I've told my family "I want to be a painter, even if I'm a bad one."

Heaven help me.

Also, check out the recent work I've done on my other website: http://ratzilla.bravehost.com/index.html

Eh? Eh? *nudge nudge*

Been watchin H&G lately

Does anyone else want a house as badly as I do? Nope. Damn, I want a house. I mean, we could be paying a monthly payment equaling our rent now, once we put a deposit down! How can you beat that?

Okay, I know it's not all roses, but since we're not even close to being able to think about buying a house, let me dream, yeah?

Here's one thing that pisses me off majorely: apartment people and pets. Yeah, I know you own it. Yeah, I know it's something that will be yours for a long time and mine only to rent for awhile, but face it: I'm living there. It's my home. So why make all these inane pet rules? Because you want to be on the safe side, really on the safe side, so far on the safe side you can just barely see normalcy? No, you can't even see it? Well let me tell you, normalcy is where all your renters live, and that just ain't a good enough reason to put these kinds of controls on people.

You know what it says about you? It says you don't give a shit about your renters.

I had lots more to say (cuss) about this but I find myself getting worked up again pointlessly and I'd rather just not.

So let's focus on the good:

One day, I will own my own house, and when I feel like getting a pet, when the whole family discusses it and decides we truly want it and are ready for the commitment and can afford it, well sonofabitch we are going to get it. It won't matter a smidge what size it is, or what breed, or if it's what you call an 'exotic' (a term which, by the way, you have pulled out of your ass. Not a nice place to take things from). And the words 'pet deposit' will only come into play when we need to put a deposit down on an animal before we take it in. And 'pet rent'? Get the fuck out.

Poll Results

And the winner is... I'm Going to the Potty and I'm NOT Taking You With Me!

Honorable mentions go to the second place winner, Get Your Finger Out of Your Butt!

Look for a newer flatualting poll coming soon to a blog near you.

Poor, neglected bloggy poo.

I didn't forget about you, I swear. Well, at least not for the most part. That is to say, I thought about you every once in awhile but didn't feel like updating.

Hmm.

I've got a new website, did you see? Of course not. You're a blog. Well don't feel too abused, I'll be puting the link up on your link section shortly. It's just in its beginning stages now; only a few of the pages have stuff on them, and only one is done (first draft, at least).

Yes, it is sort of like having another kid and loving it better, isn't it?

Ha! I jest, lovely blog, I jest! You know how I am: short obsessions I pour everything into for a little while. But I still love you, bloggy poo. I haven't forgotten about you entirely. It's just a smidge of neglect. You'll live.

I guess I won't tell you that I would be working on my other site now if the host wasn't down temporarily for repairs...

In all seriousness, now that I've come back to update you, I'm finding you particularly addictive again. Is that cocaine you're feeding through the laptop exhaust fan? Must be.

And, the link.

Here.

You people are STUPID BEYOND BELIEF

Up front, let me say that if any comments come in claiming to take offense at the title, the only thing I'll be surprised about is the fact that any comments come in at all, such a rare occurance that it has yet to happen once. And I won't apologize. Because it's true.

While perusing Yahoo!'s most viewed photos (most of which were amazingly dull, for being the most viewed photos and all) I came upon a photo which was so dull that I wondered what it was doing there. Twas a picture of a ketchup bottle. Then I noticed something funny about it: The big 'W' on it, so I clicked on it to see a bigger picture.

I'm almost sorry I did.

Apparently, some freedom-fry-enjoying people were upset at the prospect of dipping their fries into ketchup connected with Kerry's wife, Teresa Heinz-Kerry. Hmm...Heinz...sound familiar? So they created a new ketchup, manufactured entirely in the US, called W. Yes, W, which they claim stands for Washington, as in George, whose picture adorns the front of the bottle.

"You don't support Democrats. Why should your ketchup?" Says the website for W ketchup.

It took me about half of the article to be able to believe it wasn't actually a farce. Had I wondered onto The Onion by accident? Sadly, no. Although by the time I got to the end, I was wavering again, when I read about another company launched last year to provide a conservative alternative food-wise, this one for ice cream. It's called Star Spangled Ice Cream. Among their flavors: "I Hate the French Vanilla (Real American Vanilla, NOT the French Vanilla)".

I hate it when people do things so stupid I can actually feel my brain shriveling up when I hear about it.

Well, there goes my first politically themed post which may cause some people to curse me. Chances are slim, as hardly anyone reads this blog, and the ones I know who do are probably in as much awe as I am. For once, I ain't gonna be politically correct. This is my place to say what I feel.

