Shut Yer Piehole.

I think I have an inner Roller Derby Girl, because for the past three days I have fantasized about punching/elbowing various people straight in the kisser. We just got home from the grocery store, which was, as you might imagine it would be, insane during the days leading up to Thanksgiving. My grocery store has been too uppity to stock regular tabloids in the checkout lines in years past, but today there was a National Enquirer for me to peruse while we waited. Both Eug and the cart were in front of me, and I was standing a comfortable but not ridiculous way back from my better half. We couldn't move the cart forward, because the cashier needed us to wait while he found the code for some items the store had special-ordered for us. The conveyor belt moves forward, because we don't have that many items...but we're stuck for the moment. The old broad behind me seizes upon the six inches of free space on the conveyor belt and pushes me to begin loading her items onto the belt. Oh, wait - she did say "Excuse me"...in a snotty tone of voice. Instantly, I was thinking, "You can go FUCK YOURSELF if you think I'm moving, bitch!" I refused to budge and she continued to push me. When we could finally move, I pushed past her to replace the tabloid on the rack with an equally snotty "Excuse me". Is the ten fucking seconds she saved really worth being so goddamned rude? The problem is likely our grocery store of choice - a dear friend had recently taken his brother in there, upon which said brother remarked, "It smells like old people in here." Indeed. Although I happen to think it's their shitty richer-than-thou attitude that likely stinks.

We have decided to create some major upheaval in the house in order to turn the workroom into a permanent, animal and kid-free photography studio for your truly. Eug sold me on the idea last night when I was at a particularly low point, emotionally. I'm still not sure where everything is going to wind up, but I am a tentative believer in his plan.

What I'm hoping is that I can work my way up to bringing in an average of $200/month, to start with. The sad part is that it won't even begin to go toward bills, because in order to really work my trade of choice, I need some significant equipment upgrades. In the meantime, I can work with what I've got, but if I ever hope to have clients who are not close, personal buddies, I'm going to need a camera body full-frame sensor and a lens with a maximum aperture of 1.2. For those of you who do not peruse camera porn in your spare time, that's going to run about $4500, and that doesn't include a few other things I'm going to need - including some basic remodeling of the room itself.

The Christmas stuff is down from the attic and awaits my attention, and once again I am fantasizing about replacing my Christmas tree lights. I want some fancy LEDs in soft pastels with white wire to go on my Christmas tree, but I don't know that I'm spendy enough to spring for them, as I would need something like 12 strands. Plus, I would be foregoing my all-pink lighting scheme for the first time, and I'm rather sentimental about those fire-y pink lights on my silver tree. I'm not even going to *try* to decorate the outdoors, because I have too much on my plate as it is. The interior, however, will make Liberace proud! If you want me to buy new Christmas stuff, just cover it in glitter - I'm that easy. But first I have to do some major cleaning in the living room, including denuding the couch and washing all of the cushion covers. Four cats and a puppy will do that to you.

The upcoming weeks will be IN. SANE, what with two Thanksgivings, two kids' birthdays, one trip to the Kalahari, a December birthdays family celebration and all of the attendant chaos that comes with Christmas itself. My priorities could likely use some adjustment, given that the overriding desire du jour is to find a Santa hat for Farley to wear. If I ever win the lottery, I've got two words for you: personal assistant. That would rock.

I hope your Thanksgiving is filled with gratitude and pie, and not necessarily in that order. Also, please pray that I don't actually punch anyone in the kisser, wouldya? Thank you evah so.

Super Yum.

Is it wrong that when we speak of disciplining animals and/or children, Eug and I like to imitate Grady from "The Shining"? It's really fun to roll those Rs!




OK, I admit it: I probably love Kubrick's "The Shining" more than I should. I've seen it at least twenty-five times, and two of those viewings with the commentary on, glued to the screen. I've only watched a couple of films all the way through with feature commentary on, and only this film more than once. I just bought the DVD with commentary last month, so I'm sure I'll be watching it additional times, to boot. Creepy? Maybe. But I'm OK with that.

I would really like to corrrrect Farley for sneaking into the cat litter boxes, but instead I think we will install a lockable kitty door on the workroom. That way, when we have cat-allergic folks around, I can still keep the felines locked in when necessary. The rest of the time, they can come and go as they please and Farley will be O-U-T. The trick will be buying a kitty door big enough for Fat Andy but small enough that Farley won't attempt to muscle his way through, thereby requiring emergency surgical removal from the door.

Tracy sweet-talked me into watching this season of "Top Chef", even though I swore that I would boycott it due solely to Padma wearing that Super Dork denim dress in the promos. Tracy turned the tide by first telling me about the narcissist that got hisself kicked off by Tom before he even got to fire up a burner, added another log to the fire by revealing that the vegan chef who hadn't cooked with bacon in over a decade got booted unceremoniously, and sealed the deal by telling me all about the adorable, big black man who turned his life around by making cooking his passion. Check and mate - Tracy wins. I'm all caught up, now, and it's set to season record. (sigh) I still hate Padma and her stupid jean dress, though. Harumph.

