza (bleh) and Taco Pizza (double bleh). Add to this a completely anemic, pathetic salad bar (which is a total stretch even to call it that) and this little slice of heaven can be yours for the grand total of about $11 for one adult and one child. I will readily admit, however, that they do have some kickass cinnamon rolls.

Kids freaking LOVE CiCi's. I think they sprinkle kiddie crack on the pizzas or have some sort of subliminal messages wafting through the speakers along with the Top 40 drivelly music. And let's face it, when you have a kid who subsists mostly on air, potato chips, and maybe on a big day a chicken nugget, you would probably jump at the chance to take your kid somewhere that they can ingest their own weight in pizza for under $4.00. Right?

The other thing about our local CiCi's (or at least the one we frequent) is that it tends to have a lot of, um, for lack of a better term, fundamentalist Christian families that frequent it. You know the ones. They have all the kids dressed in matching clothes, all the girls have butt-length long hair, and they pull up in Econoline vans with either the little stickers in the back window depicting Mom, Dad, and the 13 kids, or they have most of one of the back doors of the van covered in Jesus fish. Yessiree, they pile on up into CiCi's and it's like their second religious experience of Sunday.

Anyhow, Monkey Man conned me into going to CiCi's and the damn place was packed. Thankfully, he still wasn't really up to eating much so we mercifully escaped in about 20 minutes - and that included two emergency trips to the restroom when he thought he had to poop. I guess this stomach thing is making him kind of gassy and he kept thinking that he was about to shart his pants. But we made it out of there relatively painlessly and then on to see Horton.

He is finally in bed. He's been so good today, or at least good enough that I didn't want to kill him. I'm exhausted. I'm just wondering when I'm going to catch a break, because at this point I'm just barely holding onto my sanity.

I guess one thing is for sure. It's a good thing I don't have 13 kids, because then I really WOULD be nuts.

Deconstruction

Well, all I can say is that it's been a pretty stressful week.

The bathroom renovation got the best of us yesterday. The tile guys haven't accomplished much - out of 3 days they probably did an actual day of work, and to come home yesterday and discover that they had only "temped in" enough tile so the glass people could come measure for the doors was pretty disheartening. Cat Door has been beside himself with the tile crew's lack of responsiveness - they kept him waiting on them to show up for a total of five hours this week, sending him into a rage by Wednesday morning.

But they did get some done. The walls and bench are up, the floor is in, but the kneewalls aren't done and of course no grout yet.

Oh, and did I happen to mention that although we went to extreme pains to match the tile for the shower to the existing floors, it doesn't match?

Get this. So when we moved into the house three years ago, we had the ceramic tile floors done and the builder put extra boxes of the stuff up in our attic. When it came time to do our shower this year, I went and got the boxes, tore off all the pertinent information (color, etc.) and brought a sample with me to the tile place. It matched perfectly. Same manufacturer, same color, same numbers. I thought they were perfect.

Um, now, not so much. The strange thing is if you take the spare tiles and lay them on the existing floor, they don't match. And they are close to the shower tile colors, but not a match. As it turns out they have a "shade" number on the box, and while we had 46 in the attic, the ones that were delivered and installed in the shower were 49. Apparently this isn't a huge deal, but the stupid things don't match.

Part of me just thinks that we should move on - not worry about the tile not matching, who is going to notice? Well, I will. The shower tile has more of a brown tinge, whereas the floors are more of a yellowy shade. That bugs me and it doesn't look great, and all I can think of is if we end up selling the house one day that someone will come in there and be like My God, What Were These People Thinking?

So now, we will probably see if we have any recourse for the moronic tile people not checking this "shade" number - and probably won't get far - and then end up paying for ripping up our floor and putting matching tile down. If we can even get matching tile at this point. And of course, Cat Door has taken off for the wilds for five days of motocross riding. Figures.

Remind me again what about this was a good idea?

*****

We had one thing planned for the weekend - baseball practice - that has been cancelled due to the rain forecast. I can't remember the last time we had nothing planned for the weekend. We really need to take Monkey Man to get some new shoes and a batting helmet, so I guess it's not entirely true that we have nothing to do all weekend.

