Pomeranians & Piercings

This year for my birthday I am going to pierce my nose. Why, yes, I AM serious. For no other reason than I like tiny, little shiny things. Kind of like a bird who is willing to get run over on the freeway in exchange for a sequin. It also has significant personal meaning for me, but there's no point in trying to explain how an additional hole in a body part that already has 2 can hold biblical relevance.

I am also going to save up and buy an annoying, yapping miniature furball that can wear obnoxious sweaters and be called things like "pookie". Yes, I AM saying this with a straight face. I am going to save up for a mini Pomeranian, although I doubt I can afford a true micro and will instead have to get a purse/pocket size. More's the pity......... the micro ones are truly the most irritatingly cute. They actually make me throw up a little in my mouth they are so kawaii. Perhaps I'll commit true cute suicide and name it Bijou and teach it to potty in the toilet, and buying it little carpeted steps so it can sit on my bed and shed.

Michael is none too pleased with either of these developments, but in true Michael fashion has approved my pursuit of idiocy in hopes that I get sidetracked before July. The odds are in his favor actually. I have wandered off the clear path of many grand pursuits because I saw something shiny and became, figuratively speaking, of course, roadkill on the busy freeway of life.

This project will from henceforth be known as the Furball Fund and I highly recommend donating large sums of money to it. My family can donate to the cause because they find it highly amusing to complicate Michael's life with his wife's shenanigans (they had to put up with it for years after all), and his family can donate to it because an annoying, needy little dog almost guarantees that I won't have a reproductive relapse and try to procreate. Again. Note the "veiled" threat here.

And, no, I am NOT using up my Midlife Crisis. Believe me, you can write my current behavior off to possible just sheer stupidity, but when I have my midlife meltdown, you won't be able to mistake it for anything else.

Take Your House Plant To Vote Day

It's been awhile, hasn't it? I am undertaking a project, aptly entitled "Therapy for Thirty" that is analyzing and reconstructing weak points of my life from the top down. For those who have lost track, I am turning 30 this year, and I refuse to arrive at my thirtieth birthday with the same set of problems I had in my twenties. I plan on creating a whole new set of problems.

We are also currently struggling through a situation with the retarded girl next door. Granted, she is not technically retarded, but I think that if you spent any time with her at all you might feel less inclined to complain about such a politically incorrect moniker. She is trying to "become" part of our family by inserting herself into our life each and every night and I am just about to reach my breaking point. She's quite dreadful, and I think God is punishing me for something (and it must be something absolutely horrible to merit something like this). I keep trying to tell myself that it is an opportunity for us as a family to learn empathy and how to work through socially difficult situations in casual relationships. Unfortunately it is not working out. The younger girls are polite certainly, but Summer finds her repulsive to the max and has decided to start a blog entitled "Wisdom & Wit From The Retarded Girl Next Door". Michael vetoed it, of course, but I'm considering an override. I mean, some of the things that verbally vomit themselves out of this girls mouth really need to be recorded for posterity. Including the lie (and an odd lie that it was) brought forth this weekend that she was voted the most "Christ"like Basketball Player. Because Jesus was always up for a little one on one.... what? You didn't know that? You are an idiot. You see what I mean? Retarded.

Today is Super Tuesday, which is far more exciting for me than the Super Bowl by far. In fact, it only stands second to the actual election day and when politicians get publicly charged with tapping their feet at other "patrons" in public bathrooms. I also am rather keen on "Talk Like A Pirate Day" (my youngest son was born on that day!) and "Take Your House Plant For A Walk" day.

Dear Neighbors,

Dear Neighbors,

Now I consider myself a patient person in most respects. I am a mother of 5 and all of them have (so far) survived long enough to be counted in a general census. However, I have my limits and you pushed those this morning. Allow me to explain a few things about America that the border patrol immigration office seems to have forgotten to tell you when you snuck over the border with 112 of your buddies arrived here:

1. Americans are politically correct enough to pretend not to notice that you are here illegally and bleeding the life blood out of our government as long as you do not get cocky and start messing with us. You seem to have forgotten this. You should remember, very quickly.
2. Polka music is freaking retarded and so are you.
3. Having pictures of the virgin Mary in your car does not make me any more likely to miss you if I decide to shoot your retarded self & your stereo. I know this, because she is also a woman who once had a sleeping baby, and if your dumb asses had decided to blare polka music in the parking lot of Bethlehem at 6AM in the morning, she would have sent Joseph out to nail your ding dongs to the nearest utility pole. And she would have been justified in doing so, so how's that for sinless existence, you dweezilbots?
   
