If I were any cooler, I'd melt

Just what do you do when your Ex and his wonderful girlfriend ask if they can take the kids on a Friday night, which is usually a night the kids spend with you?

You hang out on the basement couch, eating cheese and Branston Pickle sandwiches and drinking TheraFlu, watching the videos of that old BBC miniseries, "Flambards", which was one of those 70s PBS shows that you fell madly in love with and that made you fall madly in love with England so badly that you just had to go there one day, which you did, and where you met the man you'd marry, have children with, and divorce--leading you to your present day pinnacle of coolness.

Man, I love TheraFlu.

Way to go, St. Joe...

Okay, so the house is getting a decent number of showings--about 5 so far and it only went on the market Tuesday. Most people are saying it's too small, which I find interesting, but maybe it's just my new Simple Living perspective, in which I don't see the point of having a huge mansion to clean up every damned day. We're actually going to be going down in living space at the new house, and down in lot size, too. But I digress.

Maybe I should've gotten the St. Joseph statuette instead of the St. Joseph icon card, but see, I read you're supposed to use the Family Version of St. Joe, not the Workman Version, and all the Family Version statues were butt ugly (sorry, Joe, but they were) and since after the house sells I have to put St. Joe in a "place of honor" in the new house, I needed something either 1) a lot nicer or 2) a lot uglier. So I got the card, cause Hey! It can go on the fridge. That's a place of honor chez SBFH. All the good artwork goes there, along with my Anne Taintor magnets and the one that has a picture of Bush with the quote "I am the master of low expectations."

But. Here's what I'm getting to. The card won't go down all the way into the dirt, so Joe's feet are sticking out. I didn't think that mattered, but I might need to go out and get him in there properly. Because after yesterday's first showing, I came home to my newly staged and cleaned and cookie-candled and classical-music-ed house to find A DEAD MOUSE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE BASEMENT.

None of you told me that Saint Joseph was the patron saint of practical jokers.

OH NO!

And to top it all off, I totally forgot to tell Annette happy birthday!!! I suck.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ANNETTE!

Everyone, tell Annette happy birthday and help me make up for it, will ya?

Why haven't you called?

Sorry, all y'all. This has been a bit of a hectic week...I accepted a new job offer and quit my job of 6 years. I put my house on the market today. I am finishing the never-ending freelance project tomorrow, and scheduling the closing on the new house sometime next week. It's been a little busy 'round here, but wow! So good.

Anyone ever buried a statue of St. Joseph in the yard?

What can I say?

I totally had the hots for the Mover Guy today. And he was so not my usual type. He had facial hair! And kind of longish hair and tattoos. But my god, his voice was divine. And you know, he was really, really good at moving things. I think we could've had a future together.

Yeah, don't go putting me on!

Holy cow, I love you, New Kid.

Ten Top Trivia Tips about Psycho Kitty!

1. If Psycho Kitty was life size, she would stand 7 ft 2 inches tall and have a neck twice the size of a human.
2. Psycho Kitty will often glow under UV light.
3. Psycho Kitty can grow up to three feet in a 24 hour period.
4. The liquid inside Psycho Kitty can be used as a substitute for blood plasma.
5. Psycho Kitty is physically incapable of sticking her tongue out.
6. Every day in the UK, four people die putting Psycho Kitty on.
7. Apples are covered with a thin layer of Psycho Kitty!
8. Psycho Kitty is black with white stripes, not white with black stripes!
9. Psycho Kitty cannot be detected by infrared cameras.
10. All shrimp are born as Psycho Kitty, but gradually mature into females.

I am interested in - do tell me aboutherhimitthem

How do I get talked into these things?

Everyone say hello to the newest members of the SBFH family: Maestro and Silly Crab. Oy.

And oh yeah...

If you lurk, delurk, please, because it's that Delurking Week thing and it will amuse me. And then I can say hi and all that.

And also--I think my site needs a makeover. What do you think? I've been all "blah blah blah" and "simple is good" and "black and white" for a whole year, and it's getting so that it's even boring me. And it might distract you from the fact that I am not the most consistent of bloggers.

