Two guys walk into a bar

And I wish I was walking in with them.


(rimshot)


Annnnyhoo....being the moody psychopath I am these days, I'm going to be happy tonight. Even if it kills me.


Isn't it funny how one R/C monster truck and one R/C helicopter can make three kids insanely happy? The truck is old and I bought the helicopter at an auction on Saturday for $3. Paul was so mad at me for bidding on that thing, but I have totally gotten my $3 out of it already.


The place up the road had the auction Saturday and we went up mainly because, hey there was an auction in the neighborhood and what redneck can pass up the opportunity to buy other people's used stuff? Well, certainly not us, by cracky.


I spent $29, $15 of which was for a quilt for Paul. The rest was pure, unadulterated crap. And I was ecstatic. For $14 we got:


*an Operation: Brain Surgery Game which is just creepy. It's just disturbing to watch your kids dig around on a plastic head. Especially when the head talks.


* a game of Fib Finder, which has a crazy-annoying plastic device that apparently can detect fibbing in elementary school children. I've heard such questions as, "Do you pick your nose?", "Do you stick your fingers in the peanut butter jar?" and to both of those I hollered into the other room, "YOU BETTER NOT!"


* a leopard print choo-choo bag that I just love and now I need to plan a trip to go somewhere so I can walk into my motel carrying that adorable thing.


* a microscope. I didn't know that was in the box. I got a box of crap and a kids' rolling suitcase for $3 and the microscope was in the box. So far, I haven't had the energy or patience to get it out and let the kids play with it. Maybe in.....oh.....2009?


* one of those girly-girl craft kits to make - get this, all you girls of the 90's - SLAP BRACELETS! They outlawed those suckers in my high school because we kept beating the snot out of each other. Good times, good times.


* a game called "Careers" which looks like it's from about 1965. The kids haven't even touched it. They're non-motivated about their futures, just like their mother.


* the aforementioned rolling suitcase. And like a true auction goldmine, it had (drum roll) ANOTHER SUITCASE INSIDE!! We have got to plan a trip! All this luggage is just beckoning to be used.


* a ficus. For Festivus. Because we've talked of getting a Festivus Ficus for a year or two, but never did. Well, Saturday I just went and did it. Here's the best part - I bid on the Ficus and another potted tree thing that I totallly didn't want, but they came together. Later on in the morning, a woman offered me $2 for the potted tree. And I only gave a buck for both of 'em!! AND I didn't have to throw away the potted tree. Bonus!


* a MyScene Barbie styling head. I gave a buck for that thing and it kept Kady occupied for the rest of the day. We had been losing her all morning and after I got her that goofy head, she stayed put. Best buck I spent all day.


* a jar of marbles. Because I lost mine. (rimshot)

* a box that had 3 Bibles and two 3-ring binders in it. The choo-choo bag was in it. Mom took all that to sell in the flea market.


I bid on a 5-foot tall, light-up plastic Santa, much to the chagrin of my husband. I had my heart set on that gaudy thing, even moreso the more Paul griped about it. Unfortunately, a guy outbid me and got my Santa AND a saddle rack for the low, low price of $16. I'd have gone higher, except Paul kept kicking me and frankly, that hurt. So because of that, I bought a Frito pie from the concession stand. The chili had beans in it. Revenge is sweet.

Something's gotta give

I know I'm not the first woman to go to college in her 30's (much like Hillbilly Mom's not the first women to ever get a cold, bless her heart), but seriously people, when does this get easier?

I lost my ever-lovin' shit Saturday night right in front of my children. I bawled and I hollered and I all but threw myself in the floor and pitched a hissy fit right there.

Kids should not see their mother lose her shit. It traumatizes them.

Great, now I have something else to worry about.

Something has to give. Can't be school because it's already paid for. Can't be work because we need the money. Can't be my social life because I never had one anyway. Can't be the family because well, I love them. Can't be the housework because it's already gone and there's no coming back, I'm afraid.

Guess it'll be my sanity.

I'll be insane, but I'll be an educated, employed, social recluse with great kids. What's not to love about that prospect?

