A New Addition to my Extended Family
Mood:  celebratory
Now Playing: "My Boy Lollipop", Lulu
The BBF had her baby!
Robert Lawrence David Morrow just popped into the world about two hours ago, and I just got the phone call about ten minutes ago. & pounds, 10 ounces, and 21 inches long.
I'm an Auntie again! Yippee!
That's about it for today. I was going to bitch about how SERIOUSLY broke we suddenly are, but fuck it. I have phone calls to make.

So Many Entries That Failed to Make it to the Big Screen
Mood:  bright
Now Playing: A cacaphony of mewling kitties
For all of you lovely folks that write comments here, I swear to god I am not ignoring you. I read all of your blogs every day, but you're far more inteligent than me and I just don't have the mental capacity to write anything of worth on your sites. Plus, you have better teeth and fresher breath. Shinier hair, too.
Last night, the husband and I had one of those 'talks' again, about serious stuff. This is hard, especially about this particular topic we were discussing, because of one simple thing:
The Hub-unit doesn't know women.
Well, he knows women, but only in the strict biblical sense. At 35 years old, before me he'd never had a girlfriend stay over for a weekend. Or live with him. Or ANYTHING. Basically, he's never woken up to girl things, and he's never been told about girl things. For example, he actually had no clue as to how a girl's period works. The best analogy I could come up with was a fuel pump. He got it. I think.
He also doesn't understand anything that happens in the morning. He doesn't understand weight issues or panic attacks about clothing fitting, he doesn't get the whole baby thing, you name it and he's totally incompetent. It's not that he's stupid or anything, it's just that with all his priors he's never taken the time to ask about chick-related stuff.
Take last night. He was mentioning that this whole cervical bullshit I'm going through right now was probably something simple. I had to tell him that when something happens with a girl's insides, it's NEVER simple. I tried to explain endometriosis to him, and when I got to the point about hysterectomy, he kinda wigged. It probably wouldn't happen, but all the options had to be looked at....
I love my husband, but he just doesn't get it.
I think I'll just get him a book, because I can't explain stuff that I can barely understand myself.

Triple Digits
Mood:  a-ok
Now Playing: "Don't Call Me Baby", Madison Avenue
It's stopped raining, and while the sun has yet to make an appearance, I feel better. Not crazy, running around yapping with the thought process of Amalah's dog better, but slightly more up than the last few days. Thank GAWD. I suppose I should summarize the finer points of the last few days:
1. Started leaking scabs. SCABS. The vomit factor was high and in rare form yesterday.
2. Once again the hub-unit IS trying, but I had to tell him to shut the fuck up. He didn't mean to sound like a jackass, but nevertheless. I was semi-weepy about my current cervical situation because of my irrational fear of doctors, and he just did the hair-stroking thing that calms me so much and just before I finally fall back asleep he says "It's okay baby, it's just all a part of being a woman."
?!?!?!? Thanks, mom. Now get the fuck out of my husband.
I had to tell him to shut up. "It's all just a part of being a woman' my ASS. That's the LAST thing I expected to hear from him. That's the last thing I WANTED to hear from him.
3. Augustus has once again graced us with his presence. Filthy, stinking, and WET, but his Nibs is back. We'll be getting him microchipped posthaste. Of course, he came home in the middle of the day, and I was so deliriously grateful that I forgot to call the hub-unit, which was bad because he spent the whole day on the phone with animal control and the vet looking for him, not to mention leaving work a half an hour early so he could drive around the block like thrity times looking for the little assmonkey.
That's about it. Thanks everyone for the kind words and major back-rubbing I got when I needed it most. Sometimes, a stranger's support can mean even more than usual.
And as this is my 100th post, I was going to drop yet ANOTHER personal story, especially since our web sister Dooce is having such a rough time, but I think that for now I will let this ride so I can go get a cup of coffee or maybe go back to sleep.
And remember something that I myself have forgotten the last couple of days...
"If not today, then tomorrow will be the best day ever."

Mood:  down
This week just gets better and better.
It's still raining.
Last night, Augustus ran out of the house into the pouring rain, and the hub-unit and I had to chase after him for TWO HOURS. We still didn't catch him, and he's still out there somewhere. Did I mention we live right on the Highway?
While furtively chasing Augie, I fucked up my foot, so now I'm stuck on my ass AGAIN today until the pain goes away. I can feel the pounds layering back on...
I'm starting to hate my life.