4. You are stupid. I hate you.
   
5. The movie Kill Bill has set a precedent for stalking down people who deserve to perish in dreadful ways and enacting such atrocities sans conscience. While Kill Pedro, or Kill Mario or even Kill Juan, for that matter, would probably be less appealing at the box office, I believe that the general concept holds and I have a video camera.

Anyway, consider yourselves warned (as IF you speak or write English). If you ever blare your crappy polka music at 6AM outside my apartment again, while laughing hysterically, I will........ TELL ON YOU. Yes, that's right. I will call the police for you disturbing the peace. I will call the office 3-4 times a day and complain every single time you so much as flush your toilet. I will call immigration and tell them you once said "jihad". I will call your mother and tell her that she is ugly and that she dresses you funny. I will call the Pope and tell him that he's ugly and dresses funny. I will haunt you until you run screaming back from whence you came with all your polka cds stapled to your ass.

Smoochies.

Peace On Earth & Goodwill Toward (quiet) Man

Peace on earth. There is never going to be peace on earth (actually there will be, but it's a roundabout process as described below). And I will tell you why. Because religious people are filled with stupid questions. That's why.

One of the grand past times of the church goers, is to parade around their buildings discussing in great detail the grand many ridiculous things they plan to "ask G-d" when they "get to Heaven". This boggles the mind. For this scenario, let's say we see the prophecies fulfilled in this lifetime. We are going to see a majority of the world's population slaughtered &/or maimed, a total transformation of the natural world as we know it, and a supernatural battle that will end in such a massacre that blood will be horse bridle deep for miles, and these silly people think that they are going to tap Yeshua on the shoulder and ask Him why the sky is blue as opposed to green, or some other such preposterous nonsense. Haven't these people ever heard of Google? Hmm?

My theory on this is that this is why it says that Yeshua will rule with a rod of iron. I think He will use it to smack people who ask stupid questions directly on their melon and thus bring about peace on earth.

I Am Caesar Sose!

I'm still rather alive, I quite assure you. I am going through my email and schtuff this afternoon, so to everyone I owe info & smoochies, watch for it to arrive sometime today. I am a tad late, but I am learning to embrace this aspect of my personality and so should you. I have no idea why you should embrace it, as it doesn't benefit anyone at all really, but pop psychology says that I'm OK and I wouldn't kick pop psychology out of bed for eating cheese and crackers.

This is the last day of our Hanukkah celebrations. I have to say that having a holiday last for 8 days is absolutely hilarious. I now fully comprehend Adam Sandler's quip (from the Hanukkah song) "Instead of one day of presents, we get 8 craaaazy nights -hee hee". Granted, we didn't do presents every night, and twice Michael had to work late, but overall I'd say we pulled it off rather well. Well enough, in fact, that our neighbor benevolently brought us pork sausage yesterday evening. I hadn't the heart to tell him about kosher, and instead thanked him profusely. With a straight face even. I've got this whole modest, non conceited thing totally handled. I am so unvain that I absolutely amaze myself. I am the least self absorbed person I know. In fact just the other day I was letting someone listen to me tell them about how all I do is think of other people first. Cause that's how I roll, all thoughtful and stuff. I am the queen of charity. I am the role model for modern society and, let's face it, the uncredited backbone of all advanced civilizations and............

Anyway, now we get to start preparations for Christmas. I objected, but was overruled in the court of Michael, which is not a particularly fair court, by the way, and ended my articulate and well planned objections with judicial threats like "I have a whole bag of shhshshshsh with your name on it". On the bright side, though, I now get to make a "gimme" list, which I have been working on all morning. It's amazing how the bar of expectations limbos wildly out of control the poorer you get. For example: I started out with a Kitchen Aid counter mixer, then realized that the was not going to happen. I then lowered the poll to this shirt from Target, but did the math and realized that I couldn't really tell the children that for Christmas Santa brought the whole family that shirt. I then lowered the bar to a used bath bubble maker from the thrift store, but it sold, and I finally settled on used lottery tickets and a half drank bottle of wine that's already in the fridge. The above of course is a total exaggeration and I suppose that I must admit that there really is no truth to it at all (except wanting to the mixer and the shirt). I'm afraid that my conscience gets to me during the holidays regarding these things, but I promise to return to being a conscienceless liar come January.

Pope Paper Dolls

Many people do not believe that the world is ending. However, the fact that you can purchase paper dolls of a pope makes my case for me in its entirety. I'm headed for my secret underground lair, but not before I pick up my scratch 'n' sniff stickers of Jim Jones................. mmmmm, smells like Kool-Aid.............

