How Lazy Am I?
Oooh, have I not written in a while! My bad, for those of you out there that read me (if you exist).
We got anew ca-ar, a new ca-ar, woop woop! Finally gone is that hideous red truck that guzzled gas and took twenty minutes to park, FINALLY. We are now the proud owners of a 2004 Dodge Neon SXT. It's gray, and it smells nice, and I just tricked the interior out in purple Scooby-Doo. The purple will be gone by this next payday, but it was fun while it lasted, the whole week.
Bruce is on twelve hour night check now, so I am really bored and almost suffering brain-leakage from consistent five hour blocks of Law and Order. I need to start cleaning the house more or something.
MOVIE TO WATCH: Hellboy. Just trust me and go see it at least once. There are some laugh out loud scenes and dialogue, in a good way, and the villian is deservedly creepy. If you're a fan of the comic book you'll be pleasantly satisfied.

"You ARE Fired, you Minute-hoarding Clock-Watcher!"
Hehehe, that commercial gets me every time. In moments, I see that insult added to our lexicon. The husband uses it at work constantly.
Actually, I had an assload that I wanted to write about today, but the weather is gorgeous outside, prompting me to set aside the keyboard and step outside to soak up the last three days of spring we've had here on the island and play a few thousand rounds of Pokemon Collosseum. God, how addictive is THAT game?
The hub-unit changes to the night shift next week, so early heads up: updating now occurs at night after monday...YAY! I get to stay in the house alone at night. Yick.

--The (finally glad it's spring) Queen

Have You Ever...?
...Woken up one morning and just NOT wanted to do something, no matter how ridiculous or unfounded that want may be? You know, just woke up and said "I don't want to be in this house anymore", regardless of the fact that you love that house and could stay there forever? Or, say for some people out there "I don't want to be in the military", when in fact you love that particular job and wouldn't want to be leaving anytime soon? I know this sounds weird, and my point's probably not making its way across, but this morning I woke up and I didn't want to be married anymore.
For the record: I love my husband and would NEVER leave him. But this morning I rolled out of bed and thought how nice it would be to be single again, just for a moment.
It could be this reason: I just don't feel married anymore. Six months ago after we said the I Dos and started our lives together, everything was kind of a new experience, and still different. Now it's the same thing every day, with lots of predictability as to what the next day will bring.
Not that predictability is a bad thing, as a borderline agoraphobic and compulsive something-or-other, change is BAD. I LIKE knowing what I have to do in the mornings, and what I have to get done during the day, every day. But this morning, for about three seconds, the thought of living hand-to-mouth, not knowing where I would be living in a month or if I had the money to eat, appealed to me.
BUT NOT FOR LONG, KIDDIES!
I am SO over that thought. Bruce spoils me to the point of (over-) contentment, and I am delirious with marital bliss. But for one second this morning...
Blech.

