coffee junkie

My mother has turned me into a coffee junkie.

When I wake up in the morning, she usually has a fresh pot made. Sometimes she'll bring me a cup doctored up just the way I like it (three splendas a dash of milk) before I'm even out of bed.

I'm addicted to McDonald's caramel iced coffee. Sometimes I go through the drive through just for the coffee.

At work, I make my own chocolate iced coffee with a cup of coffee, chocolate milk and ice. I've gotten some funny looks, but I've also gotten a couple of people to try it for themselves.

Yesterday, after picking Kade up from his dad's, we went to McDonald's for breakfast on the road before a long day of shopping.

I ordered my usual caramel iced coffee and Kaden got chocolate milk. Unfortunately, that little carton of chocolate just isn't enough. We were in an area with no gas station and Kaden wanted more to drink NOW. So I decided what the hell... I took his empty sippy cup and poured half of my iced coffee into it. I handed him his cup and in the middle of a big gulp I asked him "Is it good?"
When he finally pulled the cup away from his mouth he looked at me and said "I LIKE IT!" And put the cup back to his mouth.

Seems I'm turning my own son into a coffee junkie a little early. lol

Serving detention.

There is no denying that I am a procrastinator. I put things off as long as I can... including getting ready... So naturally, I am often late... for everything.

Growing up, we only lived one house away from the school. It was a quick and easy walk every morning (and a very ridiculous waste of gas when I got my license). There was absolutely no reason for me to be late for school, but I was quite often.

The other night at work, one of the ladies was talking about her daughter (a kindergartener) having to serve a detention (apparently she got in trouble for talking). It reminded me of my first detention.

I was never a trouble maker in school. I did serve several detentions, but they were all for being late.

I believe I was in 3rd grade when I was assigned to serve my first detention for tardies. Knowing I was late for school, i went straight to the office. The principal told me that I had too many tardies on my record and I would have to serve a detention for it.

I think I almost cried. I was a good kid. I imagined sitting in the front of the detention room with all the miscreants in the school throwing spit wads at me and threatening to take my lunch money.

And then it got worse. The principal told me I would be serving a noon detention.

A noon detention was typical for younger kids, and it involved standing in a corner in the all-purpose room during lunch recess. Not really a big deal.

But I didn't hear "noon detention." No... I couldn't hear the principal clearly over my sniffling as I wiped away my tears. What I heard him say was "You need to serve a nude detention."

I didn't even want to know what that was. I wasn't going to find out.

Needless to say, I never showed up to serve that detention.... and I was in High School before I earned enough tardies again to be assigned another detention.

Despite my efforts, I was unable to score a nude detention with the 24 year old science teacher that started my senior year.

Nonsensical Insomnia

I've said before that I don't understand why my son (and all children) fight sleep so hard.

This can't possibly be true, because I, too, fight sleep all the time.

I do completely understand fighting sleep. It seems there is always something that keeps me awake.

There are things to be done... Fun to be had... time to actually be alone. Thoughts to be pondered, considerations to be made, things that simply keep me from that subconscious slumberland that allows my body to rest and regenerate.

I live on naps.

Thirty minutes here, a few hours there.. I can go days on end only getting a short cat nap here and there... and then I crash. One entire day is wasted while my body plays catch up. I guess I would rather lose one whole day once a week rather than a half a day every day.

Or maybe it's just that I work nights so my internal clock is screwed beyond all measure. I don't know.

But I can't sleep. And that's just the way it is.

And I can't write either.
I am still sick.... and it has been over two weeks now.
My energy and creativity levels, it seems, have been completely drained...

Unfortunately, my sinuses haven't.

Learning how to breathe

Upon reading the the title of this blog, you might have braced yourself for a hearbreaking yet empowering read... A tale of depression and devastation followed by the realization that life does go on... Perhaps you expected that "get back on your feet" story that is often associated with a person metaphorically learning how to breathe again...

Sorry to disappoint you with the lack of a deeper hidden meaning... It was just a fancy way to say that I am learning how to breathe when my nose is filled with stubborn, dried, crusty boogers clinging on for dear life, that absolutely refuse to budge no matter how many times a day I blow and sniff and sneeze trying to clear my nasal passages.

Colds are nasty, nasty things.

