I've been eating some 'awesome' food!

I'll tell you all about it and all of the wonderfully relaxing and beautiful things I've been doing later. We just got a camera last night, so I'll be taking better pictures than what my iPhone can take. 

Our plans for today:

• snorkle
• try not to get attacked by killer sea turtles
• eat shave ice and get a t-shirt from Matsumoto's
• eat something delicious from some yummy restaurant
• eat puka dogs for dinner

Don't be surprised if I am 20 pounds heavier the next time you see me. 

My white belly

It has been in hiding for at least 16 years. Yesterday it greeted the sun. I'm not totally convinced that it should have been brought out to play. Having four kids hasn't been kind to my middle region. Not to be confused with nether-region. That part is fine.

It doesn't help that there are tons of cute, skinny Japanese women everywhere I turn around. I don't think I would be as self conscious if I knew I was the best looking MILF around. They don't have awesome muscle tone like I do. Or asses. So, I guess I shouldn't be distracted by a little extra skin.

Ok. I feel better now. Thanks for cheering me up. You mofos are great.

Happy 15th Anniversary!!

Our story is crazy. Fifteen years ago, I was huge and pregnant and about to pop. I hate that saying- about to pop. It's gross. It's vulgar. Nothing pops. EW. Anyways, back to our story. 

We didn't want to get married just because I was pregnant. Then he came down on orders. We were both in the Army, so the only way we could both be stationed together was if we were married. So that's why we did it. So our family could be together. Ironic? 

So, for our tenth anniversary, I got a baby. Vivian the Great was born. What else is there to say? For you mofos that know her, you know that she truly is great. Her personality is gigantic. She is the most outgoing person I know. She is best friends to every single person she meets. She loves animals, singing, the color pink, candy, her bicycle, her silly bands, her friends. She loves life and is a crazy monkey. My nickname for her is stinkleberry. She giggles every time I call her by that silly name. 

As luck would so have it, Mel had to take a trip to Hawaii for work. He was able to work things out juuuuust right so we could go for our anniversary. I'm happy about this. Don't get me wrong. It's great. But you know what's funny? It's kind of a cheap present. Lemme break it down.

1. Frequent flyer miles = $200 for my ticket. 
2. Army is paying for the hotel.
3. Army is paying for food.
4. Army is paying for rental car.

But, I'm happy. I'm looking forward to it. I'll get 8 days without my kids. I'll be able to sunbathe, knit, read, plan, knit, sunbathe, chill, eat, drink, surf, snorkel, have quiet time.Yeah, it's ok, I guess. Don't be mad Brandi. Don't be jealous. Stop calling me a bitch. It's not MY FAULT, ok?! I can't help it. My husband is better. He's only spending $200 on me. It's not that big of a deal. 

He's too dang sensible

I shouldn't be annoyed by this fact about my husband. But I am. I just want him to see things the way I see them, and feel the way I feel about them. He's too level-headed. Too objective. Too fair. He thinks things through. He weighs his options. He makes well-thought-out decisions.

I'm not trying to make any decisions. I'm still processing, learning, and figuring out. He makes me think critically. That makes my brain hurt. It's much easier to be emotional and impulsive. Not better. Easier.

It's a good thing for me that he is how he is. I'm thankful for that. He's probably reading this and smiling and shaking his head.

I love him.

MILF & DILF

I just found this out 'fer sure today. It kind of mortifies Patricia that her classmates think her dad is hot. And that her mom is smokin'. "It could be worse," she said, "at least you're not fat. That would be totally embarrassing."

Shallow? Honest? Both? 

Caught up - II

That summer was one of the best and worst I can remember. Best because I met my sister*, Mixee. We all loved her. But I love her the most. We are kindred spirits. But back to the story:

So, all of us girls in the neighborhood would hang out in the afternoons while the kids played. We'd chat, laugh, discuss, bitch, gossip (in a nice way). Mixee really was the most open (wiiiide open, KWIM?) one of us. Even though I knew the other girls longer, I connected with Mixee best. We both have white mothers and black fathers. She was the first black friend that I had since I joined the church. Go 'head. Read that last sentence again. I think I have to. I don't think I realized that until now. But the point of all this is that she brought out something in me that no one else up until this point has. I was so drawn to her because through her, I felt like myself again. My other sister*, S, pointed out that I was a totally different person around Mixee. I was raw and real and dare I say, fun.