Back, but not Necessarily Better
Mood:  blue
Now Playing: "Rusty the Skatemaker", Rasputina
It's raining. It's been raining since Saturday.
I love being outside in the rain, or doing something in the rain, but when you're stuck on your ass recovering and staring out the window it SUCKS. Say it with me..."SUCKS".
The reason I'm stuck on my ass is really a strange kind of early coincidence thing. Boys, you may not understand this, so come back later if you don't like hearing about girly things.
My spread-and-scrape in July just came back with wonky results, so Doctor Shmuckatelli wants me in for a colposcopy, which I dread. I call, and wonder of wonders there is a HUGE patient backup and I can't be taken care of until OCtober 4th. OCTOBER?!?! What happens between now and then?
Not a damn thing. That means I would have to sit and stew for TWO MONTHS before it got done and over with. I wanted to cry.
Better still, I hate my damn OB/GYN. He looks at me like I'm fucking stupid every time I ask a question, and I ask a LOT of questions. Hey, why am I required to know how the female system works? Last time I checked, we were ALLOWED to ask. My bad.
And yesterday, I'm on the phone with the hub-unit, explaining when my appointment is, and the other line beeps. I hate call waiting, because you're suddenly filled with the urgency to IMMEDIATELY switch over, it might be something IMPORTANT,someone might be DEAD, dear god please don't HANG UP I'M ALMOST THERE! Anyway.
Apparently there was a cancellation, and they could fit me in at 2 PM oculd I make it and please take 800 mg of Motrin before I show up?
At this point I would like to mentionthat it was five minutes to 1 PM. That gave me roughly a half an hour to get the husband home and get dressed, because I was still in my workout clothes.
CUT TO
Doc Shmuckatelli's office:
Doc Shmuckatelli isn't there, a different dude will be taking a peep at my cervix. YAY. They take my vitals, throw me on the scale, and I promptly burst into tears. Apparently, I've gained seven pounds since this morning. Then, as per usual (and I mean EVERY TIME), the nurse asks me how old my baby is now. My baby? Yes dear, your baby. You mean the baby I don't have. The baby you don't-? Oh, I'm sorry dear.
EVERY TIME. Thank you for reminding me that I once AGAIN have failed at reproduction. Thank you, Nurse Friendly, THANK YOU. For a minute there I had almost recovered from the hysterics induced by the faulty scale.
Turns out, the LAST colpo I had was a wash. DS took a look at my shit and proclaimed it well and didn't do anything to it, and he shouldn't have done that. So this time. I was gonna get a full exam, compete with biopsy.
BIOPSY? They're going to go inside and CUT me?
Instant panic attack.
Now, I understand that this is a normal procedure and is done all the time to women, but once again I cannot explain the things roaring through my brain at the time.
So I'm laying on this table with this genteel old southern gentleman between my legs, cranking me open with a COLD metal duckbill, and jamming things up in my business. While this is happening, the room is slowly shrinking to a dark pinpoint and tears are STREAMING down my face. I don't think I've ever felt more violated in my life. Of course, the wise sage and eminent woman that is my mother says that it's a by-product of rape, but how am I to know that? All I know is that there is some MAN rooting through my insides and cutting CHUNKS out of me. And iodine? It BURNS.
So it looks like I have mild to moderate cervical dysplasia, but I won't know for at least three weeks. Wish me luck.
And now I sit here, quietly bleeding and cramping like a motha, watching the rain come down. I think that maybe I should go to bed.
Or cartoons. Maybe some cartoons will cheer me up.
But not food. Food will NOT cheer me up.

A Post Notification that I WIll Not Be Posting
I am fucking tired.
Not just a little tired, but BONE tired. My bipolar is acting up because of this, and I am depressed, therefore, I will not be posting for a few days.
Not to mention that I am now in a state of depressed panic because once AGAIN Dr. Shmuckatelli has found something wrong with my cervix. AGAIN.
I need a few days away from EVERYBODY. Jesus am I tired.