I'm finding that the old familiar technique of breathing through my nose leaves me gasping for air like a geriatric whose grandkids thought it would be funny to put a kink in the oxygen tubes like they would a garden hose (the results are definitely not as fun as spraying the unsuspecting hoser in the face as they attempt to figure out why the water stopped).

Let me be the first to tell you, it is certainly not easy to breathe through your mouth without looking like a gaping idiot.

So I'm trying to breathe half through my nose and half through my mouth.
From a distance, I probably look like I'm mumbling to myself. Throw in the occasional nose twitching as I try to loosen those disgusting mucus plugs, and I probably look like a crack addict mumbling to myself...

I guess I just have to keep in mind it's only a cold. It WILL go away... and by the time I finally get this new method of breathing figured out, I'll be able to breathe regularly again. Go figure. But then, it won't be long and I'm sure I'll be finding myself under the weather yet again....

'Tis the season... =/

How not to come out of the closet.

Some lessons are best learned by experience.

Though this is a lesson most of you probably have no use for, it is something I learned through experience that I felt compelled to share. There is no need to be alarmed, I wasn't the one coming out and that is not anything you have to worry about coming from me anytime soon (unless you tend to be on the receiving end of some of my drunk texts... in which case I sincerely apologize)!

Several years ago I had a friend and coworker who felt the need to share her deepest darkest secret with me. We weren't the very best of friends... I did enjoy working with her and we spent a little bit of time together outside of work, but not enough that I would really consider her close.

But I take secrets very seriously. When someone shares a secret with you, it means they trust you - it's a sure sign that they think of you as a true friend, and I think that's kind of a big deal, so I was quite flattered...

Until she told me her secret, that is.

I was sworn to secrecy and was asked to promise that I wouldn't laugh at her. After I assured her that I would keep her secret safe and would not be judgemental, she finally opened up.

"I think I'm bisexual," She told me awkwardly.
"Oh." I replied, unsure of how to react to the most recent discovery my friend had made about herself.
"Don't worry," She put her hand on my shoulder, "You're really not my type... so don't think I'm going to be hitting on you or anything. You're just a friend."

Whew!

At first I was relieved. I wouldn't have to worry about her looking at my butt when I bent over (which happened often in my job duties) or trying to put any moves on me if we were just hanging out watching movies like we'd done before.

But as time went on, being one of the few to know her secret, I was subject to her rambling on about her crushes or love interests. Time and time again, she would point out a member of our sex that she found attractive, and the only thing running through my mind was her telling me I wasn't her type.

Seriously? She thought that skinny girl with the stringy blonde hair who wore too much eyeshadow was hot, but I wasn't her type? The short gal with the big nose and frighteningly white teeth was pretty, but she didn't like me.

I thought about it quite a bit.

It really wasn't that I wanted her to be attracted to me... I was much more comfortable with our friendship knowing that she wasn't going to be checking out my rack at any chance she got... but at the same time, I was offended.

How dare she not think I was gorgeous?

I'm pretty much over it now.

I don't have any advice on how to come out of the closet... and I don't plan to gain any personal first hand experience in that field. The only thing I can say is just keep your straight friends' feelings in consideration!

"Hey man, I'm gay but I think you're ugly" can and probably will insult your friend. But at the same time, "By the way, I like chicks, and I love your ass in those jeans" is probably going to freak them out a bit. Trust me - the latter would be me when I've had too much to drink!

(Just for the record, this friend of mine is in the open about her sexuality now, and I didn't mention her name, so I really don't consider this blog a breech of trust!)

Bloggercising

I am, at this exact moment, getting multiple types of exercise.

Yes... I have gone from being anti-physical activity to trying to find a form of exercise in regular every day activities.... such as taking the long way around the machines at work for an extra walk, dancing the night away at the bar (and trying not to lose any clothing) and... bloggercising.

Right now I am working my arm muscles, riding an exercise bike (5 mies is the plan) and... blogging.

"How in the hell are you managing that," you may ask.

I am on a recumbent styled exercise bike, for starters. This leaves my lap area open... perfect for a laptop computer. Or not... It is extremely hard to type on a laptop that is bouncing n my lap with each pedal. This is where the arm workout comes in.

I'm actually holding the laptop with one arm while typing with my free hand. I have to switch arms frequently... I am not sure how heavy the laptop is, but I am willing to bet that it is heavier than and most certainly more awkward than the three pound barbells I have been lifting.

