Is Your Bush-Waxed

Okay...I think I must be missing something.  In a recent conversation with a couple of younger friends I found out?  That Brazilians are a must-do!  Did y'all know this?  I just don't know about this.  It seems kinda pedophilist-like to me.  Really?  Guys dig a naked pussy?  I thought having pubes proved you were a grown-up and could have sex.  After you got married, of course.  Also?  I thought you had pubes to hide your crotch.  After all...pussies are not the most attractive body part.  Don't get me wrong.  I love my crotch, but, really?  Guys wanna look at that naked?

And the guys.  I guess they're supposed to get waxed as well.  "It makes it look bigger."!!!!!  Who the hell cares if it looks bigger?  We all know what size it really is.  And?  It also is not the most attractive body part.  I can see enough of it as it is.  I don't need to see it naked.

I confess I was adverse to pubic hair when I was 12.  When I would get in the bathtub after skiing all day? And I would notice two pubes?  I would pull them out.  Eventually I had to give up that habit...

1. They were growing in faster than I could pull them out.  And?
2. It fuckin' hurt to tweeze the pussy!

So, here I am years later with a nicely groomed bush.  But a naked one?  Not a chance in hell.  

I was gettin' my haircut the other day in Santa Fe (southwest mecca for weirdos) and there was a person next to me gettin' their hair done.  This was a big person with really big hands and really big feet although both the fingers and toes had a lovely shade of pink nail polish on.  Shit...meant to ask the color and forgot.

Anyway...this person is getting Texas hair.  You know?  Like you'd see on Dallas or Knot's Landing or something.  Now I wish I could grow me some Texas hair.  I don't want Texas hair, I just wish I could grow it so I could be a little versatile with my do's.

Have you noticed?  That I keep calling this person "this person"?  Because?  When this person opened their mouth?  A guy's voice came out.  When I was tellin' the hubs and kid this later, the hubs wants to know if I could see their Adam's Apple?  I guess that's a dead giveaway that the chick you're talkin' to used to be a guy.  Whatever.

But?  Then I got to wondering.  What if you used to be a guy?  And now you're a chick?  And you went so far as to even have your parts changed out?  Do you still grow pubic hair?  I mean, if they take skin from your belly to make your pussy?  Will hair grow?  Or do you not even have to worry about bein' all in touch and style with a Brazilian cause your's is permanent?  So I did a little googlin'... (I love google!  You can find anything.)

Female-to-Male Hormone Treatment

For FtMs, hormone treatment is quite simple – testosterone! Typically, FtMs use testosterone cypionate, an injectable testosterone that the patient injects once every two weeks. It is possible for FtMs to acquire testosterone pills or patches but this is rare, as the side effects are greater. The amount is controlled by the individual’s endocrinologist but 200 mg is quite normal (Israel, 1997, 67). The result is quite remarkable. These individuals experience a second puberty. Facial, body and male-pattern pubic hair develops rapidly; muscle mass increases over time; the voice lowers to a typical male level; the skin thickens to a coarser level. Menstruation ceases, usually within three months and the body redistributes fat, which increases the waist size and decreases the fat pockets around the hips. The breasts do not reduce in size and height growth is not possible. A FtM can expect to gain around 10% in weight due to these changes (as well as increased hunger) (Israel, 1997; Whittle, 1998).

Testosterone is a much stronger steroid than estrogen and thus kills off much of the estrogen within the body. In addition, testosterone causes the body to stop producing estrogen, creating a chemical infirtilization.

In addition to the desired benefits, there are also potential side effects. These include (but are not limited to) “increased cholesterol and higher lipid levels; heart disease, including myocardial infarction; mood changes (irritability or depression); male-pattern baldness; acne” (Israel, 1997, 68). Although there is potential for problems associated with testosterone treatment, mortality rates among transsexuals are no different than amongst the general population (Van Kesteren, 1997).