The Search for the Perfect Sofa, Part Two
Mood:  down
Now Playing: "Allison Road", Gin Blossoms
SO Sleepy....
But anyway, the continuing search for the Perfect Sofa has drawn to a close, and as per usual with me, it did not end how I planned with maximum ironic capacity.
So we go online and start looking for cool furniture. We end up finding Sleek Sofas, this rad site where they make custom furniture sets for relatively cheap. Seriously. For 1300 bucks, we were going to get a sofa, a loveseat, an armchair and an ottoman. In the perfect color. In the perfect fabric. I was gonna die. DIE, I tell you. Only widget in the ointment: it would take ten weeks to get here. TEN WEEKS. With the mom's trip up here for Thanksgiving rapidly approaching (well, not for you, but for ME it is), ordering cool custom furniture that takes ten weeks to get here is not the optimal idea, especially if we want it up here by the time she gets here. Plus, where are we gonna get 1300 dollars?
Answer: one month's advance pay from the Navy.
Problem: We got impatient.
Solution: Keep looking, just in case we find something else before the order date.
We did, and it's fantastic and CHEAP. However...
It's a grandmas couch.
Yep, we walked into the Habitat for Humanity furniture store, and there it was: a couch and armchair for 25 bucks. Throw in a recliner for another 45, and we've bought an entire living room for less than 80 dollars and we don't have to wait ten weeks. But, it is indeed a grandma's couch, with a matching armchair. Creamy off-white upholstery patterned with neon yellow and bright green flowers. I am not lying.
Of course, my bright idea is is that we take the advance pay we're getting and use it to reupholster the sofa and chair. Good idea, eh? I thought so.
Until the hub-unit called a reupholstery place and got a really rough estimate on what the damage would be.
And here is where the difference between men and women lie: options. While the hub-unit is on the phone with his jaw roughly hanging to his knees, I am considering options. This furniture purchase was, at BEST, an impulse buy due to the fabulous price. I am NOT going to let the price of new fabric get me down. HOWEVER, the hub-unit gets off the phone and immediately begins to rub his temples and talk about how maybe we shouldn't have gotten the stuff in the first place because it was REALLY expensive to recover, and we should have just bought the NEW stuff and waited....
STOP.
I'm NOT waiting if we can get cool shit that day. Once again, my instant gratification gland was pumping juice to all the wrong places. I point out that he is FREAKING out for no reason, and that so okay we can't get it done RIGHT AWAY. I turn on the computer and TA-DAA!
Microfiber slip covers in the perfect color! Problem solved. The hub-unit is covering me with kisses and telling me that he hadn't even considered it and I am telling him that it's because he's a boy.
So we will be buying slipcovers until we can recover the sofa. Hey, they do it all the time on Trading Spaces, don't they? Shit.
All we have to do is deny the fact that it is, indeed, a grandma's couch underneath the fabulous microfiber. Especially since I am so anti-grandma's couch. Sigh...

Attention Please:
Now Playing: "Found Out About You", Gin Blossoms
WHERE THE HELL IS EVERYBODY?!?!?!
Is it just Mondays and Tuesdays that no one wants to post? Come on people, you're the only link I have to the outside world! If I can't read something in the blogworld every morning I am LOST!
Lost, I tell you.
Next entry.

Cattus Interruptus
So the hub-unit ecided to get frisky, and while he was attempting to rouse me from my deep slumber and doing frisky things, Augustus jumps onto the bed and promptly throws himself on top of me. My mouth is instantly filled with white furry bits, and the hub-unit is left gaping in astonishment. I believe the conversation went something like this:
HU: Um, Augie, daddy was RIGHT in the middle of something...
Aug: MIR!
HU: No really, cat, you need to go elsewhere. How about a nice camping trip? (camping is our euphemism for "lock the cats in the bathroom we'll be having sex soon")
AUG: MIR! purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
ME: Tee hee.
HU: AUGIE! (sound of flapping sheets) Come on buddy, cut me some slack here and get off your mother....
ME: SNORK!
The cat was moved, and then-
HU: You are SO not in the mood anymore are you?
ME: giggle giggle snort teehee.
HU: Dammit.

Yes, having cats is just like having kids. Maybe I'll just stick with cats, they're easier to move about.