The Randomator

I am in a very strange mood tonight. Not sure if it's atmospheric or hormonal. Regardless, I'm just going to start typing. We'll see where it goes.

My internet is so slow tonight that this is one of those times I wonder why the heck I'm paying $50 a month for it.

Crock Pot is driving us all nuts. The barking was better last night, but today alone he has chewed up one baseball, one cardboard box (multiple times), a plastic toy pot, a plastic gear magnet that I'm not sure why it was outside to begin with but now the dog keeps slamming into the truck when he walks by it, 47,000 sticks, four pieces of sidewalk chalk (talk about colorful poops), the pedal of Kady's bike and that's just the stuff we've found. There's probably a lot more. We got Jake when he was only 6 weeks old and he NEVER chewed on anything. A friend told us today that if we can just keep from killing him while he's in the puppy stage, he'll be one of the best dogs we ever had. I'm not convinced and am still thinking the non-chewingest dog is the best dog.

Every time I listen to the soundtrack from Hairspray I can envision myself on stage playing Tracy Turnblad. Then I remember that I can't sing as well as I used to and what if I really did bad during an audition, but I would be like the perfect fat chick to play the part and then I start wondering if they would let me lip sync and let my sister sing for me. Because this is where my brain goes sometimes.

Sometimes I really want a cigarette.

Today I took a nap with Abby. She stayed home from school today because her sinuses are so full of mushy goo that her face was swollen and she was running a fever. She felt like hammered poop and didn't even argue when I told her to lie down for awhile. She was snoring in like, a minute. So I felt obliged to snore with her. It was awesome. I'll probably never get to sleep tonight.

Tomorrow I have to write a paper for Computers, take a test in AmerLit, transpose three chapters worth of Macro notes and squeeze in a few Algebra problems here and there. I remember when Saturdays were full of fun things like housework and cleaning off the carport.

I love all of my kids equally, but when Abby is sick it bothers me more for some reason. You'd think it would be Kady I'd worry about more because she's the one with asthma and you know, occasionally turns blue from lack of oxygen and stuff, but no, it's my oldest, healthiest child that my heart hurts for when she's sick. Please don't misinterpret - when any of the kids are sick, I worry, but I don't know, when Ab's sick it's different somehow. Please don't call my office and report me or anything.

I just put a text messaging package on my husband's cell phone. He is freakin' hilarious with it because he has NO CLUE how to send a text message. He can reply if you send him one, but as far as just picking up his phone and saying, "Hey, I think I'll text my lovely wife while she's at work today," it ain't happening. My sister just sent him a whole bunch of 'em and it took me AND Abby showing him step by step how to forward them. His 10 year old daughter can text and he can't. I didn't teach her - a girl on the school bus taught her. The times they have a'changed.

I just took a gander at the songs on my computer. I have very eclectic taste in music. I have everything from Andy Williams to SpongeBob on there.

I just ripped some songs from Ab's Hannah Montana 2 CD and omg, is it wrong that I have an itsy bitsy like, almost crush on Hannah Montana? I mean, in a totally not creepy way, but in a totally I SO wanna be her! kinda way. Billy Ray Cyrus is going to be in concert at Buffalo Run in October and there is major discussing amongst the tween set at the kids' school as to whether he'll bring Miley along for an adventure into NE Oklahoma. I gotta say, the thought crossed my mind, too. Once or twelve times. Abby and I are going. Just in case.

I used to think about my high school boyfriend quite a bit. Not like I wanted him back or anything because no, I don't, but maybe because he was my first love or something. Anyway, he was on my mind a lot for awhile, but once I found out he has a daughter I don't think about him anymore. I still thought about him even after I had kids of my own, but once I found out he had one I stopped. That's kinda weird.

Why did they feel compelled to call the naked mole rat naked? I mean, technically all animals are naked. And the naked mole rat is certainly not the only hairless animal. So what made someone say, "You know, this poor little fella needs to have the embarrassing title of 'naked' because being ugly and looking like a deformed penis isn't enough."