Male-to-Female Hormone Treatment

MtF hormone treatment is much more complicated than FtM treatment. As was mentioned before, testosterone is a brutal steroid, destroying estrogen. Thus, when working with MtFs, it is necessary to first inhibit testosterone production prior to estrogen and progesterone intake. Usually, MtFs are treated with antiandrogens in order to do this. A typical regimen for a MtF includes antiandrogens (usually cypertone acetate), estrogen (often Premarin) and progesterone (often Provera). These are usually taking orally, twice daily. Unfortunately, the MtF hormone treatment does not offer ideal femininity. The treatment does not raise the voice if it is already damaged by testosterone nor does it reverse balding or hair growth in unwanted places such as the face. In addition, the penis size will not decrease with these hormones, although erections will become practically impossible and one’s libido is diminished. Estrogen and progesterone do reposition the body fat into more

18feminine places and is the cause of breast growth. Future body hair growth will be minimal and the skin can often soften.*

Guys turnin' into chicks do have a permanent Brazilian!  But chicks turnin into guys?  Still need that wax job to get it right.

Me:  Did you know the current trend is to be naked down there?

Hubs:  What?

Me:  Yeah.  So would you get the boys waxed if I asked?

Hubs:  Are you high?

So...guess we old folk'll always be outta style, blissfully unaware of the recent trends.  Damn.  Cause I was so lookin' forward to hot wax all over the crotch.  Not.

Also?  Does anyone else see that annoying fuckin' whatever-it-is from photobucket on my blog or is it just me?  And?  If you do see it?  How the fuck do I get it off?

*http://www.danah.org/papers/transtech.pdf

Damn Bird

A bird just flew into my second story window and broke it's neck.  I think it must have been painless, I hope it was painless.  Stupid bird.  This?  Happens quite a bit unfortunately.  I come out to a mound of little feathers and bones quite often.  But now I'm wondering?  Does daddy or mommy bird sit in the nest waiting for their partner to come home?  And who feeds the babies?  Are the babies grown and out of the nest?  Why is that bird so dumb?  Does the reflection of the trees in the window look "greener" than the reality of the trees in the yard?  Is the bird trying to "keep up with the Joneses" and find a better tree, make a higher nest, move closer to the pool?  Is that bird trying to do what I try to do?

I don't necessarily try to keep up with the Joneses, especially in this little town where McMansions are being built on a daily basis.  I love my 70-year-old house, really love it now that it has pretty new siding and a new roof.  But yet?  Somehow?  That's not quite enough.  I spent all last week kickin' ass to get the front yard re-landscaped.  Why?  I wanted to surprise the hubs when he got back from Russia.  And that was the major reason.  I love blowin' his mind like that.  But also?  Appearances count.  They count way more than they should.  I mean, come on, the house looks awesome, the yard looks(ed) like shit.  How can someone who lives in such a cute house have such a crappy yard?  I know that's what everyone who drove by thought!

So I hired youth from church, recruited a couple of grown-up friends and put them to work.  And?  The yard looks great.  But with the great looking yard?  Comes the realization that I have much more ambition than I have brains or brawn.  That I care way too much about what others think.  And?  I know...they aren't thinking about me or my lawn at all.  They have too much of their own shit going on to be worried about my curb appeal and what it does or doesn't do for the neighborhood.  But?  Looking good on the outside was very important to my father and unfortunately it is still important to me.  After all...if it looks good it's gotta be good right?  No one can see the pain on the inside cause they're so enthralled with the outside.

My "ambition" also drove a HUGE wedge between me and the boy.  I had to get everything finished before the hubs got home, he didn't see the rush.  Caused a big blowup and ended with a confiscated phone, an "I HATE YOU!" and a broken screen door.  And?  The hubs won't care if there's still shit in the back of the truck that needs to go to the dump.  He'd just take it to the dump.  And the kid knew this.  But me?  The little child who still lives inside?  She was driven.  Driven by the need for approval and love.  And if it didn't get finished?  Well..."why fuckin' bother starting something if you can't even finish it."

Yup...figured that out yesterday.  (therapy day you know)  I'm still yearning for that love and approval that my father never gave me as a child.  Do we ever get over this?  I know that I will never get what I needed from my dad.  His dementia has pretty much guaranteed this.  I also know that the hubs loves me whether I finish what I start or whether I need his help to get it done.  In fact, I think he'd rather help me to show me how much he appreciates what I want to do for him.