Best Birthday Ever
Mood:  happy
Now Playing: The sound of the dishwasher on rinse cycle
I'd like to thank everybody for their words of cheeriness on my cursed birthday, and was very amused by the fact that my tenants wished me the best before even the hub-unit. You guys made me feel MUCH better.
I was lucky Friday, because while I was griping first thing in the morning, I was a wee bit premature. Here's how the rest of the day went:

9:30 AM: Mother calls. Her boyfriend and co. have moved into a cute little two bedroom apartment with a pool and spa complex, for 1500 a month. I had to choke back a gag because now I will NEVER tell her what we pay for rent up here in WA. She may move in or something (eeek). My present, I am told, is in the mail and should arrive Monday. She then tells me my sister's a fruitcake. Duh.
10:45 AM: Wait, I'm actually getting a PRESENT? Hey today might not actually suck after all!
10:50 AM: I'm fucking going back to bed. I'm not doing nuffin' today, dammit.
11:30 AM: RING! RING! It's Jen, the friend-who-had-gall-bladder-owchies-but-doesn't-anymore. Apparently all week she's been wanting to call and check on me, but her boyfriend who is at work with the hub-unit says "dear god, don't call she's already depressed don't remind her it's her birthday don't call don't call don't for the luvvajaysus CALL." She does anyway. Someone else rembering my birthday suddenly snaps me out of my depression (ZONK!), and I agree to go have lunch at a new restaurant down the street that's supposed to rock balls.
11:45 AM: Hey, don't I need MONEY to go to lunch? Gotta call the hub-unit for moola because my damn check card hasn't shown up yet.
11:50 AM: He's on his way. Must shower and find clothing that doesn't make me look like an upright whale. Where'd that oversize tshirt go...?
12:15 PM: Jen shows up. No sign of the damn hub-unit. I think his ATM circuits must have a malfunction somewhere. Jen's man giggles nervously and tells me not to tell the hub-unit (his supervisor) that he's playing hookey from work to go see Alien versus Predator. I weigh the blackmail options, then agree to keep a secret.
1:30 PM: Hub-unit finally shows up, and actually lets me take the car to lunch. I tell him that we'll be back in an hour.
1:45 PM: San Remo Bar and Grill, Oak Harbor, WA. BEST. FOOD. EVER.
2:50 PM: Did I say we would be home in an hour? We stop for coffee and fresh donuts anyway. Tee hee.
3:15 PM: Back at the house. Jen decides to hang out while the hub-unit goes back to work, but then realizes that he gets off of work in 15 minutes and decides against it. He takes a quick trip back to work to lock up, or so I think.
3:25 PM: Father calls. Tells several dirty jokes, apologizes for no present but tells me to cross my fingers for christmas. He also tells me that I will NOT be receiving any singing from my aunt, who is apparently going through menopause and has some issues. Hey, menopause is a good excuse for anything. Besides, do I REALLY need the singing?
3:43 PM: The hub-unit comes back home bearing a deluxe DVD of the Dark Crystal (muppets! yay MUPPETS!) and a dozen long stemmed roses with a teddy bear squished in the middle. It appears he hasn't forgotten at all, he was just being an ass. Which,I might add, he is REALLY good at sometimes.
5:12 PM: I decide to make my own damn birthday cake, and I decide on Red Velvet cake, which I've never made before. But instead of Red, I decide to make it an homage to David Lynch and change it to a BLUE Velvet cake.
7:47 PM: Too many air bubbles in the cake, and it turns out lopsided. I want to cry and wail about it being the curse and refuse to touch it, so the hub-unit trims and ices it because I have already written it off as a lost cause. An ugly, blue, lopsided cause. That I refuse to touch because I failed and won't look at it.
8:29 PM: The hub-unit drags me to Jen's apartment with the deep blue something that I've created, telling me that just because it's a little strange looking does NOT mean that it's bad-tasting and I should relax because everybody's just happy to get cake anyway. I sniffle and refuse to look at my First Failed Cake.
11:30 PM: Turns out the cake is freaking fabulous, but I still refuse to look at it even as I eat my tiny diet-friendly slice. I get smacked about the head so that I will take a compliment.
1:00 AM: The hub-unit and I go home and fall into bed, and for once, for ONCE, I actually had a good birthday.
Well, at least, besides the funky blue cake.