--The (mentally deficient) Queen

Mad Mad Wha-?
Just spent the last two hours scoping scifi.com for the poop on Mad Mad House. If you haven't seen it, omigod you need to. It's refreshing to watch an elimination-based reality show with freaks and geeks. Trust me.
The most interesting thing I've noticed, however, is that after clever editing and all, we know more about the contestants (we'll call them the geeks) than the freaks (the Alts, bless 'em) do. I mean, watching the night-vision conversations and the confessinals, it seems that most of the geeks are completely and totally different from the persona that they put out for the Alts. Now, I understand that this is part of the game, but COME ON...
Case in point: Kelly. A 25 year-old campaign whore for the republicans, she was OBVIOUSLY the front-runner for elimination on the FIRST DAY.
(I realize, of course, that for those of you that haven't seen the show have not fucking clue one about what I'm talking about. Check out the scifi.com site and check it out. But back to Kelly)
This bitch (in the strictest biblical sense, of course) was ALL face and no ass, if you get me. What she put out in front of her was all that was there, with nothing to back it up (get me now?). Over-emotional, over-dramatic, I was irritated on the first episode. Thank god she got axed on the second show, but I would have LOVED to see her freak ass out during the voodoo challege when they dumped the animal entrails and the fish on her. Pity. And I did quite enjoy her after-eviction rant about how they were all judging her (ALL of them) and that they had no right to because they were all freaks of nature and freaks and freaks and FREAKS. She really showed her ass on that one. I did, before writing this rant, of course do some backup research and such. I checked out the transcript of her chat after she was ousted, and a few things became painfully clear:
1. She lied on the show about her true feelings on the show, and she lied during the chat.
2. She had more than 'a little crush' on Don the Vampire, most unhealthily so.
3. She admitted to wanting attention, and that was oh-so agonizingly obvious that she wanted more.
4. This bitch has persecution issues. Not that I'm saying a lot of people don't, but why bring them to the forefront on national tv?
TO KELLY:
So, they made fun of you in school. BIG FUCKING DEAL. I was CONSTANTLY made fun of in school, and instead of it resurfacing everytime I'm in a crowd, I realize that without the ridicule of my peers I would not be the person I am today, and regardless of my moments of insecurity, I would not change who I am for all the magic in Hogwart's. No kicking, no screaming, no trying to get attention. You were on TV, for fuck's sake, wasn't that enough?
Oh yeah, and get over Don already. He may have been a wonderful person but that doesn't mean he was at all interested in you and there was no need to get super-crushed on him. He's just a nice person.
Sorry guys, had to rant, I just hate chicks that pretend to the crown when what they really want is the throne.

--The (so really done with the rant) Queen

Back to Blogging...
I just went and tried to do the LiveJournal thing. Not good. I don't get this whole online community thing, and nor do I ever think I will, especially with such a limited understanding of how the internet works. Well, okay, I take that last part bakc. I understand how the internet works, I even understand how the internet works for ME, and I get the chat rooms, but community? Nope. I guess I'll be sticking with this miserable blog thing until I finish reading HTML for dummies.
And DON'T try to find my ridiculous attempt at livejournal. Maybe I'll just start paying for my tripod, so i can get the little emoticons or something.
Currently spinning on the DVD:
Gothika, Halle Berry.
Fucking SHOOT me. Good buildup, fairly decent plot twists, but WHAT a letdown on the ending. I swear, I think the director just needed somewhere to put that dungheap of a Limp Bizkit song. And I know, earlier on, MUCH earlier on, MUCH MUCH earlier on, I may have written a gush about how well Fred Durst could sing and how hot he was. Look, people, I am fucking FICKLE, and after hearing that fucking song about a gajillion times I am DONE with 'Behind Blue Eyes'. The original is better. And besides, its placement in Gothika is crap CRAP. Trust me, I was better off renting it, but then who am I to quibble when I have a copy of Frank mcClusky, C.I. on my movie shelf?

--The Queen

Last Night...
I had that hideous nightmare again. The first time since I ws 12 or so...
I can't seem to remember all of it, but the parts that are important stick with me. I'm in the middle of a room, and they're everywhere, moving in rows of thousands, one big circle that is slowly closing in on me.
Spiders. White ones. Those nasty little house spiders that I haven't seen anywhere but in California. THousands of them, all gunnning for me in slow motion...
ICK.
And then there's the big one, HUGE, rearing up on its back legs, so big that I can tell it's looking RIGHT AT ME...
And they get closer and closer, and then suddenly there's a rope right next to me and I have to climb it because the circle is getting tighter and any minute they're going to be climbing my legs but my hands are sweating and I can't maintain my grip...
And then I have to literally scream myself awake and give my husband a heart attack.
I hate nightmares. I hate spiders. I hate nightmares about spiders. But mostly I hate spiders.

--The (visibly shaken) Queen

On the screen: An Evening with Kevin Smith. Man, does that guy have some brains...