But, like the fuckin' bird, I'm always trying to get somewhere that is impossible to get to.  That place inside that says "Yeah...I did it!  I'm worth it!  I have gotten the approval!"  I'm tryin' to get the little child inside to shut the fuck up since I don't need anyone's approval anymore.  But?  It's hard work, she's pretty persistent.  Damn brat.

Lately...

I can't think of anything to say, funny or serious.  And since I'll be busting my ass this week getting my front yard landscaped and then spending some quality time with the hubs before he leaves again and then goin' on my own Russian adventure...I've decided to take a blog-vacation.  Unless?  Something really fuckin' funny happens.  Then you'll hear all about it.  And?  No worries...I'll still be stalkin' y'all!

I'm Sad...

and I'm lonesome.  And I don't know why.  Actually?  I do know why I'm lonesome.  The hubs is on the other side of the world.  And?  I don't feel like I have any friends.  Okay.  I know I have some friends.  But?  I don't have any friends I can just call up on the spur-of-the-moment and say "Let's go to Santa Fe for the afternoon."  All my friends have little kids or controlling husbands or full-time jobs.  So.  Therefore I'm lonely.  I used to have a friend that I could call up and say "Let's go."  Only?  She dumped me.  I've cried here about that before.  I'm feelin' like some sort of whiney country song,  "The Lonesome Loser."  Oh wait...that is a song.  Little River Band.  And I know...I'm totally datin' myself.  Oh well.  Sigh.

But?  I'm really struggling with the why I'm sad part.  Again...the hubs is on the other side of the world.  But this being 10 time zones away is not a new thing.  This is an every-other-month (usually) thing and it's never really made me feel sad before.

I want to get the front yard landscaped before he gets home.  Why?  Cause my house looks so cute and my yard looks like shit.  And?  I like to surprise the hubs like that.  Also?  Cause the little girl in me feels like she needs to do shit like that to be worthy of the hubs love.  I know in my head that that is bullshit but?  He's out doin' his part to save the world from nuclear disaster and I'm at home sittin' on my ass.  And yeah, I'm raisin' the boy while he's gone but the boy don't need a whole lotta mom.

And it has to be perfect.  Is that cause if I do it and it's not perfect I'll be even more unworthy of love?  Everything had to be done just exactly the way my dad wanted it or he'd get all pissed and he'd have to do it over and "Jesus Christ, it would've been easier if I'd just done it myself."  So, after a while I just quit trying to do whatever my dad wanted and did the exact opposite.  That didn't work either.  No matter what I did, I didn't feel deserving of my dad's love.  I guess that's why I always felt his love had strings attached.

I know the hubs loves me unconditionally.  Maybe that's what's so hard to accept.  I haven't done anything to deserve his love, to be worthy of his love, so how can he love me like he does?  Fuck.  It's amazing how your parents can mess you up for your entire life.  I haven't lived with my dad for over 30 years and haven't lived with my mom for over 25.  How can they still be makin' me feel like a piece of shit?  How come I still let them make me feel like a piece of shit when, really, I don't have much contact with either of them?

I love the hubs unconditionally back.  Is it because he loved me first?  Is it because he loves me that way?  Is that fair?  I love him for other reasons too, but maybe the big reason is because he is the first person in all my world who has loved me like this?  He accepts me for who I am, warts and all.  And believe me, I have plenty of those.  Too bad they're not on the outside so I could just get em burned off and go on my merry way.

As the therapist says, I'm doin' the work, I just need to let it unfold.  I can't go around it, I have to go through it.  Fuck.  I hate any kind of strenuous exercise and lemme tell ya...this is strainin' my brain and my heart and my emotions.  Sigh.

I Used to be Smart...

honestly!  I was quick-minded.  I could come up with the perfect snappy comeback in a nanosecond.  Now?  I'm amazed if I can tie my shoes.  Actually?  I don't know right now if I can tie my shoes since it's summer and I'm livin' in flip-flops.

Currently?  The smallest things have the ability to confuse the hell outta me.  And?  If it's something that's even slightly complicated?  I get so stressed that I cry.  I spent most of this morning trying to fill out the visa form for my trip to Russia next month.  Could they make these things any more difficult?  I need to have a sponsor just to visit the damn country!  And, of course?  I accidentally deleted the email from the hubs with Svetlana's info on it, so I couldn't put her as my sponsor.  You can actually use your hotel as a sponsor but?  I couldn't call them cause my cell plan doesn't include international calling.  Also?  The reservation is in the hubs name since he'll be there a day before I will.  Shit the bed.