Bloggercising exercises my mind... and body.

I have already ridden four and a half miles without even thinking about it! Pretty sweet deal, if you ask me.

I've also been sending text messages.
If text messaging counted as exercise, I could be considered a thumb-fitness enthusiast. Unfortunately, such dedication to conditioning my favorite opposable digits will likely result in multiple carpal tunnel surgeries later down the road.

I have to admit, it is certainly not nearly as hard to take 35 minutes or so out of my day to ride 5 miles on the bike and do my other exercising. Today was day 4 for exercising, and it's already getting easier. I can do 7 push ups before I have to stop to breathe! I am still feeling the burn every time I laugh, cough or move any inch of my body... But as I start to feel healthier and begin to see chages (yes, it will take time) I know I'll find the pain to be worth it.

Let's get physical

Illinois is the only state in which students are required to take some type of physical education (this includes extra curricular sports like basketball, volleyball, and, umm... bowling?) through all 4 years of high school.

I can't tell you how many times I'm sure I begged my parents to cross the Indiana border. P.E was my least favorite class, and I was never into sports. Unfortunately, my tiny school didn't have a bowling league - though I did have a friend in the next town who bowled on her school team specifically to dodge P.E.

As I mentioned, I attended a very small school. There couldn't have been more than fourty students in the entire high school during any of my four years there.

My Freshman year of high school, I ended up in a P.E class that consisted of mostly Seniors. There were a few Sophomores and a handful of Juniors, but I was the only Freshman in the class. Unfortunately for me, our teacher liked to have his students do their warm-ups by grade.
So my entire Freshman year of high school, I was running (ok, jogging..ish) the length of the gym, doing push ups, sit ups and jumping jacks alone.

I wasn't just doing warm-ups alone. When we played dodgeball, close to the end of classtime we would play teams by class. Freshman VS. everyone until it was over, then Sophomores VS. everyone, etc. etc.

Yes. It was me, the lone Freshman on one side of the gym... and 15 or so other students on the other side. Throw in 5 or 6 dodgeballs, it made for some fun times, I tell ya.

The next two years of High School still sucked, but it wasn't nearly as bad. I got used to the teacher, and by my Senior year, he was actually one of my favorites. That was a good thing, because I was the only Senior in my P.E class my last year of high school. It was the same thing all over again.

I got singled out and made fun of often.

In fact, he even told me once that I looked like a camel in heat while I was doing push ups. (I'm not really sure what a camel in heat looks like - but I'll warn you... If you google it, don't click on anything that says "camel toe." )

Up until last night, I think the only pushing up I've done since high school has been with a D cup. I have avoided exercise like the plague, despite the fact that I've been encouraged to do just that for most of this year.

Last night I gave up. Fine. I'll do it. Not because I'm being told to, but because I know I should do it... Because I can tell just how out of shape I am when I'm chasing a two year old around the house.

I was told to start easy, ten push ups and ten crunches for starters. Then work up to more. "Ten?" I thought. That doesn't seem like very many.

As I got down on the floor I could really tell how out of shape I was. As i started to lower my chest towards the ground, I instantly felt a burning sensation in my arms. I didn't lower myself very far for fear I wouldn't be able to get back up! After just three push ups I was ready to quit. I lay on the floor ready to accept my defeat when I heard that voice in my head telling me to get back up... At least no one was watching this time. How in the hell did I do this every day in high school? Oh yeah... I think I remember pushing my feet against the back wall of the gym....

I did three more and took another brief break. I couldn't believe how bad my arms hurt after just 6 (pathetic) push ups. Four more and we'll do the crunches.

I flipped over onto my back and took a deep breath. This won't be so bad, I thought. Oh, guess again. After just one crunch I swear I felt a rib break. Bodies weren't supposed to bend like this. My back hurt, my abs hurt, and I was trying to remember how to breathe. I read once in an exercise book that you are supposed to breathe out as you sit up. It's really hard to remember that when all you can think is "God this hurts, ouch, oh, God I'm going to be feeling this in the morning. Dammit I should have started out doing only five!"

But I DID IT.

And I have to do it again today. And tomorrow. And all of the days that come after that.
Somebody hold me accountable...

Lipstick Hooligan

Kaden is pretty good about playing by himself when he needs to. He plays with cars, blocks, "folds" clothes, or will even sit and watch a movie for a bit. He's a good kid.