It was the worst because I realized that the glass house I had been living in had some very serious cracks in it. Looking back, I thought I was above certain temptations. I am not going to go into details about that part. I'm not trying to create any mystery or excitement. What I will say, is that I had lost who I was. I had forgotten what it was about me that made me happy. I felt like I was trapped in my life. As a result, I stopped eating, smiling, socializing. All of it. I was depressed. Most of you might remember that. You know, the month where I lost 25 pounds? It ended up lasting for close to three years.

During that time, I felt overwhelmed and trapped with being a wife, mother, caregiver, manager, decision maker, all-a-dat. I wanted to escape. But I couldn't. I loved my fantastic husband. He really is amazing. I did't want to hurt him. I was committed to my children. I didn't want them to grow up as children of a mother that ran away. Those two things were really non-choices.

While in the course of therapy, I had an epiphany. As I was crying and discussing my situation and beliefs, the topic of religion came up. Here's how the conversation went:

Therapist: So right now, Patricia is being raised Mormon, right?

Me: Yes.

T: But as she grows up, she might choose not to continue to be Mormon. So, would that be ok?

Me: Ummmmm, yeah, I guess so.

I can't say that I believed what I had said. I knew that the answer I gave was the 'correct' answer. I knew that I was 'supposed' to say that she had a choice. You all know as well as I know, that there really IS no choice. It's expected. It's a given. Up until that point, I had always assumed that she would grow up and marry in the temple and have a million kids and be an active member of the church. I never asked her what she thought about this. I never even entertained the thought that she might want to do something else.

And then a couple of weeks later it hit me. Like a fucking ton of bricks! I DO HAVE A CHOICE! I can choose to go to church or not. I can choose. I mean, I do have agency, right? But I fought it. I doubted myself. I felt guilty. Like I was being selfish. Like I was letting my family down. Like Satan really had a grasp on me. I hated Sundays. I hated going to church. I hated having to see people and put on a show. I hated my life again.

What made me really stop going to church was the four hours of alone time in my house. Really. No one offended me. I didn't find out terrible things about Joseph Smith. I just plain didn't wanna. That's it. I kept up the illusion of going to church by only attending sacrament meeting. But I knew I wasn't fooling anyone. Not anyone who really was paying attention anyway. It was easy to stop coming to church all together when we changed wards.

I tried to attend for a couple of weeks. I really did. I intended to start anew in our new ward. It wasn't the same. I didn't want to have to be on my best behavior for people I didn't know or care to get to know. I didn't like to be the newcomer. I'd skip RS to go to my friend's house. Her backyard is adjacent to the church parking lot. (Psssst! wanna know a secret? Once, she wasn't home, and I stayed and talked to her husband. ALONE!)

That's the gist. I've skipped stuff. When I went to Hawaii, I had my 'first' coffee. I'm pretty sure it was on this day. It was an iced vanilla latte. I remembered quickly that I don't like milky sweet coffee drinks. I'm a black girl. (pun intended) It took me almost two years before I could get a cup of coffee and not feel like I had to sneak around. I've had alcohol. I like it. I haven't been shitty drunk once. Really Brandi. I wasn't shitty. Just a little buzzed.

So, why am I telling you bitches all this? It's my blog. So I'll do whatever the hell I want. That's why. There's more to this story. Like why I think I'm not just rebelling. And why I most likely won't go back. And why I am thankful for people who can present information in an unbiased, educated, respectful way. I'll tell it another day. Oh shit!! I forgot to tell you about one more really important thing!!!

It was a conversation/lesson in Sunday school that took place before I moved. I don't remember what it was about, but the person said something about being converted by the social aspects of the church. That eventually that goes away, and the person is left with nothing. She hit the nail on the head for me. Hence the title.

I'll finish this story but not tonight. I have to get up early to take my daughter to seminary.

*Let the records show: I do not have any blood related sisters. The aforementioned 'sisters' are my bestest girlfriends. They have held my hand and heart through the toughest times in my life. I love them with all my heart.