I try calling the Russian Consulate in Houston, push eightygazillion buttons, then hear "Thank you for calling.  Have a nice day," click.  WTF?  This happened three times!  I'm thinkin' that if the damn Russkies knew how I could stimulate their economy on my 5 day visit, they'd be rollin' out the red carpet!  Right?

So just as I'm about to pull out the few hairs I have remaining on my head?  The hubs calls!  It's kismet or fate or some kinda shit like that!  He tells me to call his secretary, the Travel Goddess Leslie, and she'll get it all taken care of for me!  Huh!  More people!  Did I mention how I love having people?  Specially now since my brain is mushy shit.

I call the Travel Goddess Leslie and all I have to do is email her some information, get a passport picture (yeah...another one) and meet her for coffee to give her the photo and my passport.  Who knew?!  So?  Those dumb asshats at the Russian Consulate in Houston can kiss my big, white, butt!  I'll get to their fuckin' country without them.  And let's just see how much I stimulate their economy!  Okay, okay, I'll still be stimulating their economy but I'm gonna bitch about it.

Now?  I just ordered concert tickets for the hubs and the boy and a friend to go to the Scorpions concert at the end of the month.  I know right?  Scorpions?!  Anyway, I have ordered concert tickets a bajillion times through Live Nation.  Yet?  They still expect me to remember my freakin' password!  So I spend about 10 minutes gettin' a new password, re-setting the password, puttin' in all the credit card info and shit that they are supposed to remember if I remember my password and finally get the tickets.  These boys better appreciate me!

On a lighter note (least til November 2nd) I got my Republican National Committee pin in the mail.  Good thing too since no one would ever know I'm a Republican.  Unless?  They happen to notice the Tea Party sticker on my jeep, the Republican elephant hitch cover on my jeep, or the Republican elephant tattoo on my ankle!  Doh!

And?  Don't be a hater...Republicans have feelings too!

Awards & Other Random Shit

The delicious JoJo over at Newlywed Adventures gave lil ole me an Outstanding Blogger award.  It's pretty obvious from this that she is very young and inexperienced!  But?  She's wet-your-pants funny so you should go and visit her!

Also?  How strange is it that last night, about 7:00 p.m., I get a text from the hubs?  Not so strange?  'Cept that it was 8:00 a.m. Monday morning where he was!  I just can't quite wrap my feeble little mind around that.  Is this some sort of time travel thing?  I guess when you're in eastern Siberia it is a time travel kinda thing...he'll be home just long enough to return to the time he really lives in only to have to time travel again.  But?  The most awesome thing about his next time travel?  I get to meet him in Moscow at the end of his business!  He's been goin' to Russia for over 12 years and I have never had the chance to go with and I am bustin' a gut in excitement.  Even pre-packin' in my mind what I'll need to bring.  Something that's totally New Mexico for our friend Svetlana.  Who, by the way?  Is gonna spend a whole day with just me showing me around!  How freakin' cool is that??  And?  I have official "people" who will pick me up at the airport and escort me past the miles-long passport control and custom lines and whisk me to my hotel!  Suh-weet!  I adore having "people."

And?  This morning?  When I woke up?  There was no fuckin' pounding goin' on at my house!!!  No wonder I slept til 10!  Best part?  They won't be back til the end of next week!  Because they ran out of siding and it's custom and it won't even be shipped til next Monday.  So I could be lookin' at a nice, relaxing week of quiet?  Not so fast my friends.  I've hired the youth group from church to re-landscape my front yard.  Actually?  They will be landscaping the front yard since what's there right now is shit.

But today?  Is a totally lazy day.  I've been up for almost 3 hours and am feelin' the need for a nap comin' on.

Have a wonderful Monday!  (Shut up...I know it's an oxymoron but at least try, k?)

Is it Safe?