Something I never thought I'd see

Rasputin's preserved penis.

I gotta say, that's one funky lookin' cock.

And a haiku for the birds.

Birds have flown the coop,
ungrateful buggers. Where ya
gonna land now, huh?

The birds have flown

Haven't seen them in several days now. Suspect they have all learned to fly and have gone off to bigger and better things.

What, may I ask, can be bigger and better than a dinky little birdhouse covered with possibly toxic immitation-paper, that twists around in the breeze on its string so that you have to wait for it to face you before you can fly into it, next to the "night light" that comes on every time the annoying, loud humans want to come out and smoke their foul cigarettes, often saturated by the evil deadly smoke from said cigarettes?

What, I ask you??

You know you're in love when...

You're sharing a snack with your little one and just after you put the last bite into your mouth they ask for more, and you take out half your mouthful and give it to them.

(No, it wasn't apple or coffe cake. It was tuna casserole, which provides an even more interesting mental image to accompany this story.)

Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

You know that line of commercials for Life cereal, the one where kids surprise you by bypassing yummy treats such as donuts and cinnamon rolls in favor of the cereal?

Well Milo just reinvented it on all how own without knowing it ever existed.

I had a piece of coffee cake that we had been snacking on, and an apple. He was requesting more, so I started to break him off a piece of the cake (I'm not a bad parent, I swear!) and he said "No! No! No! Apple!"

What an angel :)

In the interest of full disclosure, I feel obligated to mention that he had been snacking off and on on said coffee cake for awhile now, and is covered in chocolate from the chocolate chips that serve as a topping.

*love sigh*

You know those birdies I mentioned?

Today I was reading on the couch and out of my eye I saw a movement that I knew was a bird flying, only in an odd direction--specifically, straight down to the ground, from the vague area of our birdhouse.

Could it be? I thought to myself. Have I just witnessed a baby bird taking his first plunge in the lesson of flight?

I have! I have!

Mom and Dad Bird were there, keeping watch and possibly giving instructions and encouragement. That's it, there you go! You can do it! Just flap your wings like this...no, not like...yes, there you go! Oh! Well, don't worry, you'll get it...yes, that's it!

It was hard to tell cause I can't see inside the birdhouse, and it's positioned so that they (being the quick little things they are) could fly in and out without me noticing (especially with my attention riveted to the baby bird on the ground), but I saw for certain the one baby venturing out, and two parent birds watching, and POSSIBLY one or maybe even two more baby birds waiting in the birdhouse! They were tweet tweet tweeting away and in swooped Mom (or Dad) with something in its mouth and suddenly they were TWEET!TWEET!TWEET!ing with anticipation of the tasty morsel.

Anyway, it was just a darn heartwarming thing to see.

Here is a record of the first part of New Birdie's (presumably) first flight: Birdy plumets to the ground and lands safely within the patio enclosure. Mom and Dad peer down from either side on the railings, encouraging action! Finally in a gallant spurt of energy Birdy flutters up to the top of the chair the humans had so graciously provided! From there, a skittering bumpy partial landing and take off from the rail. There was also some desperate wall clinging as Birdie learned how to grip the textured wall with its feet.

*sighhhhhhhh*

The most beautiful thing

At our wedding shower, one of my husband's aunts gave us this birdhouse. It was kinda pretty, being painted all pretty blue and stuff, although the funky green shredded paper stuff on top was a little weird.

Somehow we never got around to hanging it up all these years, and finally did when we moved into our latest apartment. I had been wanting to buy some bird feed for it since it seemed kind of useless.

Apparently, the birdies think otherwise!

For awhile now, we've been watching the movements of a bird (two?) who has been flying in and out of it with what is presumably the makings of a nest in his mouth.

Today while DH and I were out there stinking up the air and poluting the little birdies' lungs, we heard a strange little peeping sound. And lo, it was coming from our own ramshackle birdhouse! Peering up, we were treated to the view of a baby mouth, wide open, poking out of the bottom hole, waiting for mommy/daddy to bring home the grub.

I don't know how many there are--so far, we have only seen one. And what a cute one it is!

As we were getting up to go back inside, Parent Bird showed back up with some sort of green bug jammed in its mouth.

Makes muh heart sing, I tell yers.

The Poll --->

I just thought of another one, but it's too late to add it. Actually, I didn't just think of it, I actually said it. "You can't just go around sticking your finger in other people's noses."