Speaking of food, we had a super-duper Friendsgiving this past Sunday with our super-duper co-family! It was the best damned turkey I ever had - hand to God. Eug passed out briefly after dinner, and try though I did, I was unable to sneak my camera out quietly enough to snap a picture. I fear, though, that my hour-long tryptophan-induced coma on Nicole's couch was photographed and will be turning up on Flickr before you can say "Gobble, gobble!" There are far too many pictures of me in some degree of insensibility out there for my liking, people. A couple snaps of our incredible feast:

Do you see the perfectly browned marshmallows atop the sweet potatoes? That's what I'm talkin' about, baby!

Those pesky kids are already getting down to business!

Xanthe knows a good thing - or things - when she sees them!

Is that fine china, you ask? Why, yes - yes it is!

I'm hungry all over again, just looking at this!

Two sweet peas in a pod, they are.

You can bet our newly-minted holiday (courtesy of Nicole's genius) is already an unbreakable tradition in our minds. And for those of you who've yet to partake of The Bird, here's a tip: drop some roughly chopped mirepoix (onions, carrots and celery for you non-foodies out there) into the bottom of the roasting pan underneath the rack upon which your turkey sits. You'll scoop them out before you make your gravy in the roasting pan, but don't throw them away. Put them in a bowl and, when you get a chance, taste them. I'm pretty sure that is on the menu every day in the Hereafter, folks. I hope your holiday preparations are going swimmingly!

Fabulous Fall

Sorry I've been a stranger, but staying in the saddle on the bucking bronco that is a new school year has proven...challenging. The good news is that I am making some progress in the sleep arena, with only one recent spectacular screw-up: I had two Smirnoff Ice drinks after I took prescription cold medicine at 1 am on Friday and I didn't wake up until Sunday. I shit you not. The funniest part of this to me is that Eug swears I demanded he buy chip dip on Saturday afternoon, and so he did. I had no true desire for chip dip, for the record. He also claims I told him that I tried to cut open a subcutaneous cyst with a steak knife, which is a scurrilous accusation I vehemently deny. (Shut up.) Thank God my terrific husband has a sense of humor.

Today I had my second catechism class of the year. I have twice as many students in 6th grade catechism this year, and they all seem unabashedly awesome. However, there is one child who correctly used the word "obstreperous" in conversation today, and I have no shame in admitting that she can do no wrong in my eyes, now.

I should be packing right now because I am whisking the kids away to the water wonderland that is known as Kalahari tomorrow afternoon with some friends, but something about the BEAUTIFUL weather has me meandering through the day at a snail's pace. I even squeaked in two, count 'em, two bike rides already. Tomorrow I will be putzing around in my AFM (Anonymous Fat Mom) bathing suit from Land's End with a piña colada the size of my head in one paw. Life is good.

I've been following the blog of a fairly local woman who writes a very popular personal blog more often these days, as the author is going through a hideous divorce. I hadn't ever been a fan of hers, and she is a bit of an...oversharer. But the raw pain in her writing of late has kept her in my prayers very often. Like everyone, I have an opinion about the root(s) of her problems based on the small percentage I've read of what she's written - which is, of course, far from the whole story. And while it's a very safe bet that she and I are polar opposites on just about every issue of import, I still find myself wanting to drop by her house with my enormous pedicure kit to give her a foot rub and make her toes sparkly, or something. Not out of some misplaced pity, but just from a basic human compassion/connection standpoint. I wish I could tell her that the city of Royal Oak, Michigan and its surrounding areas (Ferndale, Pleasant Ridge, Huntington Woods, Birmingham) is an enclave for assholes of the worst kind. While it's true that there are both nice people and jerks everywhere you go, some areas are simply more pedestrian than others...and thereby offer far less pressure to be cool and far more opportunities to be happy and included. Before you tell me that any self-respecting adult should be immune to such pressure, I'll have to ask you if you have firsthand knowledge of the areas in question. If not, step back, Jack. I'm also of the opinion that therapy in the absence of a practicing faith in God is a losing game at best, but it's better than nothing, I suppose. Anyway, the whole thing makes me want to hug her fiercely and then make her laugh, because no one should feel that sad.

On to happier things: Eug has been tearing up the scoreboard on Xbox 360's "Dance Central" in preparation for the release of "Dance Central 2" later this month. He was logged in on my profile and told me pointedly that I was now rated a MUCH better dancer than I am, actually. More scurrilous accusations! The cheek! Everyone knows my moves are legendary. Hmmph.

Our new puppy, Farley, is still so cute it's ridonkulous - although his ability to poop four or more times on any given short walk does cut into his charm. I really wanted him to have a Halloween costume, but we agreed that even the largest 'hot dog' costume available at Meijer would probably be too snug. Eug sagely reminded me that we need to save our pennies so we can buy him this poofy black parka with a fur-trimmed hood we saw at a specialty pet store, instead. I will earnestly try to ensure my next post includes pictures of his fabulousness. As the ringleader of the Disgruntled Cat Society, Flip is still actively plotting Farley's demise more than one month in. He's singlehandedly proving the "black cats are evil" theory oh-so-right, and he's got Andy, Murray and Jasper all head-up, too. The feline agitation here is definitely viral.