Sometimes when I see my kids doing stuff, normal stuff like talking on the phone or pouring a glass of milk, I tear up. Last week Abby straightened Kady's hairbow that had gotten knocked crooked by the new dog and I cried. She didn't say anything, just turned Kady around, fixed that bow, then patted her on the back like she was sending off her own child. I think I got a glimpse of my child as a mother.

Once, when I was probably 14 or 15, DeLisa, Mom, Tater and I were sitting in a booth in the Tastee Freez having one of those new-fangled concoctions (new-fangled for then anyway) where someone got the brilliant idea to mix candy and cookies into a milkshake and create heaven in a styrofoam cup, and we got to laughing so hard that I farted really loud. I mean, like rattle your buns loud against that hard plastic booth in the Tastee Freez. Then we laughed even harder. But I didn't fart again because I had my buttcheeks really clenched from that point on.

Last week, for three solid days I had the word "concoction" in my head. You know how sometimes you get a song stuck in your head? Well, I get words stuck in my head. Plus, I'm a typer and I type every word you say, I say, I think, etc. Seriously. I have since I learned how to type. On more than once occasion Paul has woke me up in the middle of the night because I was typing on his arm. Last week I typed "concoction" about 5000 times. Abby asked me once why my fingers jump so much, but I didn't have the heart to tell her that her mother suffers from some freaky OCD that causes her to type words and dialogue over and over. It's best that she thinks I'm somewhat normal.

Last Saturday I bought the kids a used PS2 game at GameTraders. It has PacMan, Galaga, Pole Position, and Dig Dug on it. They play it constantly and can't believe these are old games because they're so cool, how could they be old? I told them I used to play those games on an Atari and they all went, "OOoooooooh."

Remember when we played on the old Ataris and they had one joystick and one button? The PS2 controllers we have have more buttons and joysticks on 'em than you can shake a stick at. Funny how kids these days can't tell you the subject or predicate of a sentence but they know, without looking, what every button on a video game controller does.

This time last year we still had Papa. Sometimes I wanna go back to last year. There were a lot of things I didn't get to say.

There have been many, many times in my nearly 15 years of marriage that I have wanted a divorce. There have been many times that, had it not been for the kids, I'd have sworn I made a mistake. Now, the thought of losing that man in that recliner in the next room makes me panicky. In the last year we seem to have reached this point where we don't want to kill each other on a daily basis. It's more like every two or three days now.

I'm with Fred.

You know how sometimes you feel like you've got a booger in your nose and you can't really pick it because you're in public or something, so you think that maybe if you rub your nose or even pinch your nostrils and kind of sniff a little it'll dislodge and go careening into your sinuses? And then you do that and it turns out that that particular booger is as sharp as a razor blade and pokes you and your eyes water? And then people ask why you're crying and you just wish you'd gone ahead and picked your nose? I hate that.

When someone puts posessions above people that makes me mad.

When some little girl in my daughter's Kindergarten class pinches my daughter (hard enough that she still has a bruise today) when they were lining up to go in from recess a few days ago and my daughter didn't defend herself, but instead cries, I want to bang my head on something. Gosh, it's hard to make a 5 year old understand that the lecture you gave her about tattling last week doesn't apply when someone hurts you and in that case it's okay to tell someone. Because no other time in her life will she listen so intently to something you tell her and take you so literal. Any other time she'd be like, "Oh tattling? That's wrong? Oops. My bad." But noooo, this time she was like, "But you (hic) said not (sob) to (sob) tatttttllllllllle!"

Ever wonder why y = mx + b? Me either.

Noisy friggin' appliance

Crock Pot barked all night.

Not just a random bark here and there, but literally all. friggin'. night.

I'm changing his name to Shithead.

Because sometimes a title doesn't do it justice

Let's see....

My last post was from work. Work #2, that is. (I can't blog from Work #1 because that's a no-no due to the fact I work for The Man, aka The Gub'ment.) Anyway, when I last blogged I was on my way to my Macro class with a gut full of a turkey/cheese/Miracle Whip sandwich that was questionable. Thank the Lord my class was cancelled because hooooooeeeee, that Miracle Whip was a baaaaaaad idea. I'm just sayin'.