I usually don't think much of it when he's quiet.

I sat here at my computer this afternoon after lunch trying to make changes to my MySpace layout. As it turns out, the profile editor is down, and if you've got any code in the editor your profile is unchangeable until it comes back up, so my efforts were fruitless. Such is life....

Kaden was in his room playing as I typed in code after code and cursed MySpace repeatedly. He was quiet.

And then I knew something was up.

Giggling.

Oh, Lord, here we go. I walked into his room to see what he was giggling over. Imagine the look on my face when I see $9 liquid lipstick in my son's hands.

On my son's hands.
On my son's face.
On my son's neck.
On my son's stomach.

And it won't come off.

I hop online to google how to get lipstick off of a toddler. Baby oil? makeup remover? Let it wear off... Oh God, his dad will love this.

I have to admit, I am a pretty big fan of Maxfactor makeup. They have bold colors you won't find in the "Covergirl" section, and the product is good. Their cream eyeliner is amazing - I put the stuff on and was still wearing it, unsmudged, 2 days later.

This liquid lipstick catastrophe is hard evidence that I didn't need.
Their website boasts specificially about the product my son put to the test: "Endless possibilities for attention-getting, dimensional color that lasts up to 10 hours. In your favorite fashion-forward shades."

I have no idea how I'm going to get it off of him. I may very well just have to let it wear off. Not sure how his dad is going to react to his little boy wearing lipsick. I'll just have to remind him - You can put lipstick on a boy - but he's still a boy.

Is the tank half empty, or half full?

A truly amazing thing has happened, and I only just noticed it.

The gas tank in my car is not empty....

The first miracle was being able to fill my gas tank from E until the clicker stopped for only $33. I drive a Saturn, and my gas tank is not that big, but I rarely ever fill the thing because of the soaring gas prices. I had just got paid so I was feeling rich, and gas prices had dropped, so I filled up.

Tomorrow will be two weeks since I filled that tank up. My gas tank, to my surprise, is half full.... Or is it half empty?

How the hell did that happen? I'm shocked and amazed.

And kinda bummed, because it's obvious that the reason why I have more gas in my car than usual is because I haven't been using it. I've been a total homebody the last two weeks.

Then again, if your last two attempts to be social went as poorly as mine did.... You'd probably stay at home for the rest of your life, too. So yeah. In this case, I think the tank is half empty.

Tequila makes her clothes fall off

Recently I've found myself looking for the perfect piece to compliment my outfit, only to remember,

"Oh yeah. I lost it."

The song really does seem to ring true for me...

Except my first experience with alcohol, where I came home with extra clothes... Big props to the guy I was with for letting a drunk chick that puked on herself wear his spare t-shirt home.

Now, I don't really drink that often, (And I don't generally do tequila) but when I do, you can pretty much bet on it being a good time. I have come home sans shoes, jewelry, and yes, sweaters.

For my first drinking excursion, I made the mistake of wearing 5 inch high heels. Yes, the shoes were sexy... however attempting to balance myself in them as I walked around a pool table (I swear bars switch from using rectangle to trapezoid-shaped pool tables halfway through any given Friday or Saturday night) was not. Somehow, I managed to break the strap of my gorgeous heels. I also broke a necklace that night.

On another rowdy night out (I believe tequila was one of the seven shots I hit up that night - on top of countless mixed drinks) I lost a pretty jewel-toned dark pink sweater. With 3/4 sleeves and a little button closure, it was the perfect solution to keeping me warm while I wasn't rocking out on the dance floor with a girl friend to some local band's rendition of "Crazy Bitch." My date was too occupied by the trapezoid that night to be bothered with putting an arm around me to keep me warm. If memory serves (and it probably doesn't) I did make it out of the bar with the sweater, but left it at a friend's house afterwards. I really don't think I can blame the tequila here, though (I'm about 99% sure the Bailey's I ended up licking off myself was at fault).

I also lost the similar-styled black sweater (that you can see me wearing as a blonde in my myspace picture album. Actually right next to it is a picture of the pink sweater mentioned above) on a different night - though the only thing I had been drinking when I lost it was coffee flavored Rockstar energy drinks.