Which probably isn't a bad thing considering we'll have to pay for a new bathroom floor. Ahem.

*****

Off to the couch. I can't think of one remotely funny thing to write.

Panicky

On Wednesday, we leave for Las Vegas. To say that I'm in a bit of a panic about it would be a mild understatement.

First of all, there's The Babysitter. We are using our regular babysitter - this will be the longest she has ever stayed at our house though. And of course, she came last night so we could do a business dinner and admitted to us that she hasn't been feeling very well. And today when I called to check and see if she is going to be able to cover a few hours for us tomorrow (damn school and preschool are closed) she said that she couldn't - her sister was supposed to babysit for one of the families that she normally sits for, and Sis has the flu. Great. So now I'm all worried about if Heather is going to be well enough to watch Monkey Man for six days. I mean, I guess we could make it work - he will be at school all day and we could probably enlist a few friends to help us out, but it would be a disaster.

Then, there is The Bathroom Renovation. Cat Door is scheduled to start on Wednesday with demolishing our corner Jacuzzi tub, and by the time we get back Monday we should at least have the new plumbing in and some sheetrock up on the walls. He came by on Saturday to answer a huge list of questions that I have and I am feeling much better about leaving the work in his hands while we're gone. I mean, what choice do I really have? It's probably much smarter for me to NOT be here while all this is going on because all I will do is stress. And then he and I fight. So at least this way, I can be drunk when I call from Vegas and then everything will seem like it's going smoothly, even if the pipes burst and flood my lovely Man Cave in the basement. I probably should check on Cat Door's insurance, huh?

Add to this The Sickness. Yes, people, I cannot shake whatever the hell this is that has taken over my body. I have discovered this weekend that if I am outside after, say, 4 PM that my chest starts to tighten up and I can't stop coughing. I broke the inhaler back out again today and invested in a little Mucinex to try and loosen this stuff up. It's like pretty much my throat and upper chest are still froggy and Friday night I was so exhausted that I fell asleep around 8 PM and didn't wake up until 7 AM on Saturday. Oops. I am so sick and tired of being sick and tired. I haven't been able to see my great-niece Finley in weeks, which breaks my heart because she is getting soooo big and I am missing it all! However, I think everyone understands that they are much better off without me spreading the love, I mean germs.

Then there is the matter of packing, going to the grocery store, making sure the laundry is caught up, leaving medical authorizations, instructions, lists of medication, etc. It's kind of overwhelming. It will all be fine, it always is, and the good thing is that we don't actually leave for the airport until like 9 AM on Wednesday which is an eternity away.

I guess, though, I should be more worried about all the stress that is going to be incurred on the dog while we're gone. He hates the babysitter and Cat Door is just barely making the cut as someone Rufus doesn't want to eat. On Saturday I asked Cat Door if he would be willing to take the dog and put him in the Man Cave or outside when he's there working. This will require, of course, some form of bribe in either Chicken Jerky or MarroBone form, so I showed Cat Door where the treats were and asked him to give Rufus one.

So this big ol' guy gets down on all fours and tries to give Rufus a treat. The dog wants no part of taking it from his hand, but when Cat Door put the treat on the floor the dog greedily snatched it up and pranced into the living room where he started doing the "Chase Me" game. His favorite thing to do is to get a treat...take it about 10 feet away and then toss it around while he waits for you to come chase him with the treat. Then we have to chase him a few times and then he happily eats the treat.

"He's waiting for you to chase him," I told Cat Door. "You're serious?" he asked. "Um, yes, you need to chase him around the couch a few times so he feels loved. He loves being chased like that."

At this point, Cat Door hopped up and started to chase the dog around the living room. But instead of getting that normal look of rapture on his face as he triumphantly keeps the human from getting the treat, the only look on Rufus' face was OH SHIT THIS BIG CRAZY GUY IS TRYING TO STEAL MY TREAT. STEAL. MY. TREAT. OH. SHIT.

Later on, I found the treat, still uneaten and laying on the kitchen floor. So we might have to rethink this whole chasing thing, because obviously what works for us doesn't work for Cat Door. I guess the good thing is that "Dog Wrangling" is not worthy of a change order, but will probably require a huge vat of homemade pimiento cheese for Cat Door when we return.