The Aftermath of A Quiet Weekend At Home
So much for staying in this weekend.
What was supposed to be a "us-only" weekend turned into social central. Not that I'm complaining, we had a fun weekend, but it was supposed to be me and my husband alone to celebrate our six-month anniversary of The Plunge (i.e.: Marriage) and exchange gifts, blah blah and so on. Here's a quick breakdown, with emphasis on the drama:
Friday night, as planned before the supposed seclusion, the Gib and the Gomer came over for dinner, for some light entertainment. They left very stuffed and happy, but our two cats gave them both allergic reactions that fucked them up. Some guilt, but then, no one otld me about the allergy.
Saturday, the Gomer asked if we wanted to help her move out of her two-bedroom efficiency apartment back into the house with Gibby (I'll explain LATER), and since we were bored out of our skulls and had nothing planned mixed with the gorgeous weather, we agreed. Well, the hub-unit agreed, I can't lift anything over, say, ten pounds. Helping her move was more like cracking a beer and having her give me shitloads of free clothing. You gotta love people who work in retail-land, because everything has to be the new trend and from the store they work at. I scored. We also spent our last 200 bux and walked away with a new 27 inch tv, entertainment center, and two dressers that we desperately needed.
And then there's the drama. Well, I shouldn't say drama, but it was more of a devil's advocate thing. The gib and gomer had been invited to a party later that evening, and oh how they did not want to go. I told them to make an excuse, and somehow me and mine got involved in said excuse. Phone drama ensued when the cancellation phone call was made, but afterwards we had cake and beer and pizza and I walked away with even more clothes. ey, I know that she was just foisting her fat clothes off on me, but who am I to turn down jeans that FIT? Besides, it saved the hub-unit from a day of shopping that would have included tears and desperation on both of our parts.
Sunday we tried to spend all day in bed, but trying to stay in bed all day when you need a shower and some coffee doth not work. And to make matters worse, the presents that I presented did not fit. I even had the wherewithal to buy two of them in different sizes just to be on the safe side, and still neither of them worked. In case you're wondering, I bought him a new wedding band. Titanium is so much manlier than white gold, I think, and he DID buy me a new wedding set so I thought that I would return the favor. And got shot in the ass.
The best part about the ring thing is that now since it was HIS account he has to do all the returning. At least now he knows what he's returning.
So now, with PILES of dishes still undone and the oven repair guy coming in an hour, I leave you to mull over the absolute mundanity of my weekend. I need to get outta these pj's before someone sees me like this.
--The (under-coiffed) Queen

The Sudden Realization that I (ME! OF ALL PEOPLE!!!) Suck
I was just surfing around the web, minding my own business, checking out other people's blogs, when the notion suddenly came to me...
I think my blog sucks.
Really.
It's so BORING.
Everyone else has something intelligent to write, but what do I do? I rant about what I see when I'm sitting on my ass watching the tv when I should be out having a life or something.
Maybe I have grown too complacent with providing a decent homelife for my husband.
Maybe I am losing my once-peppy and charismatic identity to that of a chubby housewife.
Oh wait, I AM a chubby housewife.
I need a gimmick.
Yes, a gimmick. I can't just have this blog turn into an "I love me" thing, because I don't love me. As a matter of fact, I write this blog in order for others to tell me I have a gift for satire, or perhaps just a passion for writing. I get neither, but for the occasional snark by my Avid Readers (you two know who you are), and all the other blogs I've seen are prettier than mine. I'm starting to get depressed....
Maybe it's just the weather here.
I know, one of these days I'll just stay on the net all day, and post every three hours. THAT should make you heathens read this. You never know what's going to pop up...
HA! haHAha!
--The (slightly insane) Queen