Any shoes that I've lost after a night of drinking can generally be found in the passenger side floorboard of the car the next day, and, well.. I can't say what happens to my earrings...
But I think Joe Nichols had better think twice about letting his wife drink Tequila without him because I sure as hell didn't lose that earring in my drink.

Tongue Tied

Have you ever watched a toddler learn a new trick?

My son experimenting with his newfound independence has got to be one of the most interesting and hilarious things I have ever seen. Whether it's putting on a pair of pants by himself, scooping up broccoli on his fork, or walking down a few stairs, he insists on doing things on his own.

Somewhere in his two years of existence, he's learned to concentrate with his tongue.

I swear, this little boy couldn't do half of the things that he does if he didn't have a tongue - he uses it for everything.

When he's climbing up onto the couch or his Kaden-sized recliner, he pokes that little tongue out, deep in concentration.

When he's building a "waffle-block" city (or playing Kadenzilla tearing it apart) that little muscle in his mouth gets quite a workout.

While attemtping to put his own pants on, just like a puppy, he's got that tongue hanging out.

Grandma Debby has been attempting to teach him to jump - and I have to admit, I'm scared to death of what might happen when he finally figures it out.

This is only the beginning stages. He is only two, and I know I have a good 16 years of him experimenting with his independence.

Right now, watching him stick that tongue out to concentrate, I can sit back and think "Aww, how cute..."

It's hard to think that one of these days I'll undoubtedly see him sticking out that tongue as he's concentrating on calculus and my only response will be...

"When the hell did you get that thing pierced!?!?"

are you smarter than an aussie?

Last month, my friend Tony from Australia came up (way up) for a visit while he was on "holiday" overseas. Being his first trip to the United States, my parents tried to squeeze in as many local(ish) tourist attractions as they could in the few days he was here.

He really amazed me at the St. Louis Arch, as we checked out the heights of other National Monuments. He knew locations and details - While I'd not even heard of some of them.

As many times as I have been to the St. Louis Arch, I felt clueless about it. I didn't even know it was the tallest monument in the United States... I would have assumed the Statue of Liberty was taller, but no... even with the foundation the statue sits on, it is only half as tall as the Gateway Arch.

He knew our presidents, some by name and number. I can't even name the presidents carved in Mount Rushmore, let alone what term they served... and I've been there.

He played along with the trivia game that played in front of the movie we watched about the Arch. With a simple random fact on the screen, he was able to answer the name and location of most of the National Parks. I'd never heard of most of them, though I was able to answer the obvious ones.

I think he knew more about Abe Lincoln than I do, too, and I live an hour away from Springfield. That is a sad thing to learn.

How is it possible that a foreigner knows more about my country than I do?
I've lived here for 23 years - my whole life, and here this was his first time visiting the United States. My high school History teachers would be severely disappointed.

For the record, I'm sure I'm definitely not smarter than a 5th grader, either!

I really should look into going back to college!

Knock Out

Today I had my first experience with anesthesia.

I went in to have an upper GI scope done, after working from 7pm last night to 7am this morning. I slept at home before we left. I slept on the way to the hospital. I slept while waiting to be given the anesthesia. Basically, I was already sound asleep before they gave me the drugs.

The last thing I remember was having the oxygen tubes wrapped around my face and stuck up my nostrils. I'm not even sure if it was the drugs that put me to sleep first.

While they shoved their little camera-tube down my throat, I slept soundly in more ways than one.

My parents can tell you just how hard it is to wake me up from a normal sleep....
From banging on my bedroom door repeatedly, yelling at me, and eventually stealing my covers, my parents used to have a hell of a time waking me up to get ready for school in the mornings.
I can only imagine the trouble the nurses must have went through while trying to wake me up today, seeing as they had to wake me up twice!

At 10:00 I went to fill out paperwork and get my IV started. I went in to be knocked out at 11:00. They said the procedure would take 5-10 minutes, and it was about 1:30 by the time
we were leaving the hospital.

So, yeah, it took me a while to wake up, and I really don't remember any of it.

I'm left wondering what the hell I said as I was waking up, because my mother asked me,

"So when did you kiss a girl?"


Oi!



I just hope, for my mother's sake, that I didn't mention anything else...

Crazy Bitch

"your a bitch"


I received this message today in my Truth Box ap on myspace, and am quite confused by it. I'm not sure if it came jokingly from a friend ("Crazy Bitch" is one of my profile songs, after all) or if it came seriously from an enemy.