And also also? I am addicted to my heating pad. Oh my lord. There is nothing better than a heating pad, a down duvet, a nice cup of Tension Tamer, and a couple cats.

WHAT AM I SAYING!!!!????? OhmygodIneedtogetlaidRIGHTTHISMINUTE!!!!! STAT!

What, so soon?

Yesterday my son--my 6-year-old son--shunned me at the bus stop. His sister and I walk down to meet him when he gets off the school bus. The stop isn't far, but it isn't in sight of the house, either. To get to our house, he has to walk about a block to the end of our street, and then walk down our street to the house. It is safe, and there are other kids making the walk, too, but you know. He's SIX.

Yesterday we were just within shouting distance of the stop when the bus pulled up and the Boy got out with a few other boys on our street. He looked up, saw us, ran a few steps toward me, stopped, cupped his hands to his mouth, and yelled,

"Mom! Go home! Turn around and go home! Please?"

Sigh.

#62: Tells you things you might not wanna know

I was going to do one of those 100 things lists but I only got to 16 before I got bored with myself. So sorry, no go with the 100 things.

But I will give you this, from the TMI department: A while back Frog wrote about her Adventures with Menstrual Cups, and as we all know, I aspire to ... well, something. I don't know. Something that involves me progressively getting more and more finicky about what I stick up my yoni.

(See how much better this is going to be than that 100 things list? We're already talking about yonis!)

But anyhow, those non-bleached, naturally grown, bean-sprout tampons? Sheesh, expensive. And not so efficient. So I was quite interested in Frog's narrative. And after a few months of contemplation, I'm pleased to tell you (though I imagine you might be somewhat less pleased to be told) that I made a stop at the co-op and picked up a Diva Cup. And to think when I was in high school I was too embarrassed to buy tampons.

The really funny part was me lying on the floor at 6:00 am today, with my legs akimbo, trying to get the damned thing to release its suction or whatever it has to do to get in the ... erm ... correct position. Okay, the Chica nearly blowing coffee out her nose when I told her about it was pretty funny, too. "It sort of reminded me," I told her, "of college, when Jeannie and her friend Jo and I used to get really drunk and lie around on the floor trying to queef The Star-Spangled Banner."

Thing About Me #73: I cannot queef The Star-Spangled Banner. But that doesn't mean I haven't tried.

Screw Huckabies, I heart YOU guys

I was up until 3 finishing a freelance project so I am about to hit the sack but I just had to get all mushy on y'all. Everything around here is in flux right now--and I mean EVERYTHING--but in a good way. You know when so much is going on it just seems like too much to even begin putting down in words? But I will. Eventually.

In the meantime, look at all y'all. Aren't you marvelous? Well, I already knew that.

Oh, and postal rate increase? Obvious sign from God that the time for me to send out all my late holiday cards is past. Ah well.

The Happiest of New Years

Happy new year to everyone!

Last night, the Ex took the Boy to the local First Night festival, and my mom, the Girl, and I stayed home and did our Own Thing, which as it turns out was making pizza and falling asleep reading stories in the big bed at about 8:30. At dinner, I had a little vodka and o.j. and got all sentimental. Staring across the table at the Girl, who was singing herself a little song (something she likes to do, oh, ALL THE TIME), I sighed and said, "Gigi, my lovie, what do you love most in all the world?" And she looked back at me with those big blue-green eyes, blinked those massive lashes, and said, in all seriousness, "Poopie."

What can I say? The other day, while she was sitting on her little potty, she yanked off her sweatpants, put them on her head (she looked oddly like the Duchess from Alice in Wonderland), and told me, "Hello! I am Mr. Pothead. Would you like to shake hands with me?" Um, no thanks, I'll have to pass this time.

The Boy called at midnight on their way home from the fireworks. "I fell asleep on my Papa," he mumbled, "but then I woke up for the fireworks, and they were soooo beautiful! They were red, and green, and blue, and yellow..." "That is so cool, bud," I whispered into the phone. "I'm glad you had fun." "I did, Mama. And Mama? Happy Christmas."