Tales from the Doctor's Office Redux (That's "redoo" for today)
Sorry about that. Laundry is apparently a genetically programmed skill only in women. Looks like guys can only fold, and fold only when it's warm. Whatever, on to the story!
So the Super-Pig had to get spayed. Now, I've never been the one to take my pets to the vet, the last pet I had my mom took care of all the icky medical necessities, so this was new. The hub-unit and I picked the closest place, with nary a speck of research. After all, a vet is a vet is a vet, right? WRONG.
Once again, I won't name the name, but as I said if you know where I live you'll figure out the geographic nearness of this particular doctor of pets. But I digress.. So we take the poor thing in, and here's what happened:
We walk in, fill out paperwork. So far, so normal..
After about five minutes the vet tech comes out, TAKES OUR CAT, and tells us to return at about 2 PM (it's now 9am). Once again, I think this is a normal, vet-type thing to do.
11 AM, the vet tech calls and tells us that the Amazing Pig's ears are clogged with ear-mitey goodness, and would we like to have them flush her ears? I'm the idiot who answers the phone, thinking I could handle this, and I ask if it's okay that we use the miticide that we have here in the house. INSTANTANEOUSLY, the vet tech is cut off and the vet herself starts yammering. I can only think that the doc was listening on the other line in order to have cut her tech off so immediately. The vet informs me that she will only charge us a mere 25 dollars for the procedure, seeing as how the cat is already unconscious, as opposed to the 75 she would normally charge. I hem and haw for a moment, ready to ask about the miticide we ALREADY HAVE AT HOME for the eightieth time, but the doc cuts me off and tells me she's doing it. Okay... Three more hours till pick-up time.
We pick up the as yet still-groggy super pet and take her home, after choking on the 216 dollar tab, which included the ridiculously over-priced piece of plastic we had to buy to stick around her head should she yank at the stitches. The doctor herself, who we didn't meet until AFTER the procedure, was high-strung, irritating, and desperately in need of a nap. She pushed that Revolution stuff like it was black tar heroin, and we really don't need it because we have indoor cats. Once again, despite the doctor's retchingly obvious need for a mood stabilizer, I still believe that this is normal.
Back at the ranch, we finally get a good look at what the doctor has done. METAL STITCHES. For those of you with some kind of technical training, our cat looked like someone had safety-wired her stomach. They hadn't cleaned the stitches so there was blood drying to a crack-glaze everywhere, and there were these HUGE metal tags. I mean, once Pig got up and mobile, she was catching them on everything. I was hysterical. Not to mention the fact that in seven days we were going back to have them taken out and get her booster shots given. Handsome Hubby, my knight in shining armor, was irate beacause I was crying.
Instantly, less than two hours after we got the cat home, we were calling other vets. It turns out that most vets have you bring in your pet for an exam, stay in the room with your pet while they do it, and ask questions before the procedure. It also turns out that while it IS the doctor's choice as to what to use for sutures, no one else on the island uses the metal ones. The last vet we called volunteered that if we brought Pig in for an exam, they would remove her stitches for free. Rock the fuck on...
It also turns out that you have to get boosters THREE weeks after the initial shots, or it doesn't do anything. Lessee, three weeks, seven days...hmmm. Bruce called the vet from hell and promptly chewed her a new asshole in several different places, and cancelled the next appointment. Honestly, I could give a rat's ASS how long she's been a vet, metal stitches? Come on, it's a CAT. That just begs for monofilament, especially the way they bounce about.
Special thanks to my mother, who was the first person to tell us to get away from that doctor and call around. Once we followed her advice and explained our situation to another vet, they were more than willing to help us out. I'm glad we did, because we had a whole 'nother cat to have taken care of.
I know, long and drawn out. But you asked for stories, kids, and this is my life. I promise, tommorrow will be a pop culture rant, I swear, but I had to get this off my chest.
--The (cathartic) Queen

HA HA HA
Turns out, I was sicker than a dog yesterday. I couldn't get out of bed at ALL, and Dr. Bruce forbid me from getting up from the warm covers of king-sized goodness. I could barely peel my eyes open to make it to the bathroom to barf. This is the first time I've actually been really sick since I was pregnant, so....
I HATE BEING SICK. It makes me feel less than spunky. I'll finish the vet story later today, when all the $&%*#*(ing laundry is done.