You know you're in love when...

You will kiss a booboo'd nose even if it means you may get snot on/in your mouth.

I can't decide what to do about the titles. Are they too big and ugly, or not? I know this is completely riveting for you so I'll keep discussion to a minimum to avoid over excitement. Don't want you to start experiencing hear palpitations or anything.

On a less exciting note...

LEON GOT THE WIRELESS TO WORK! YAY!! WAHOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WOO WOO WOO WOOOOOOOOO

Whoa

Now that's a big bit. Back to the ol' HTML torture chamber think tank.

Ah ha!

We have title lift off!!

The strangest thought just thought itself up in my think tank.

I looked at the clock and realized it was still a couple more hours til Curves opens after lunch break, and here is the though:

"Oh darn, I really wanted to go now."

Actual disapointment.

That I can't go work out.

Sweating, grunting, out of breath, forming blisters on my hands, feeling as though my legs are about to collapse under me in fits of exhausted jello-like powerlessness.

Me.

They must pipe in some sort of addictive gas through the ventilation system.

So, how do you help your wee one understand that not everything he wears is a diaper?

First we tried the pull-ups, but that was long ago before we really started working on the potty thang, and they were just pretty darn silly. I think Milo can actually take his diaper off easier than a pull-up, and they feel to him exactly the same.

Lately, potty training has been progressing with the aid of nudity. He's getting pretty good at going in the potty. What he's not getting so good at his not going out of the potty. He likes the potty, pees in it a lot, has pooped in it a couple times, and gets all excited and pleased whenever he uses it.

However, the fact that we are using the potty instead of our undies/the patio/the floor/etc is having a hard time getting through.

Most recently we picked up some of those training pants-- just like underwear, only thicker so they hold accidents in better. The problem is, Milo seems to think they're diapers.

Eventually, we are going to have to get this boy used to going potty when he's fully dressed.

AH HA! SEE! THE MOTHERFUCKER WORKED DOWN THERE! THAT SPACE IS SUPPOSED TO BE A < P > WITHOUT THE SPACES, AT LEAST THAT'S WHY I TYPED, WHY IS IT WORKING HERE AND NOT THERE BLAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH *extinguished*

PS. I just noticed another thing askew. Needs to be more room between the rings list and the poll. Mere question of adding space (which has not worked so far...what happened to easy lil

?) or whole hooplah of changing padding/matrix/boarder/am making up words now/no use resisting/can't...keep...fixing...typos

ajdk;atioekdafd;;;;;;;

Warning: delirium is making me feel wordy...and less caring than usual about spelling mistakes.

Another Warning: It's longer than it has any right to be. I think I'll graciously allow these words to do double duty, and go add them to my blog. http://ladylady.blogspot.com in case you're intrested. Go see it!!! Only one person ever goes!!! WHO ARE YOU, MYSTERIOUS POLLER?????

Yes. I have been working (nearly) this whole time, trying to wrestle HTML into doing my evil bidding. At this point, my stomach is really pissed off at me for not eating anything, my body, finally realizing I had given some attention back to it, looked at me disgustedly and said "Yes, DUH you are TIRED moron" and my brain feels like a frothy pile of poo.

BUT my ring links are the right size! Wahoo! After much careful comparison, utilization of font viewers on Word, and brief consultation of a font website, I came to the conclusion that it was probably actually the right font, at a *slightly* different size. From there, possibilities went off into an incredible maze containing thousands of dead ends and one right answer which I reached, finally, after trying EVERYTHING ELSE I COULD THINK OF AND MORE.

Eventually, I managed to get it down to 95%.

That's right.

It was the same damn font...five percent smaller.

*stabs self in head with kitchen knife*

BUT

(what, you didn't think it was coming?)

they're ba-ack *places hands on weirdly staticky computer screen*

THE UNDERLINES ARE BACK AGAIN.

I figured out that it is yet another code buried in the original template, telling everything listed in the sidebar to be underlined. I hadn't even noticed before cause it actually looked nice, it's just when you slash it up under -s and +s and >>s and whatnot that it starts to look like crap, and you actually start noticing it. So, in order to fix the size, I had to let the underlines come back.

I may just let the mofos stay. We'll have to see how frothy the ol' brain is feeling tomorrow.

A sweet toddler giggle...ah, ambrosia of the aural gods!

If ice cream is wrong, I don't want to be right!