For as long as I can remember, I never really felt safe with my dad.  Nothing I can point my finger at and say "Oh yeah...that's why!"  Except?  I always had to sit on his lap and he always wanted a kiss on the lips and the time he put his hand down my shirt.  And if I did something wrong when I was with him?  What kind of unappreciative daughter was I?  I just know that I really never wanted to be alone with him.  I still don't.  I think my mom knew how I felt.  She even had a friend who asked her if she thought there was sexual abuse going on.

"Oh no.  I would know if something like that was happening."  But?  Would she?  Was there?  I honestly don't know and it really doesn't even matter anymore.  My dad sits in a wheelchair every day either watching tv, being fed, or having his shitty diapers changed.  I don't even know if he knows who I am anymore.  But?  When I do see him?  I still feel like he's checking me out, in a sick, perverted, sexual  kind of way.

On the other hand?  If my mom knew, suspected, intuited, that I didn't feel safe?  Why didn't she do something?

I'm trying to work through some shit - obviously - and trying to understand why my mom didn't do more to protect me.  Not just physically from my dad, but emotionally as well.  To protect myself from him and his moods?  I had to be the perfect child.  I had to be dad's favorite - his princess.  Because if I did something wrong?  Like all kids will do?  I suffered.  I suffered from the crushing disappointment that I was to my father.  I was so disappointing?  My dad wouldn't be able to talk to me for a week or so because his feelings were so hurt and I would bust my ass trying to make it all better.

Now I'm realizing?  That I couldn't have done anything to make it better because I had, in reality, done nothing wrong.  I had just been being a kid who screws up every once in a while.  But?  I knew that if I could be the good girl, the perfect girl, my dad would just love me for me.  I was always the good girl.  Even when I was being the bad girl?  I was still the good girl who would sit on dad's lap and kiss him on the lips when I got home from school.

Well?  Guess what?  I'm tired of being that good girl.  But letting go of the good girl label and all that goes with it?  Is really fucking hard.  It hurts.  It makes me cry and I fucking hate to cry because only babies cry - good girls, big girls, don't cry.  Fickey (my therapist) said that I should cry every day as I work through this.  He says I have to go through this, I can't go around it or over it or under it.  Because if I let a little of the pain out every day?  Pretty soon it'll become more manageable.  It'll become less and less intense.  It will hurt a little less every day.  And one day?  I'll be able to look at my dad and not feel like throwing up.  I will be able to look at my mom and know that she was working so hard with her own shit that she couldn't help me with mine.  I may even want to have a relationship with her again.  Not as mother and daughter, but as grown woman to grown woman.

And also?  Someday?  I may feel like I'm fit to be in the company of humans again.

Can You See Me Now?

When I was in 9th grade we moved for the 6th time in my life.  I had spent the longest period of my life in the town we were living in (almost 5 years) and I fucking did not want to move.  And?  Not only were we moving?  We were moving to another state.  Also?  In my current city, 9th grade was the top-of-the-junior-high heap...we were the big mofo's on campus.  In my new town?  9th grade was the bottom-of-the-barrel at the high school.

And when you're in 9th grade and your world has just been turned upside down?  You will do just about anything to fit in with the kids who have known each other since pre-school.  And I did anything and more.  I stayed out til all hours, I had sex with every "boyfriend" I had, I did any drug anyone would give me. But fitting in?  Still felt like the outsider.  So I would swallow bottles of pills at a time (that always just made me puke) and I was a cutter...way before cutting was the "thing" to do.

The strange part?  No one who should have noticed did.  My dad?  After nine months at the "new" job, he transferred to a small town back in Minnesota.  So - he was never home.  My mom?  Never saw anything.  Oh, she realized that things were bad but it is so much easier to bury your head in the sand than admit to a problem.  De-Nile ain't just a river in Egypt.  She would see band-aids on my wrists and ask me what happened.

"Oh, I tripped on the stairs and scraped my arm."

"Okay.  Just try to be more careful."

After I finished 10th grade we all moved to the small town my dad was living in.  And do you think things got better?  Right...  I was screaming in the only way I knew how that there was something seriously fucking wrong with this whole picture.  And did the 'rents try and figure out what was going on?  Nope.  They sent me away to a group home in yet another state.