We were all so thankful that class was cancelled. At first. Until the instructor said we'd just have to work extra hard to make up for a lost week of hell class time. Oh boy. We're already missing a class for Fall Break and one for Thanksgiving so he's going to put it to us hard now. As if we weren't being challenged enough.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

I have discovered hair nirvana. I mean, absolute utter hair freakin' nirvana. Folks, it's all because of Miss Zoot and this post. I'm telling you, this woman is a guru. She has saved me from a bald head.

I have gone a week and a half now without shampoo. My hair is AWESOME. You have never heard that phrase on this blog ever before. Until now. In case you need me to repeat it - MY HAIR IS AWESOME. If you haven't read the post that led to this phrase please go read it now before you start thinking I'm a total skank and that I stink and that now you will avoid me in person if you see me. Go read it. I'll wait.

Okay, good. Now you will speak to me in public. And you will notice my hair and how awesome it is.

The night I made my conversion I was telling Paul about this revelation. He was SO not convinced. He listened, but I could tell he was very not much comfortable with the idea. He finally asked, "Well, could you just wash it with shampoo once week? For me?" I told him I would consider it and heck, after a few days I might even decide that shampoo is really the way. But a week and a half in now, I can safely say that no....I will not even shampoo my hair once a week for him.

And I really love him. But shampoo is not part of my life now. Bye-bye shampoo and frizz....hello AWESOME hair.

Seriously.

I was sitting at a peewee football Saturday night and it was humid, folks. I mean, so humid you just kind of wore the air. Everyone around me was either flat or frizzy. I sat there with my awesome hair and Tater's friend said she hated me.

That felt good. Someone hates me for my hair. Because it's that awesome.

=-==-=-==-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Sunday after church we went to Mom's and saw, for the first time in nearly 30 years, some friends. Old friends. Not old like Grandma Moses old, but like old friends are the best old. We laughed till we hurt, laughed till we cried. It was wonderful.

At the peewee game Saturday night I ran into a woman that I did a Pampered Chef show for back in my direct sales days. She was a wonderful host, she's an amazing woman and I stayed in touch with her for awhile. Then, of course, we lost touch.

Turns out, the little girl in Kady's class that Kady is the "bestest fwiends wif" is her granddaughter. We said we're going to get together to visit. I hope we do. She will be impressed with my awesome hair.

=-==-==-=-=-=-==-=-=

I took Abby to the dentist in Tulsa today. Headgear rocking along as always. We go back in November for all three kids's 6 month checkups and cleanings and they'll also do impressions for Abby's new bite expander. It's pretty much like a retainer in that it's plastic and covers the roof of her mouth, except not removeable. That should be fun. She's not happy, but I'm all about avoiding the braces and still coming out with a kid with gorgeous teeth. This should do it.

The ride to Tulsa was filled with the songs and dialogue of Annie because Abby took along my laptop to watch movies. I normally am against DVD players in the vehicles, but occasionally will relent and let them take the laptop. The ride home was better because we talked. We talked about boys, school and stuff.

I will file that ride home from Tulsa away and remember it on the days she thinks I'm stupid and lame and boring and mean.

=-=-=-=-=-==-==-

When I left for work this morning there was a strange dog in the yard. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes a stray will show up at the house. We always run them off because we're usually overrun with cats and we're usually broke and don't want to buy more animal food than we already are. But I didn't run this one off - for one thing I was wearing white pants and big chunk heels and figured kicking it would result in me either having to change clothes or me falling on my ass in the yard and then having to change clothes.

When Abby and I got home from Tulsa the dog was still there and the kids were dying to go out and play with it. Mom caught the other kids off the bus and said she wasn't going to let them play outside because she wasn't sure if it was friendly. I looked over to find the dog drooling on the storm door, looking oh so cute and after a quick test-pat, deemed the dog friendly and let them go outside.