Either way, the sentence confuses me.


The message I am referring to is the one on top. Now, I'm not going to fully believe that the message is from a girl, because I know for a fact that these messages were not all posted by women... I don't know why the little images to the left are all chicks. Moving onward...

"Your a bitch" is not grammatically correct. The poster has either signed this Truth Box message as being from my bitch, or they are trying to call me a bitch.

You see, the word "your" is a possessive term. It means that whatever comes after that word belongs to me. In this sentence, "a bitch" is mine. However, if they were signing this Truth Box message, the "a" between "your" and "bitch" is unnecessary. This leads me to believe that the author of this message is actually trying to call me a bitch, in which case they should have used the word "you're."

"You're" is a conjunction of the words "you" and "are." Had the author used the proper version of the word, this sentence would clearly read "you are a bitch."

Quite obviously, I really am a bitch...

attracting new clientele

The other night I was talking to my mom about how I can't attract men that are near my age.

It seems that I keep getting MySpace messages from men that are 29+

I am 23. My last boyfriend was 35.

I joke around that it's hereditary - There is a 12 year age gap between my parents.

I think I also keep forgetting that I'm 23 years old. The last time I was "on the market" I had just turned 18. I guess it's hard to think of myself as getting older, too.

My mom has been right there for me, trying to help me find Mr. Right. She's been wrong about a lot of things.. but, nonetheless, I know she is only trying to help.

And the other night, while discussing the "age" matter, she told me I needed to get "All dolled up" so she could take a new picture for my MySpace. She said obviously the picture I have up obviously isn't doing the trick for me, and I need a new picture that will attract "different clientele."

Umm.. What?

"Clientele?? I ain't no hooker, Mom!" I told her.

She kind of laughed and told me I should know what she means. She's a natural blonde, so I let her get away with it... and I did know what she was talking about.

So, be sure to check my MySpace for a new "All dolled up" picture. I plan to show up for my photo shoot in knee high stiletto boots, fishnet stockings and a corset top. I may even throw in a syringe.

Ok, I'm sure you can sense the sarcasm. I couldn't resist.

I still haven't found what I'm looking for.

Sometimes I feel like I'll never find what I'm looking for.
Then I sit down and try to figure out what the hell it actually is that I'm looking for.

I think I have been approached more this year than I have in all of my years in dating combined.
I've turned down several offers, ignored some completely, have chatted up a few potential prospects, had a few dates. I even dragged out a relationship over the summer that I knew was going nowhere. And I still haven't found what I'm looking for.

Late last night on MySpace messenger, I was approached about no-strings sex.

We were interested in each other about 5 1/2 years ago, but he left the state for military training and years went by before I ever ran into him again. We also talked a bit at the beginning of this year, but I just wasn't into it.

He asked repeatedly if he could come over, and I turned him down again and again. At one point, he sent a message that said -

"how about a hand job?"

I told him to use his own hand and his imagination. Had I looked at his profile before this conversation took place, I would have told him to call his girlfriend.

I may not know what I'm looking for, but I know "no-strings sex" is definitely not it (especially not with an attached man).

Some days I think I want to eventually get married again. Other days I think I like not being tied down. I go back and forth on whether or not I want more kids, too. I guess that depends on if I ever find the right man (for both)... and how bad my son's terrible two's turn out to be.

I guess if I don't even know who I am, how can I expect to know what I want? Or where to find it?

I'm going to keep on looking until I figure it out...

But I'm going to start with myself first.

Dripping dry

It is so damned easy in this life to take things for granted. As Americans especially, there are just some things that we expect to always be there for us. We've gotten so accustomed to having certain luxuries that we are beginning to depend on them, which could very well put us in a world of hurt.

Think about the last time you were let down by something you've come to take for granted....

Did you come home from a hard days work, grab a soda, plop down on the couch and flip the TV on, only to find your cable/dish/sattelite network is having technical difficulties?

Did you wake up in the morning, pour yourself a cup of coffee and sit down at your computer to discover that your internet server is down?

Maybe you were out shopping, and you decided to call your spouse to ask one last time if there was anything you needed that did not get put on the shopping list. You reach into your purse or pocket, and then you remember that your cell phone was left on it's charger at home.