Caught up

Looking for something to make our already awesome family and marriage stronger, my husband and I opened up to the possibility of church. I was 7 or 8 months pregnant with Trystan and fresh out of the Army. He had a Mormon coworker. They discussed things about the church during work. In turn, he would come home and relate them to me. The things he told me about the church sounded great. But I just wasn't sold on the whole no coffee and no alcohol thing. I was still nursing, and I COULDN'T WAIT to have a beer. After 9 months of abstaining, I missed my pal, Sam Adams. Hell no, I wasn't going to join a church that forbade beer!

The missionaries came, they taught, they kicked ass! Those were some great girls that we grew to love. I went to church for the first time on my birthday. It was boring, but the people were so kind. I enjoyed hanging out with the other nursing moms in the tiny mother's lounge. There were like 8 of us that had boys within weeks of each other, so I enjoyed making new friends. After church, we planned to go out for lunch. Imagine our surprise that they 'didn't do' that sort of thing. What were we supposed to do? We were hungry. Oh well.

There were tons of nice people and fun things to do. We had instant friends. Until this point in our lives, we didn't have a friends. We had coworkers. We had a few people we could call if we needed a favor. But we didn't have people to hang out with. You bitches know me, I love hanging out. I love my girlfriends! This was awesome! The people in the Laurel ward were so great. There was one family that we loved more than the others. You know who you are. We are still great friends with them.

Soon after we joined the church, we moved several hours away. Mel was working a very demanding and stressful job. I was virtually a single parent for four years. It was the friends I had in the ward that helped me and held me up during that extremely difficult time in my life. It was there, that we became part of a family. Our adopted famly. They are grandma, grandpa, aunt, uncle, cousin, sister, brother to our family. They are crazy, loud, open, honest, bossy, annoying. We love them, and they love us.

We eventually moved back to our old area. Although we were slightly disappointed that we weren't within the same boundaries and couldn't attend our previous ward, we soon discovered that the ward we were assigned to was perfect. I was called served in YW immediately. I loved my girls. I still love them.

As I sit here and type all of this, I am hesitant. I cannot say that I have had any bad experiences with the people I know. Maybe fake people stay away from me because they think I'll see right through them. Maybe it's because I'm oblivious to things that don't directly affect me. Remember? I don't gossip. I don't know or care to know other people's shit. I have my own, thankyouverymuch. I tend to gravitate toward nice people, so I generally have good experiences.

So, what went wrong? Why am I 'done'? Life was pretty good. Things were going along relatively smoothly. I was living in a bubble of sorts. Looking back, I realized that I had gotten pretty selective (picky) with whom I would associate. I hung out with my nonmember neighbors, but I bristled every time they would light a cigarette, or cuss, or drink beer. These people were good parents. They had great values. They were honest, kind, and helpful. They were everything I loved about my Mormon friends. If only they didn't ________. Fill in the blank.

As I spent more time with my nonmember neighbors, I realized that something was missing. Something was 'off' about our relationship. More on this later.

Then I met Mixee. Our kids had been friends for a couple years. She moved in across the street, and I finally got the opportunity to know my other sister. One of our first conversations after she moved in went a little something like this:

"Ummm, I don't want to offend you by asking you, so you can say no, and that's fine. But I thought I'd ask you anyway, just in case you'd like to come. I'm having an 'adult' toy party tomorrow night, sooooooooooooo......?"

"Yeah! Sure I'll some. I'm not offended. I have sex. Welllllll, I'll have to see. I need to make sure Mel is OK with it. Hmmmmmmmm. I'll have to get back to you."

Now don't start thinking that because I touched a dildo, that's what started me on the road to hell. That conversation is just one of the first of many conversations that, upon looking back, made me realize that I had become so uptight, judgemental, and boring. Mel wasn't OK with it. I went anyway and got some dumb ass coupons.

There's more to this story. I'll continue it tomorrow perhaps. I have been ignoring my monkey for long enough.

I'm starting to hear scratches on the blackboard

**I wrote this on Friday and for some reason I didn't post it. So here ya go**

You know how you can deal with annoying things for a little while, then you finally get to a point where they start to drive you crazy and you feel like your head is about to pop off? I'm there today. Like, SO there.