I Flung A Cake In A Thankful Manner

Yes, I did. It stuck to the pan, and I was slowly trying to remove it from said pan while maintaining a very starchy smile and all of a sudden I flung it. Actually, I am making the claim that it flung itself when it realized how badly it was maimed but I can't prove that.............

Lily has been sick for many days. Langdon has been sick for several days. Dexter has been sick for a couple of days and Summer is on day one. I am absolutely positive it is bird flu, but Michael claims it is just a rather nasty bout of the common cold. Michael really has no imagination in such matters, although when he has spent most of the day roaring about the house threatening to give Dexter to gypsies which I thought was a rather creative solution. And I can't much blame him as Dexter is the kind of child who turns young mothers gray haired and sterile on a good day, so you can surely imagine him with bird flu a nasty cold. He is on hour 32 of screaming his bloody head off and I openly admit that I have researched my current birth control method twice seeking solace in the fact that the odds are in my favor not to reproduce another alien species who preys upon the lifeblood of the unsuspecting child. Of course, he was conceived practically immaculately in the first place, so I often ponder if the reason he is so grumpy is that he knows we were actively trying to avoid him at all costs, but I digress.

Today has given me renewed respect for my family's matriarchs who produced many a grand Thanksgiving dinner, and made it look like something humanly possible. I'm off to make gonocche (it is spelled wrong and I don't give a rat's tushy) icing for the sliver of cake I scraped off the kitchen floor and I plan to carry it to the table with a straight face. If any of my cherub like offspring so much as even make a face, I plan on finishing off whatever glass of white wine I am currently on at the time (and I'm knee deep in the bottle now) and then eating them. In a thankful manner, of course. Happy Thanksgiving.

Pirates Eat Jehovah Witnesses. Everyone Knows This.

The Jehovah Witnesses stopped by today. I have been living on my own now for almost 14 years (don't do the math or you might figure out that I was a runaway teenager who needed a nasty whipping and some major time spent in working the progression of traditional Greek sentence structuring, but I digress........), and I have yet to find a satisfactory way to deal with them. It's a very Seinfeld sort of experience for me where I mumble something about homemade gravy and eternal damnation before slamming the door on them, and then going "AAAAAAH! I should've said - insert any witty thought that was thought too late here!"

I think the girls and I figured it out today. We are making a sign to store by the door so that when they knock we can kindly open it, post our sign and demurely shut it again. Here's what the sign says:

Aaaargh! We're Pirates!

Prozac For The Poor

I have decided to start a seasonal charity called "Prozac For Poor People". Our main activity will be flinging antidepressants at random window shoppers during the holiday season. On days when it is too cold to get out and about, I plan to sit in my living room all day throwing Prozac at myself.

Eating Little Trees

Decapitation & Other Amusing Anomolies

I know, I know............... I can only imagine how annoyed some of you are getting at how often I change locations online. I can't help it! I have the attention span of a retarded gnat, and labor under delusions of grandeur greatly multiplied by antidepressants and slushies.....

Besides, in my defense, the other site wasn't particularly conducive to writing. You simply would not believe the amount of times I sat down to write something over the past couple of months and failed. Miserably. I think it was the fact that their text editor was stone age and included a smilie face icon that just stared and stared and stared at you while you typed. I do not like being stared at. Also worth noting, is that I would accept membership after membership and try to let people in and it wouldn't work. That drove me absolutely stark raving mad; I'm talking The Yellow Wallpaper type mad, which is, literarily speaking, wacky tack out of one's mind. I do not know if literarily is a word, although literariness is in fact a word, yet it seems all around less useful than literarily would be supposing it existed at all.

I don’t like to look out of the windows even—there are so many of those creeping women, and they creep so fast. I wonder if they all come out of that wall-paper as I did?

- quote from The Yellow Wallpaper

Anyway, we are doing well here, although we've had a few stabbings in our apartment complex which is absolutely odd since it is quite lovely and all around quaint and serene. Granted, things are not as they appear but I don't think we are in any danger and I don't suspect, being an avid devotee of the 5'0clock news, that we would fare better anywhere else in such a large city. It seems that stabbing each other is an accepted past time here, and it really doesn't drive property values down or even particularly interest the neighbors unless decapitation is involved for which it rarely is. In fact, seeing as we can't afford the cinema, I have to say that the occasional neighborhood knife dispute has served as more than one evening's source of great entertainment, and also as an ice breaker with our new neighbors who aren't stabbing each other at that moment. For example, here is a transcript of an actual likely conversation while the police tape things off: So, who stabbed whom? Is that your car? I don't believe we've met, but I have been receiving your newspaper for weeks now. I say, was there decapitation involved?