Or, maybe you're like me... I have no one at home to call to remind me of any items I need that I may have forgotten about. I don't usually make a physical shopping list because I tend not to stick to it, anyways. I keep track of the basics in my head, and hope my memory doesn't fail me.

Don't ask me how that method of shopping is working out for me.

I did my shopping late Saturday night. It was kind of a last minute decision to go at the time, so although i did have an idea of the basic things I needed, I didn't have a lot of time to think about it.

I got to the store and grabbed the obvious things, milk, bread, and some quick simple things to feed a finicky toddler (chicken nuggets and fish sticks). I also spent plenty of time looking around at things I didn't need - but that's a given.

I went home, put things away and really couldn't think of anything I might have missed. I thought I made out fairly well. Satisfied with my trip, I went to bed.

I woke up Sunday morning and did the general lazy morning routine... Brush hair, brush teeth, relieve bladder...

As I sat there on the stool, there it was, staring me in the face.

A few tiny little scraps clinging to a cardboard roll.

You have got to be kidding me.....

Guess I'll drip dry....

I generally buy toilet paper in bulk. It's just one of those items you don't like to be seen pushing around in your cart at the local Wal-mart. I'm not really sure why I think it's so embarassing to be buying toilet paper, because everybody uses it. But my point is, I buy it in bulk so I don't have to be seen making that purchase very often.

Because I go so long without buying it, I've come to just always count on it to be there. It's not something I expect not to have.

I plan to not let this happen again.

TV, internet, cell phone... that type of thing I can survive without (in fact, I have no tv service at all). Toilet paper, however, is kind of on the essentials list. I'm thinking it's a good thing I have plenty of storage room in the bathroom, because I imagine toilet paper is going to become a "ketchup" item to me....
You know.... you end up with 5 unopened bottles of ketchup in your kitchen cabinet because you buy it everytime you go shopping because you can't remember if you actually need it or not, but don't want to find yourself without it...

I have learned my lesson though. There is no toilet paper fairy... Tinkerbell doesn't just wiggle her tiny little tushy and magically re-fill an empty roll.

And pushing toilet paper around in a cart at Wal-mart is a lot less embarassing than calling up mom and dad and asking to borrow a roll of toilet paper.

I kissed a girl

In honor of "National Coming Out Day" I guess I will blog on sexual orientation.

I try to be as upfront and honest as possible when it comes to my sexual orientation.

I consider myself to be....



(gasp) .....




Straight.





Whew, am I glad to get that off my chest.

I have kissed a girl... actually two in the same (sober) night. One was a good friend of mine who caught me off guard (it was just a quick peck on the lips), and the other was a friend of hers. Our other mutual friend who was with us at the time (the only guy with us that night) dared us to kiss, and at that point, I thought "Oh, what the hell!" That was even before Katy Perry released her song.

It's true that I can be a little more assertive when alcohol is involved, but I don't think that's unusual... I've bought drinks for girls I didn't know and have sent drunken text messages to my female friends at 1:30 in the morning. On my last drinking endeavor, I sat down next to a girl and powdered her up with edible vanilla body glitter. In my defense, she was wearing a shirt with an open back (it needed something) and I did not lick it off.

I don't know why it is, but I can definitely understand what attracts men to women.

The way thick dark hair falls in waves around a heart shaped face.
The way a soft cotton t-shirt hugs the upper body just right.
The way pouty red lips look paired with blushing cheeks.

Whether or not they want to admit it, I believe all women check each other out. We are constantly checking out magazine models. We compare ourselves to our significant others' ex love interests. We check out how we fare against the competition when we're out. We take a look so we can tell the honest truth when our best friend asks us if her ass look big in her new jeans. We primp and preen ourselves before a big date until we find ourselves attractive. We do it all the time. This is why I don't think that simply finding members of the same sex attractive should make anyone question their sexuality.

I have a girl friend (the same one I shared that peck on the lips with) that I think has beautiful hair, gorgeous lips, and a nice ass, and I've told her so. It doesn't mean I want to embark on a long-term sexual relationship with her.

And that is why I consider myself straight.

Sure, I kissed a girl.

Yes, I can appreciate a good looking woman.

I do have a theory that I think a woman could please another woman better than a man (in some aspects) because women know what women like.

Ok, so you could probably call me a little bi-curious.

But men can be trained.