"We don't know what to do with her.  We don't know what's wrong with her.  Let someone else try and figure it out.  We are done."  I was made a ward of the state and away I went.  And you know something?  I loved that group home.  There was structure.  There were defined consequences.  If you did what you were supposed to do you were rewarded.  Guess what happened nine months later when I was "discharged?"  Surprise - same shit.  Was there a consequence for staying out all night or all fucking weekend for that matter?  Was there a consequence for skipping school?  For getting totally shit-faced then waltzing into the house?  Did anyone notice?  Nope.  Surprised I ended up pregnant and married at 18?

And the getting married?  No one gave me any other options.  Everyone knew this was a bad idea, a bad relationship, an abusive relationship.  Help or options from the parents?  Nope.

"We don't know what to do with her.  We don't know what's wrong with her.  Let someone else try and figure it out.  Let her try and figure it out.  She's 18 now.  We're not responsible any longer."

Well, somehow, without much guidance or help from mom and dad, I made it.  I am a grown-up with a fairly good head on my shoulders.  So why is it that now?  When I don't really need her anymore?  My mom wants to help me with all my problems?  Wants to fix all my problems?  Knows exactly what I should or shouldn't be doing?  I don't need her help - the hubs and I can figure out how to raise our kids and live our lives without her help.  The only question I have is this.

Where were you when I did need your help, Mom?

WTF?

I am in a hole.  A hole that is so deep and so wide and so dark that I can't seem to find my way out.  Last night I had a total breakdown because I had to ask my husband to hang the last blind for the new windows.  Now?  I have been with the exact same guy for 24 years...I know that he's not gonna take the initiative and hang the fuckin' blinds by himself.  So why the meltdown last night?  And I'm talkin' a MAJOR meltdown.  In fact?  I melted down so far that I actually dug out a pack of cigarettes that is at least 9 months old and smoked.

"All you have to do is ask me to help you," he says.

"Because you didn't hear me say I bought the last of the blinds last week?  Because you and I haven't already hung two of the three that needed hanging?  Because you haven't been almost trippin over the box in the hallway since you been home?" was my justalittlesarcastic response.

He finished drilling the holes and screwing in the brackets and left the room.  I'm sure to get away from the ragin' lunatic screamin' at him.  Then?  When I tried to put up the 71" blind all by my own self?  The fucker didn't fit.  So I lost it...I could not have stopped crying if someone were threatening my children.  I  coulda blown their threatening asses off the face of the earth with my 9mm with a laser aim, but?  I woulda been bawling while I was shooting.

Almost everyday?  Something makes me cry.  And once I start crying?  I can't stop.  I made an appointment to see a for real shrink...my regular doctor thinks I need some tweakin' of my medication.  No shit?

I think I have fought depression all my life.  But when I was younger?  Depression wasn't something any one ever talked about.  I figure I musta been depressed though.  Because?  All the drugs I did, all the sex I had, all the times I would swallow a bottle of pills or try to slit my wrists.  I didn't wanna die, I just wanted someone to see me, to see my pain, to comfort me and take care of me.  Someone like my parents?  Who were supposed to take care of me?  But were so dysfunctional themselves that they could barely take care of themselves?

But this?  This feels like more than just being depressed.  This?  Feels totally outta control.  I know that I don't have any control over things that are outta my control (DOH!).  But right now?  I feel like I don't even have control over myself.  My emotions are crazy.  I have no grey area - it's black and I'm a blubberin' mess or it's white and I'm okay.  But?  Even the being okay part?  Is not so okay.  It's not like I'm happy or anything fun like that.  And?  If you look at me wrong or, heaven forbid, be nice to me or some stupid shit like that, I'm back to bawling.

At least my freakin' therapist is finally back from a three-week long vacation and I have my regular appointment today.  Thank the good Lord above!

Anyway...all this ramblin?  Just my way of lettin y'all know that I may not be writing too regular for a while.  I'll still be stalkin' y'all cause y'all are the ones who definitely I know can and will crack me up.  Unless?  You're writin' a serious blog that'll make me cry.  Then?  Fuck you!  (still love ya though)

Things I Can't Say

Post-It Note Tuesday

Post It Note Tuesday with Supah Mommy

*Kitty is my Jeep.  I am in love with her.