One of the greatest things of the whole summer happened on Tuesday. THREEOFMYKIDSWENTBACKTOSCHOOL!!!!! (cue Ren and Stimpy's "Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy) Running errands hasn't been this easy since June. There's no one arguing. Vivian doesn't have anyone teasing her, so she's not constantly whining. Life is sounds great, right? I mean, my last post was about how awesome my life is. I've been high on life all week.

Remember how I said that no one has been here to bug Viv? Yeah, that also means that there is no one else here to talk to her. Or answer her questions. Or play with her. Or listen to her stories about blabbity-blah. My head is about to explode. Her cute little voice is starting to sound like shrieking monkeys.

She'll start preschool next Wednesday, so my ears will start to get relief. We've decided to homeschool for kindergarten this year (blah, blah, blah, state cutoff dates for starting school, blah, blah, blah, missed it by seven fucking days, blah, blah, blah). I figured, why the hell not? We are going to be here. It might make my life easier in the long run. Ha ha ha.

Shit! I knew that high wouldn't last.

things that help me know my life really IS awesome

1. people that get me. right away. without any explanation.
2. mel.
3. when my teenager is sincerely appreciative.
4. when my three youngest kids are kind to each other for no good reason.
5. friends that go out of their way to hang out with me.
6. not feeling like 'the maid' when i clean my house.
7. yoga.
8. when my friends from different circles like each other.
9. when vivian plays by herself all afternoon.
10. an ass that makes me smile when my eye catches it in the mirror*.

what helps you know you have an awesome life?

* gratuitous ass comment

Because I don't want to pick paper out 'ma girl

All day, I've had at least three different topics swirling around my brain about what I would blog about today. First, I was going to compare and contrast Charmin toilet paper and Scott Tissue. Then I really struggled about whether or not to share my latest recipe for toaster leavin's. Then I had an awesome afternoon with my two favorite fellow yogis, and discovered a pose that was nearly orgasmic, so I thought I'd share. But then, I read Tia Becky's blog, and decided that I would expound on her thought-provoking question.

Then I decided not to.

Like, just now.

Just like that.

And as I am writing about how I'm not going to answer her blog. I just realized that I just answered it. Blogging is important because it's ALL MINE!!! I can do whatever the hell I want and you can't stop me!! Ha Ha Ha It's the first amendment, bitches!!!!!

That's some awesome shit right there! Just think about it- All damn day, we have to do what everyone else needs. It starts when we get up early to wake up the kids for school. Then we feed them breakfast, help them pack lunches, make sure they catch the bus on time, clean the house, play with little kids, run errands, be here when the big ones get back to school, make them do homework, cook dinner, clean up after dinner, get them in bed. And if we are still coherent, we have sex with our husbands (or not), and go to bed so we can do it all over again the next day.

But when I blog -or not blog- I do whatever the hell I want. I get to make all the choices. I don't have to have a certain number of vegetables in my blog. I don't have to make sure it's on time, I don't even to have good language on my blog. It's whatever, wherever, however I want.

It's my selfish, dirty, indulgence. Aren't you glad you came?

What is wrong with women?

I went to a baby shower yesterday. It was my first one in at least a year. I avoid them. They are stupid. They are boring. I don't go because I love babies. I don't. I'm SO OVER babies. I don't want to look at one. I don't want to hold one. If you have a baby and I hold it, feel special. Really. Feel even specialer if you have a toddler and I pay it any attention because I dislike toddlers even more than infants. I'm not even sure that I like my own kids, but that's another story.

Oh yeah, back to the shower. I decided to go because this girl is sweet. Not sweet in a fakey way, but in a sassy, honest, and nice way. She works with my husband and has known him for several years, and I have hung out with her a couple times. I mostly just wanted to see her because I haven't seen her since she found out she was preggie. I knew she would be a cute preggie, and I was right. She looked adorable.

So there we were, a group of women (and a couple men), sitting around at a baby shower. Take a wild guess what these ladies start talking about? BIRTH STORIES!!!