He's brown and quite homely and being the unoriginal children they are, they immediately started calling him "Brownie" and "Spot" and "Brownie Spots" and several other names that involved brown and spots. After they'd shout out a name I'd yell "LAME!" and they'd shout out another. Someone hollered something that sounded like "Crock Pot!" to me and well...

We now have a dog named Crock Pot.

We have a black Lab/Chow named Jake and we now have a weimeramer mutt named Crock Pot.

And they live on Brokeback Mountain. Because Jake humps his new appliance-named friend every stinkin' chance he gets.

When Paul got home from work the kids ran out into the yard to beg their daddy to not run off their new dog. They excitedly told him his name and then Kady said, "Cwock Pot wikes to give Jakey hugs! Wike dis!" and then started to show how that special hug goes. And I quickly said it wasn't necessary, that Daddy probably already knew how dogs hug. After the kids went in the house Paul and I stayed outside to pet the dogs awhile and discuss just how expensive the dogfood bill is going to be from now on. Paul said, "Does Jake really hump him?" I nodded. He said, "You named him Crock Pot, Kristin. Of course, the other dogs are going to try to rape him."

=-=-=--==-=-=-=-=-=-

It's no secret that my mother does not approve of the blogging by me, her eldest child. She fears for my safety because she's quite certain I will end up hacked up in a 55-gallon drum, buried in someone's backyard and she'll end up raising my kids because Paul doesn't know how to fix hair in a ponytail or cook anything more than a frozen pizza. I learned a long time ago that the less I say about my blog around Mom, the better.

Saturday night at the ballgame we were talking and I was telling her that I knew for certain that quite a few teachers at the kids's school read the blog. Her eyes got huge and she put her hand on my leg and said, "Then you should not be writing about the kids having chocolate donuts and meth for breakfast! What will those teachers think??" And as soon as the words came out of her mouth she knew she was so busted.

She read my blog. My mother read my blog.

This week cannot get much better.

I laughed because she was busted and then said, "Mom, I am a humorist. I write humor. I strive to make people laugh because I feel it's my civic duty to do so. Those teachers know that I don't give those kids meth. They know we are strictly a cocaine kind of family." That's when she declared the conversation over and started talking to Tater, the child she expects to not hear about on the evening news.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-

And to clarify - my kids really did not have meth for breakfast that day. They've never had meth for breakfast.

Because we only serve meth at dinner. You know, because dinner time is family time and the family that does meth together ends up in the state prison system together. And I'm all about makin' those memories.

??

Ever sit down at your computer to write a blog post and find that you have so much to say that you have nothing to say?

Blogging at work

It is 30 minutes until my Macro class starts. I am sitting in my college boss's office at her big fancy desk, typing on her computer, eating a turkey and cheese sandwich that I'm wondering if the Miracle Whip was still safe and edible, but no matter now because 2/3 of it is in my belly right now, popping a grape or two in my face every now and then, too, which is weird because I don't really like grapes, but they sort of sounded good this morning for some reason, and while I'm doing all that, I'm successfully typing one of the longest runon sentences ever. If only I'd had a preposition to end it with.

I normally don't eat before my night class, so now that I've eaten 2/3 of a sandwich and some grapes it's a sure bet that I'm going to have to poop during class. It's Murphy's Law of the Bowel.

Today at my DHS job I got to schmooze a gal at the Social Security office. I like schmoozing. The caseworker I did the schmoozing for was impressed and called me her favorite little liar.

I had to buy a scantron for the first time in my life today. We have a test in Macro next week and we have to use scantrons to answer. For those of you not in the know, scantrons are little pieces of paper with the little circles on them that you get to fill in with a #2 pencil just like when you were in elementary school when they asked you the question about the train that left Cinncinnatti at 2:32pm and the other train that left Albuquerque at 1:54 pm and then they wanted you to figure out when the two trains would collide thus causing mass casualties and what you really did, rather than figure out when the collision would occur, you just played connect the dot with the little dots on your answer sheet or you spelled your name by coloring in the appropriate dots and oh my gosh, another runon sentence. Anyway, I bought a scantron today. Actually I bought ten. Why did I buy ten? Because the mother in me thought that there might be some young whippersnapper in the class next week who partied too hard the night before and forgot to go to the bookstore to buy their own and I will be the old married lady in class who will pass out scantrons to anyone who needs one. And possibly knitted sweaters and homemade oatmeal cookies. Gosh, I'm old.