Some extraordinarily mediocre haikus to commemorate the evening spent at Texas Land and Cattle restaurant last night for a Father's Day dinner, during which Milo thought he was on crack, Leon almost broke a tooth on a rock in his salad, and...what, that isn't enough? No, really, ON CRACK, the whole time. I suspect it was a delirious second wind coming from missing his nap today (which I did on purpose so that he would be tired and mellow...talk about backfiring...).

shorty switching sides
under the restaurant table
wants: binky! binky!

hyperactive Mo
what did you eat today???
free freak show for all!

jump jump jump and twist
Elvis' signature thrust
(pelvic) and... tantrum.

PS. Milo just peed off the patio again.

Is it so wrong to get pleasure from a commercial?

To all you add writing people who write clever, funny, entertaining commercials, I thank thee.

After all, finding pleasure in little things is sorely undervalued these days.

Mommy the Maid.

So, do you want to know what my two boys just did? Do you??

Leon, sprawled on the floor, propped up on the zebra pillow, eyes glued to the TV screen and hands glued to the Xbox remote, tells Milo that Daddy really needs a beer, will you go get one for him?

This, I believe, is his way of venting minor frustration at the knowledge that if he wants a beer, he will actually have to pause the game, get up, and get it himself. Also his passive-aggressive way of making his desires known to me so that I, his wife-maid, will go get it for him. Fortunately for him, this was the perfect excuse I needed to get up and go into the kitchen for that last donut I'd had on my mind.

Anyway, Milo hops up and takes off across the living room. He's a man on a mission. I'm thinking, poor guy, hope he doesn't freak when he gets to the fridge and remembers we've had the child lock on there for quite awhile now (the lemon juice incident was the last straw--did you know that standing in a puddle of congealing lemon juice long enough will actually cause the skin on the bottom of your foot to feel like it's TEARING OFF when you try to walk away?).

But no, he's not heading for the kitchen. Instead he makes a beeline for mom, sitting on the couch, minding her own business.

*smack smack smack* "Mommy. Daddy!" (gesturing wildly behind him at daddy) "Get! Beert!" (Yeah, that's how he says beer...and soda, for that matter [thanks, Root Beer]).

The best part was the look on his face...total indignation. On Daddy's behalf.

The second best part: Daddy almost had a tear in his eye, smiling at His Boy.

hyper-active boy
red shirt, brown hair, fleeing scene
runs faster than me

I can't really remember ever feeling like fainting at the sight of blood. Did I mention I'm a Law and Order fan?

That is, until the night before last. It wasn't until the crisis was mainly over-- Milo wasn't crying anymore, the bleeding had mostly stopped, I had ascertained that he had not broken his nose, probably did not have a brain tumor, and would probably not drown in his own blood after we put him to bed-- that I looked at the red blood on me and realized that this was the stuff of life flowing through my boy's body, keeping him alive. He needed that blood in him! And here it was, outside, on me!

Feeling dizzy...

Milestone!!

Turd in the potty! Turd in the potty! Turd in the potty!

1st: I am so bloody fucking sick of the People Game. Trying to figure out through all the subtle clues just what the hell people mean. Beyond actual deception, which I have NO patience for, even those of us who want to be faithful to ourselves and honest must filter our messages to the world. "If I don't add an exclamation mark here, they'll think I'm dowdy." What does that even mean? I have not got the patience to explain it. I don't want to edit myself, but even more I don't want to have to sift through subtleties and nuances to figure out what people really mean.

Oh and also, I'm bloody fucking sick of fearing that I'm too needy. If people think I'm too needy...so be it. I don't want to change who I am to make friends. Even if I make no friends in the process, which often seems to be the direction I'm heading in. Or already facing.

2nd: I am so bloody fucking sick of wanting to write and not doing it. I'm too scared, and what does that get me? Nothing. So what if I'm not a good writer anymore. So what if what I produce is crap. It's better than producing nothing at all. And if I'm just a shitty writer, so be it. That's okay. As long as I'm a writer. And besides, the only way to get from Shitty Writer to Less Shitty Writer is to fucking do it and do it and keep doing it. To that end, I've decided to just fucking do it. Here is a fear of jinxing it, but at this point I'm more sick of being afraid than I'm afraid of jinxing it. So, I opened up the file of my last NaNo novel, which I did not come close to finishing, and am working on it again, and I was actually really pleased by a lot of it. Much is crap, of course, and I fear even the parts I am enjoying are crap that my crap radar is not picking up, but again I'm more sick of being afraid at this point, so I'm just going to look at the parts that please me and say, These please me.