Now on to my point: Why do women feel like they need to out-bad each other's birth experiences?? I seriously hate when women who have experienced childbirth feel the need to tell a first time preggie/never been preggie woman how horrible it is. As if she's not already terrified of the unknown, you want to tell her that it is worse than she ever imagined it would be!!??!?

Instead of allowing it to continue, I promptly asserted,"This baby shower is a bad birth story free zone." My beautiful, clueless, scared, preggie friend looked me straight in the face and thanked me. The other women stopped. The party continued. A good time was had by all.

But why do women feel like this is ok? It's not helpful. It's our responsibility to offer encouragement. If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all. These women need to feel empowered. They are already overwhelmed, they don't need to know about your episiotomy. As much as I'm so over babies, I love talking about positive birth experiences. It doesn't have to be scary, or tense, or unbearably painful. It doesn't have to be managed and controlled and regulated. God made us to have babies. If you want to talk to someone who will encourage you and help you feel like you can do it, talk to me!

I know that everyone's experiences are different. All four of mine were. I know that some people have risk factors that others don't. I respect your decisions to do what you feel is right for you and your baby. Just remember who your audience is when you are recounting your story about being in labor for 48 hours. K?

New? Or just new to you?

You might have read yesterday's post and thought something (either good or bad) about the 'new' Marianne. I just need to let you all know something: THIS SHIT AIN'T NEW! This is me with my ass hanging out! This is the me that has been hiding under the past 12 years of pressure to be a 'good girl'. I've been holding the hell back for far too long. I'm done.

I am happy. Happier than I have been in a long time. I am free. I feel like I have real connections with people. I'm done putting on a happy face and having superficial conversations. I am finally getting to genuinely know people I have been acquainted with for years.

I guess this seems drastic to some of you. For others, it's no surprise. Understand it or not, it is.

Ok Assholes - the remix

I wrote and posted and deleted all within the space of a few minutes last night. I'll leave the 'why' up to your imagination. However, I will give you a hint. Shiraz was involved. So here's another try, bitches! (oh yeah, and the hard Marianne cusses. A LOT. get used to it)

Yesterday, was my son's birthday. You all know him, right? He has been alive for 12 years and one day. This information is important. Remember it. Mel and I had decided on his name months earlier. We didn't know if it was going to be a girl or boy, so we picked out both boy names and girl names. We were prepared. Or so we thought. One thing we didn't discuss was how we were going to spell the names. I figured that since his first and last names were pretty straightforward, it wasn't necessary to collaborate on the spelling. WRONG!!

He spelled my son's name with a 'y'. A damn 'y'?!? WTF? That's a fuckin' gay-ass way to spell a boy's name. T-r-y-s-t-a-n. That's not how you spell it. It's supposed to be T-r-i-s-t-a-n, dummie. But I got over it. I'm ok with it now. Partially.

People usually misspell it the first time they write it. When this happens, one of three things will happen. 1. I correct them on the spot. 2. I make sure they get the chance to see the correct spelling so they know. 3. I do nothing because it's not important. Almost always, I do nothing. People spell names wrong all the time, and it's not a BFD.

Except, if you are a member of the family. There are some things people should know. How to spell your grandson's name is one of them. In my case, there are only two grandsons. My kid was the first one. Not only that, but he was the second grandchild born into this family. So why the hell does his grandmother consistently spell his name T-r-y-s-t-o-n? I am sure that she has been told how to spell his name. He's 12. She has had 12 years to get it right. What's the problem?

I blame my husband. It's Mel's stupid fault for fucking up the spelling in the first place. HMMMMM, now I know where he gets it from.

I do it when...

I have something to say. I think you bitches need to know what's happening in my life. Sometimes. You care, right? I don't like to tell you all about stupid stuff.

That's why I don't write all the time. Because, frankly, my life isn't that great. I don't have interesting experiences. I don't take beautiful pictures. I hate typing recipes. And I most certainly can't lie and pretend that my life is all rosy and my children are perfect, and my husband is the best. Well, my husband is practically perfect, but that's beside the point.

I noticed that over the past three years, I have been writing less and less. When I wonder why, I think it's because I was depressed during at least two of those three years. For the past year, I have felt pretty good-ish. Maybe I have been enjoying life. Maybe I have been taking more time to do the things that relax me (knitting), and I haven't been able to blog. Or maybe during those morning hours that I used to blog, I have been sitting in the sunroom drinking coffee and being myself instead of wishing I could be somewhere else or be someone else entirely.