The Jell-O Death Stars of Dr. Seuss

I always liked Dr. Seuss' little Who creatures. Very interesting little things really. If Dr Seuss existed today I suspect they would have him on high doses of ADD meds and psychotherapy to cure his delusions versus celebrating him as a children's author for all time. I'm just saying.....

Time is short here. The link for the new site will be later today. I owe phone calls, emails, etc. but as always bear with me. I am in the process of trying to get us an apartment in the new city, securing movers, working on my own classwork, teaching the children, doing a major overhaul on our belongings (I'm getting rid of everything not tied down or of direct use in amusing Dexter), and working to bring this whole move situation into the realm of a controlled scenario. Or at least something resemblant of.

We will be moving in the next 45 days or so. And I keep reminding my husband via naughty emails: Worth noting here is that the closer we get to moving the more I am rather unhappy about it. Have you reminded your boss that the world is ending and will probably be set in motion by a nuclear attack on our nations capital (thusly baltimore area) that will paralyze our society's operations by completely wiping our government off the face of the map? Hmm? I'm just saying and be forewarned as we sit in our apartment drinking radiated water and breathing the fallout all while our skin rots off and our lungs separate into little jell-o like pieces of artery blocking death stars that I will say "I told you so".

I Miss Stuart Smalley.

I'm sorry, friends & family! I have not been eaten by a landshark posing as UNICEF or injured myself on the little springy animals at the park (again!).

I am in the process of relocating the blog to an actual site. It has the blog, has pictures, has games, and does not have gonorrhea (just seeing if you're paying attention). It is fantabulous and is geared toward being a hub of communication for our family & friends versus a Google archived forever record of Becca-isms that I keep getting in trouble for anyway.

We are working on schoolwork. We are dealing with strange men coming in and out (no, and how rude of you to think so) regarding estimates for the move, and the stupid sun is shining so the kids are all "oh let's go outside and be healthy......... oh let's go get fresh air........" . This is the absolute agony of springtime; I abhor it.

Dear Gerber,

This communication is regarding the "milestone celebration" emails you insist on sending my mother. Please stop. It is bad enough that she is paying 3 times the going price for over hyped "organic" pureed garden dirt (and is convinced that if she purchases regular baby food that it is actually pureed rat poison with orange food coloring and artificial carrot flavoring), she is now printing out pictures of baby's who have been coerced into following your developmental schedule and taping them to my playpen. It's getting ridiculous.

As a matter of fact, please watch for a future communication from my lawyer regarding this exact situation. After watching a news special yesterday that made the substantiable claim that babies who don't reach milestones when they are supposed to are more likely to grow up to be inmates and graffiti artists, and in the same day received one of the aforementioned "milestone" emails she took away all my developmental toys and threw me in the corner with sugary cereals and finger paints. While the lack of pressure to perform one receives when located in the corner is enjoyable for short periods of time, I find that I am unable to disrupt people's schedule, destroy important tax related mailings or chew electrical cords to my heart's content. These things are an important aspect of my "pursuit of happiness" and thusly you are interfering with my first amendment rights. Big time.

While the lines of communication are buzzing, let's get a few things out in the open here. I do not sit up by myself and have no intentions of ever doing so. I do not like your crappy pureed vegetable poo and refuse to be ready for solids. Ever. I have no intentions of potty training on schedule, developing hand-eye coordination or going to college.

Warmest Regards,
Dexter

PS - I watch the stock markets and I hope Nestle does take you over. I guarantee they will nix all this "organic" dirt pie doodles and start cranking out Chocolate Carmel Marshmallow Baby Delight. Yum.

Lewis & Clark Simply ADORE My Pants

Yes, friends, I managed to get rather lost again today. I have so far managed to get lost on this particular trip every single time we've had to make it which counting on my fingers and toes adds up to a grand total of: quite a lot of times.

Today, however, I managed to create a new personal best: I got so lost that I landed in another state by no insignificant amount. Indeed I ended up in another state at a historical point that Lewis & Clark visited but evidently no one had thought to since. So I backtracked through my original route, except I ended up crossing two, count them again please - I said two, rivers that I hadn't crossed in the first place.

By no small miracle I ended up back in familiar territory using my usual method of following random people who seemed know where they are going and aggressively do so laboring under a grand delusion of self importance; such people are quite useful for finding things actually. They want everything, and are always on their way to buy something thus leading to points of commerce. Points of commerce are always situated between communities, and if you can get to one of these it's just a matter of playing InkyPinkyPonky to see where to go from there.

Anyway, I was so glad to see an area I knew that I immediately stopped and bought a pair of pants. They're quite nice too and were at a fabulous sale price.