Fawk You Friday

So this is my first "Fawk You Friday!" and I've been waiting...not-so-patiently.  Here goes...

• Fawk you siding dust that is covering every square inch of my house - I will win!
• Fawk you grocery stores that don't deliver - WTF?
• Fawk you Lowe's (again) cause when I decide to buy the expensive, real wood, Levelor blinds and try to get them custom cut - your fuckin' saw blade is dull
• Fawk you people who don't use turn-signals...I'm gonna run your sorry ass off the road because "oh gee...I didn't realize you were turning."
• Fawk you carpal tunnel - surgery's on my left wrist this time so there!  I will be able to wipe my own ass!
• Fawk you construction workers who leave cigarette butts all over my yard...my own butt covers enough land as it is and if I wanted more butts in my yard I'd un-quit smoking and leave 'em there myself!
• Fawk you feelin' crappy all the time!  I'll get some new meds and be better than ever and try and fuck with me then!
• Fawk you mailperson who still doesn't realize that this is the same address it's been for a gazillion years
• Fawk you pants that are too tight!  I'll just buy new ones and relegate you to the crap pile...
• Fawk you nail in my tire...you're gonna be in the heap-o-rubber pile soon enough...
• Fawk you contractor who measures wrong and doesn't order enough siding...I want this fuckin' job done and I want it done now!!!

Well - I think that's it for now.  I'm sure I'll think of some brilliant Fawk You's as soon as I post this - but I'll save 'em for next week.  Head on over to boobies, babies, & a blog to join the fun!

Follow Me Friday

I am so freakin' glad it's finally Friday!  The hubs will be home late tonight and he'll actually be here for six days before he has to leave again!  So I'm gonna hafta figure out what kind of heavy shit I need moved before he leaves again...

Anywho...thanks for stoppin' by...leave me a comment and I will definitely check you out.  No - not in a perv way - get your mind outta the gutter!

Have a great Friday!

Crank Open Dem Windows

So I'm feelin' a little cranky today.  Shut up...it is not my usual mood.  This house remodel bullshit is really startin' to get on my nerves.  It's my summer break and I'm supposed to be able to do whatever I want.  Like sleep til 10, spend a little time at the pool, take a nap, or whatever.  But?  No.  I'm up every day by 7:30 so I can get the dogs fed and out to take care of business so that we're back inside before the guys show up.  Also?  I can't get away from noise.  I used to think I needed noise.  You know - the "I just have the tv on for the noise" while cleaning house or takin' a nap or whatever.  I can't really remember the last time I turned the damn tv on.  Oh wait...yes I can.  It was Sunday afternoon when I wanted to watch some Glee and take a nap before the dang kid called.  And we all know how that worked out for me.  (eye-roll)

But?  I figured once they were done on the inside things would get better.  I could clean my house back to it's usual immaculate, sparkling, pristine, eat off the floor no need to call haz-mat state and then relax a bit.  What a load of crap that idea was.  See...it's summertime up here in these mountains and that means that you have to have your windows open in order not to melt into a puddle.  Most of the houses in my little town do not have central air-conditioning.  I am extremely blessed in having a swamp cooler.  But again, in order for the swamper to work, the windows have to be open.  Usually?  Not a problem.  I love me some fresh air.  Now?  Huge fuckin' problem.  Since every time one of the guys cuts a piece of siding (approximately every 2.5 minutes), there is this GINORMOUS cloud of ultra-fine dust.  And?  Guess where it goes?  Yup...right in my frickin' windows.  There is a thin film of siding dust covering every. single. thing. in my house.

Now...normally I'd be spendin' today and tomorrow goin' crazy cleanin' house before the hubs gets home from France.  After all...he's been over there drinking champagne, ogling French girls, eatin' rich French food, going to Germany just for shits and giggles workin' his little hiney off for us.  I don't want him to come home to a mess and figure out that I really do not do shit while he's gone feel like he needs to clean the bathroom or something.  (See?  I am a good wife!)

But this time?  Not a fuckin' chance I'm gonna be cleanin' any time in the near future.  After all...I'm only one girl and I just can't do it all only to have to do it again in another month!  Sheesh...I have tanning to do and shopping to do and blogs to stalk.