On a good note: I have created the cutest child ever. He's looking at me right now with his big adorable blue eyes and milky drool dripping from his chin. He's been "dunking for cereal" in the bowl again. Leon has tought him to say 'Go Lakers!' and 'Kobe!' and I'm teaching him how to pee in the potty. We are parents. I want another baby. That will have to wait, but goddamn do I ever love the heck out of this little Porky.

thirty five inches
and sixty pounds--dear god!
just who will that be?

The Health Gods have spat upon me.

The damn cold (such an innocent, minor-league word) oozed its slimy, sickly way down my throat and into my chest. I start panting just walking from one side of the room to the other. I swear I smelled sickness wafting up from me the past few days, but I believe I'm on the mend.

Breathing is still a ridiculously laborious task. Who knew so much thought might have to go into an involuntary reflex? But at least the burning pain is gone when I cough and sneeze.

Speaking of health and fitness...

I finally had my Curves apointment today! Yes, it was scary hearing all those measurements they took of my flabbous body parts. Although their scale is on my good side. I now have written down my weight and inches goals. Good lord, are there that many inches on a body. Okay, I can swallow that one, but... is it really possible to have THAT MUCH of my body percentage be fat?? How am I managing to ooze my blubbery bulk from point A to point B? For that matter, as long as I can actually see the skin and bone that is there...how can there possibly be any room left for muscle?

This is ridiculous.

Here's to hoping this is the one. As my mother has reminded me, there is no failure in the falling down, only in the not getting up again. Think about it. So true.

*Let this be it let this be it let this be it*

As soon as I can exercise with a reasonable hope of not smothering myself in my own nonfunctioning lungs, I am so there.

While we're in this vein, I have a suggestion for a wonderful gift (and hey, right around Mother's Day too) for any of you moms (or dads, or parent-like figures) of moms (or dads, or any Stay at Homers).

A couple years ago for Mother's Day my own darling mother gave me this gift--a flowered card redeemable for one particularly hectic day of hair pulling when I could call her sobbing and she would come lift this most special burden from my shoulders and return him in the evening.

Ah, bliss.

I think I read the whole time. The best part was not having to consciously or subconsciously be aware 100% of the time of the little hurricane constantly swirling around the house bringing with it a wind of destruction.

Man, I love that little SOB.

So, what do you do when your adorable, precious, angelic little wonder boy spends the day requesting food be shoveled into his mouth at an abnormal rate, pooping every few hours, digging said poop out of his diaper by the handful, pulling all your worldly objects from every shelf and drawer in the house and strewing them about the floor while dismantling half of them, insisting on using grunts, whines, and cries instead of his 'gentle words', regularly throwing tantrums for no (or sufficient) reason, turning the cat's scratching post into a stool, turning the cat into a pillow (evidently requiring to be fluffed aggressively), and turning you into a twitching bundle of nerves?

Add to this a husband who works half the day, then comes home and sleeps. Throw in a few minutes of me trying unsuccessfully to wake him at the requested time, add a dash of toddler jumping on the bed, and a generous pinch of husband yelling at said toddler to leave him alone. Cool, ice with husband pushing toddler out the bedroom door and closing it behind him. Garnish with me left alone to wrangle the toddler alone (once again) for the rest of the evening. You may want to utilize toothpicks to hold the layers together because this is one h*ll of an unholy sloppy mess.

Also, there is an unhealthy amount of cat tail pulling going on around here.

Can you tell what recipe this is for?

Yes, you got it. *pat pat*.

Notice how quickly "adorable, precious, angelic little wonder boy" turns into "the toddler".

Poop on shorts, legs, feet.
Uh oh-- surprise on carpet.
Thought we'd got it all.

When oh when will you be potty trained, my love? I smell another stinky. I've found the next biological WMD in your diaper. Who knew a nuclear waste dumping site could fit in that cute lil wrinkly bumhole.

sweet and sour sauce
you are oh so delicious
fingers now orange

Maggie showed her playful side today. Suddenly my skein of yarn must have looked irresistably delicious, as I looked over and found her attempting to devour it, or at least show it who's boss. Moved by this display of friskiness, or perhaps just accidentally caught up in the claws as I attempted to disentangle her from the yarn, I engaged her in a little look-my-hand's-a-clever-little-mouse! game and experienced that peculiarly delightful feeling of feline claws and teeth mercilessly tearing into my skin. Ah, I'm in love!

email addiction
come on come on give me more!
damn 'disconnecting'