That's about all of note Chez Nous, friends. I hope your October is shaping up to be cider and doughnut-filled, and that the winds of fall blow all your leaves into one, neat pile.

Yeah, You Hit The Ground Runnin'...

Bonus points to any of you who immediately identified the title of this post as a Van Halen lyric - you are CLEARLY my kind of peeps.

Tomorrow school begins and brings with it what may be my only year with free time: a glorious 3 hours of it from 1-4pm. Next year, Henry will start homeschooling for the duration of middle school, and Xanthe will be home, too, the year after that. While all of the kids will go off to parochial school for high school, Henry will be leaving just as Lula comes home for the middle school years. So I intend to cherish these few hours each day this year.

Unfortunately, I'm not in much of a celebratory mood, because I'm pretty sure I'm developing pneumonia. Hopefully I'll get a doctor's appointment tomorrow, though.

We have lots of big news here - we got a puppy. Blame Tracy, of course. (Love you, Twacy.) She called me Friday morning in a fit of puppy fever after seeing the TV news and their weekly adoption feature. I dutifully went to the shelter's website to look at the desired creature and fell in love with an entirely different face. The rest of the day was spent in a barrage of urgent phone calls, weighing the pros and cons and accusing one another of being the responsible party for the whole puppy mess. To make a long story much shorter, we both adopted that same day. She has a new little girl (Beagle and Pug mix seems likely to me) named Ivy, who is merely 2 months old and has an adorably morose expression. We have a Basset Hound mix of some sort, who we named Farley. Farley is 4 months old and came up from Chattanooga, TN with his siblings from a high-volume shelter with no room to keep them. He might have some Beagle in him, too. But he's also mostly black and I think he may have more than a little Coonhound in him, which would go a long way toward explaining not just his coloring, but his ENORMOUS paws, as well.

I do have a few pictures, but they're lousy because the lighting was so poor. Nevertheless, here you go:

Clearly, he's settling in just fiiiiiiiine. I hope your week is a happy one, friends.

Flappy.

It's been a slow week, mostly because I threw my back our yesterday. I'm not exactly Speedy Gonzales to begin with, but with a back spasm my movements can only be seen with fast-motion video. Thankfully, my awesome family physician saw me this afternoon and gave me samples of the meds he would've prescribed to save me the prescription costs. The kids were delighted because - for once - they got to watch me get a shot rather than the other way around.

Of course, the shot had to be administered to the biggest muscle in the body. Yep, the gluteus maximus. The nurse had me drop trou and bend the knee on my left side before poking me. Then, in a moment of inspiration on her part, she decided to teach the kids a little something about how the muscles in our body work in concert. She explained how she needed the muscle under the injection site to be as relaxed as possible - hence, my bent knee. She told me to straighten my knee and prodded my rump roast, telling the kids "See how much tougher the muscle is when mom's knee is straight? OK, mom, now bend the knee again." I comply, at which point she pokes me again and tells the kids "Now look at the muscle when I poke it...flaaaappppy!" I'm sure you can imagine how many times I heard one of my kids sing-song "Flaaaappppy!", followed by hysterical giggling on the way home.

In other news, I opted to exchange my new pink cruiser for a fancier model, and the super-terrific bike shop was happy to accommodate me...but given that I was spending more than twice the original amount, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Of course my new bike is still pink, but it comes decked out with 99% of the accessories I wanted to add to the first bike, plus some that I couldn't get without purchasing this specific bicycle. I'm picking it up tonight and hoping the anti-inflammatories and muscle relaxants kick in enough for me to ride it tomorrow. The important thing is that it still has a coaster brake, rather than those newfangled hand brakes I like less.

A loved one of mine had the first of her knees replaced today. While she is as saucy and gorgeous and sprightly as a twenty year old, she is, in fact, eighty-six years of age. Therefore, if any of you have prayers for said loved one, I would appreciate it. I'm trying to think of something special I could do for her, aside from flowers and home cookin'.

I think I have back-to-school errands complete, save the most-dreaded chore of all: shoe shopping with three kids. Not only will I have to suppress a horrified gasp over the cost when I sign my name to the receipt, I have to brace myself for the onslaught of complaints from the spawn over being forced to shop with me, and - in their minds, worst of all - TRY STUFF ON. Such a task comes with no fewer than 100 exaggerated, pointed sighs from the oppositional offspring. Once I get that done, I can start worrying over Halloween costumes.

Eug and I were laughing about his naïveté with regard to the availability of various things. He recalled the time he had a gift idea for Henry (whose birthday is in early December) and was innocent enough to believe that the much-desired item would still be in stock post-Thanksgiving. There was much laughter to be had at his expense that year, let me tell you. So while it may seem insane to be thinking about Halloween costumes in August, I assure you it's not.

That's all for now, friends. If you see any posts of gibberish from me in the upcoming days, you'll know that the muscle relaxants have genuinely kicked in.