I have no desire to be with a woman sexually (one on one), nor do I have the desire to have a relationship other than friendship with a woman.
As a woman myself, I know that we are complicated creatures. With mood swings, deep thought processes, self esteem issues... I have enough trouble with my own, thank you.

That, and there are some things that a man has that a woman just doesn't.

That deep, sexy voice.
The gentle tickle of chest hair against bare breasts.
The feeling of a little facial scruff roughed up on soft skin.

Oh yeah, and a penis.

Happy "Coming Out" day!

Driving me crazy

I absolutely hate driving.

With that said, I would almost guarantee that anyone who has ever been my passenger would tell you they hate for me to drive as well.
I went through the "behind the wheel" section of Drivers Ed. twice, and was only a few months shy
of turning 17 before I was finally given my drivers' license. I even had to take the driven test at the DMV twice... I didn't stop even with stop sigs, zoomed through a yellow light as it was turning red, and had the lady giving me the test reaching for the "Oh shit!" handles. Unfortunately, there were none, so she resorted to shouting "Oh shit!" instead.

I love walking out into the parking lot after exiting a store. I can't count how many times I've come out to see people staring at the gaping hole in the side of my car.

Yes, there's a hole in my car.

While trying to roll up my (crank) window on the passenger side (while driving) I veered a bit to the right (ok a lot) and hit the curb... and hit a sign. The fiberglass that my car is made of (Saturn.. gotta love it) was frozen, and therefore shattered. Oh yeah, that incident also took off a hubcap, and the passenger side mirror. It's a beautiful sight.

It's pretty safe to say I'm a horrible driver. You will never hear me say, "I wanna drive!" I think it is a big responsibility. I don't like being in control of such a potentially lethal weapon.

When I was in school, there was talk of the legal driving age being risen to 18. At the time, I was pissed. Instead of raising the legal driving age, they made a law that students cannot have more than one passenger in the car with them driving alone for the first 6 months, unless it's a sibling.
I really think this did nothing.

Reasoning was that new drivers would be less likely to try and "show off," but all this did was put more young, inexperienced drivers on the road. I would be all for the legal driving age being risen to 18, except for students who are working, in which case they should be allowed to drive themselves to and from work only.

Give them a driving permit and let them drive with supervision for 3 years. I know I used to do things behind the wheel that were blatantly stupid. i.e. driving 90 down a hilly country road, trying to see how high you could get your car off the ground. Passing friends when it's completely unsafe, just to say you passed them. Cranking music so loud you can't hear traffic outside.

I know some adults do things just like this now, and texting behind the wheel is another big one, but at least those adults are grown up enough to know better. Who decided that at 16 students were old and mature enough to handle a vehicle, while other laws are basically saying they are not even old and mature enough to handle their own mind?

You must be 18 years old to vote for who you think should run your country. But you only have to be 16 to be put in sole responsibility of a 10,000+ pound potential death trap. Where does that make sense?

Peanut Butter Kisses

To most people, "peanut butter kisses" are those peanut butter flavored taffy-like candies that come in orange or black wrappers that you see in stores around Halloween time. But anyone with a toddler in their life will tell you that those chewy candies are nothing compared to the peanut butter kisses this blog is named for.

It never fails that my two year old seems to have his most affectionate moments when he's covered with food. I've had chocolate tickle-fests, spaghetti-o grins, and apple juice hugs... but my favorites are peanut butter kisses.

I can see (and smell) them coming from across the house. Sitting in my computer chair, I hear little feet dancing across the kitchen floor. I smell the peanut butter (good, he's actually eating the snack I gave him) and here it comes...

"MOMMY!"

He crashes into me with crummy fingers and his mouth nearly super glued shut with peanut butter. He climbs up into my lap and puckers his little lips.

"No, don't kiss me!" I tease him, jerking my head back.
He laughs, and makes another attempt.
"No!" Again, I dodge the messy face coming towards me.
"Mommy!" He grabs my face this time, and there is no escape.

"Muah!"

He plants an over dramatized peanut butter kiss right on my lips.
"Oh, thank you!" I tell him, laughing as I wipe the peanut butter and cracker crumbs off my face. He lay his head on my chest for a brief moment and I hugged him tight.
"I love you buddy," I reminded him.
"Love you" he said, as best as he could with peanut butter still on the roof of his mouth.

Before he was born, I used to cringe at the thought of messy faces and sticky fingers.. But now, I can't imagine my life without them.