Okay, time to go to class. Actually it's still 23 minutes away, but the class is up two flights of stairs and I need extra time before anyone else gets into the classroom so I can stop huffing and puffing. Because I'm not only old, I'm fat.

Tomorrow's my day off. I think I need it. Hopefully I can go the entire day without one runon sentence. I'll be doing Algebra, so I don't think there's a real big risk there anyway.

Why being a mom is so durn cool

Yesterday was my first Federal Holiday as a government employee. It would've been awesome had I not spent the entire day at my desk, which is something I'd have done if I was at work anyway.

I got up with Paul at 6:30 and when the kids hadn't gotten up by the time he left a little before 7, I said screw this and laid down on the couch. I faintly remember one of the kids asking if they could have donuts and meth for breakfast and I think I said yes. Or I mumbled something that they construed as yes and went for it. Nothing says breakfast like donuts and illegal street drugs. I woke up at 10:15. It's a good thing my kids are just addicted to fried pastry and drugs and are not juvenile delinquents. They know what they can and can't do and they know those rules still apply when Momma is comatose.

By 10:30 I had peed and had eaten my own donut (minus the meth, the kids had used it all apparently) and threw in Laundry Load #1. Then I sat my pajama-clad ass in my computer chair so I could tackle the ginormous task of re-writing four chapters worth of notes from my Macro class. Now, normally such a task could be completed in a few hours, but considering I had three kids in the house and a washing machine with a partially clogged drain hose, the task took all day. All freakin' day.

I'd just get settled into a good pace of tranposing my chicken scratch that comes from trying to write every single word the instructor says and I'd hear the washer start to drain, so then I'd have to run (yes I said run) out of my office, through the living room dodging my son's sleeping bag which puts Linus's blanket to shame and hurdling all 8 throw pillows from the couch that Kady had set up as an obstacle course, turn the corner into the kitchen, slip in some spilled Kool-ade then burst into the utility room right about the time the water was spilling over the drain pipe. After I'd turn off the water and let the thing drain, I could turn it back on and go back through the kitchen to mop up the spilled Kool-ade, yell at Kady to pick up those friggin' pillows, kick Sam's sleeping bag out of the way and ask him WHY he feels compelled to carry that thing up front on a daily basis, make it back to my office to start the whole thing over again.

Abby filled up the stock tank pool early in the morning, so the kids swam twice yesterday. Paul positioned the tank pool so that I can see it from my desk, thus eliminating my need to ever see the sun on the weekends. I think they fixed their own lunch yesterday. I hope the nominating committee for Mother of the Year is reading this post.

The kids each took turns on the desktop, playing at funbrain.com and Barbie.com and any other annoying .com that involves loud sounds, dialogue and the need to ask me a gazillion questions in order to get to the next level. I thought having the two computers side-by-side was a good idea until I remembered I have children.

In a moment of utter Macroeconomic euphoria delirium, I totally agreed to letting Abby invite 12 little girls to her birthday slumber party which is about one month from now. I totally will be calling my Macro instructor during that particular night and will be holding the phone so he can hear the giggles and the High School Musical soundtrack and the squealing and then I will say, "THIS? THIS? You hear this? YOU caused this!" And then I will hang up and load up all 13 girls so we can toilet paper his house.

At one point during the day Kady came in and rested her elbows on my desk, put her little chin in her hands and breathed on me until I finally said, "WHAT?" She asked, "Whatcha doon? Are you studying Psycho-wo-gee?" I sighed and answered, "No, Economics." She sighed as well and said, "I hate Ego-mo-nomics." I put down my pencil and pulled her onto my lap. I kissed her little head that smelled faintly of sunscreen and summer and said, "Me, too, Sissy. Me, too." She put her hands on my face and said, "You Algebwa is stupid, but Ego-mo-nomics is stupider."

I sure love that kid.

Doesn't everyone get drunk on Labor Day?

I was rocking along good in Algebra until tonight. Now I am ready to take my laptop and throw it out the window. It's not the laptop's fault, but it makes more sense than throwing a bed or the dishwasher out the window. If I could throw the creator of Algebra out the window I would smile. And laugh maniacally.

I am four chapters behind in rewriting my notes in Macro. Probably doesn't matter, though, because I don't get it anyway.


I haven't even begun to read the 33 pages of Lit and ponder the 8-10 questions/comments about those 33 pages.


I finally fell asleep at 4am this morning only to hear the utterly annoying sound of the alarm clock at 7. I bet I peed 9 times during the night - not because I really had to pee, but because it sure as hell beat lying in the bed trying to decide if the reason I wasn't sleeping was because I was too cold or too hot. I also ate a Little Debbie brownie - not because I was remotely hungry, but because, like Mt. Everest, it was there. It also gave me heartburn.


We didn't go to church this morning. We should've. I've said some really bad words tonight.


Earlier today I scared the piss out of my two innocent daughters who were playing on the desktop next to me when I screamed, "NO NO NOOOOO!" and threw my pencil across the room, slammed my notebook into the wall and banged my head on the desk. It had nothing to do with them, but everything to do with slopes and points and motherfucking graphs.


My husband doesn't understand why I haven't shaved my legs or any other region that was previously, up until two weeks ago, shaved. I will probably kill him before I get my degree. "You see, detective, it's like this: He said something about 'cavewoman' and I snapped."


My kids don't understand why I freaked the hell out when they wiped PopTart crumbs onto the kitchen floor this morning. I'm not entirely sure why I freaked out either. Oh yeah, wait...I remember now. Because I just mopped it for the first time in God knows when on Friday. You know, Friday? The day I don't work on so that I'll have plenty of time to catch up on schoolwork, but instead felt compelled to mop that disgusting floor that each step caused you to either crunch or stick? Yeah, that Friday. So yeah, that's why I freaked out. How silly of me to forget.


I want to quit. Quit everything. Work. School. Shaving. Wait. I've already quit that one.


I'm going to bed. Probably to not sleep. Yay.


I hear that most college Freshmen gain the "Freshman 15" when they start school. I did that last semester, so this semester I've decided to gain an addiction. Alcohol's looking like the winner at this point. Drugs are too expensive and I have to save my money to buy a new printer because lightning killed my old one last weekend.


I bet you all will be so glad when I either get comfortably drunk each and every day or else find some antidepressants. I bet I'm annoying.

What To Wear

It's time for a moment of seriousness here at Redneck diva. Sit here at Auntie Diva's knee and be still and listen, children, while I ask this question of you:

Would you wear a certified "Redneck Diva" t-shirt, complete with Certificate of Authenticity from the Franklin Mint?

(Note to self: contact Franklin Mint about getting some Certificates of Authenticity...)

Would you wear one in the house?
Would you buy one for your spouse?

Would you wear one at the store?
Would you buy one or two more?

Do you like to wear diva shirts?
Do you rhyme like I, in spurts?

Would you buy one for your brother?
Would you put one on your mother?

Would you wear one at the mall?
Would you hang one in the hall?

You should wear one to the store!
Then you will not be a bore!

Buy one, buy one, if you may.
Buy one, buy one, because if you don't I'll hunt you down and boil your pet rabbit.

Okay, all Seussing and psychopathic tendencies aside, I'm working with an amazing designer on an amazing design for some possible amazing t-shirts and before I go any further into the amazing process, I want to know if there's an actual demand for such an amazing thing. I mean, I bought a DadGoneMad t-shirt, but it's only because I secretly have a crush on Danny and don't dare tell him because his Hot Wife will kick my not hot redneck ass. So instead, I bought a t-shirt. And took a picture of myself in it and he posted it and now his wife is 100% positive she can break me clean in two.


Anyway, would y'all wear Redneck Diva t-shirts if they existed?