Tia Becky has this thing going about writing hard. I've been holding back because of social pressures. I know who is reading this blog, and frankly, I don't want to hear their shit about it. Dammit, tomorrow that's all going to end. I think. Maybe.

what is it about me?

The other week, I was having a conversation with a good friend about me. Yeah, I was talking about myself. Specifically, why people think I don't like them. I don't know if we really nailed down the reason(s), so I figured that it would be a good idea to ask you all. I can take it. Whatever you have to say. Really. I wouldn't ask unless I wanted to hear what people thought. So go ahead- I can handle it.

But before you tell me about myself, I need to let you in on a few bits of information:

1. I don't gossip. If you do something that I don't like/don't agree with, I'll either tell you to your face, or I will keep it to myself. If I talk about you behind your back, it's to say something kind, or ask about you. I don't talk dirt.
   
2. I don't dislike anyone. There are some people I click with better than others. There are some people I don't click very well with, and that's normal. If you know that we don't click very well, please refer to #1.
3. If you ask my opinion, I'm going to give it to you. Occasionally, I'll give it to you even if you don't ask for it. The honest one. If I ask your opinion, I expect that you'll give me the honest one. (otherwise, why would I ask?) I'm sorry in advance if I'm tactless. Some people have the gift of being able to filter their thoughts before the words escape their mouth. I am not always blessed with this gift. (understatement)
4. I am sarcastic. However, I am not mean spirited. I do not mean to hurt your feelings. If my sarcasm is too much for you to handle, please tell me. I'll stop. Or at least make a super good-faith effort to be less sarcastic to you.
   
5. I am bossy. GASP! BUT, I can take orders too. I like to be bossed around also. And convinced to do things. I don't have to be in charge. If I boss you, and you don't want to be told what to do, just tell me NO. I can take it!
6. I don't have to be the best. I mean, I do know I am awesome. But just because I am freakin' awesome, doesn't mean that I don't think you are freakin' awesome too. I enjoy my friend's successes. I am truly and genuinely happy for you when something awesome happens to you. I like to tell my friends how proud I am of their accomplishments. I like to tell my friends about my accomplishments that I'm proud of. If I do a good job at something, I own it (Thursday at Bowie State-I rocked my presentation). If I suck at something, I own that too (The swim event during my first and probably only triathlon-it really was embarrassingly awful and slow and awful).

That's me in 6 paragraphs. I know those things are what makes me "Marianne". I mostly love myself, so I don't plan to change who I am. I just want to improve my relationships with you bitches.

MWAH!

optimism

(actual conversation)

Random Trainer: I gotta make sure I get paid for these people I trained. I know it's not a lot of money, but this is my drinking money.
Tall Black Man: I thought you didn't drink.
RT: I do drink, but not nearly as much as I'd like to.
TBM: HA! As much as you'd like to? I don't think I've ever heard that one.
RT: Just make sure I get paid ok? Each person is worth one drink.

tight ass...

...and shoulders, and back, and hamstrings, and...

That's what happens when you don't work out for a while.

"But you are a personal trainer. You work at a gym," you say.
"I'm LAAAAAZY!" I whine, "I don't always WAAAAAANT to workout. It HUUUUURTS."
"So what kind of example are you setting?" you ask.
"A bad one, " I reply, "I don't care. So get off my case. I'm not the workout police."
"Jeeez, quit being such a bitch," you say.
"Don't call me a bitch. I'll punch you in the throat if you call me a bitch," I respond.
"I didn't say you were a bitch, I said you were being one. There's a difference," you explain.
"No there's not," I argue.
"Yes there is," you reply.
"Is not," I insist.
"Is too," you insist.
"Is-" PUNCH!! "GASP!!!", I gasp.
" Is too, BITCH!" you say.

Fine, I'll stop whining now. I have to go workout.

The fascinating belly button

Vivian sat here for ten minutes trying to get to the inside of her belly button. She tugged and pulled and dug around, but to no avail. Good thing. That could have been messy.

It made me think of my own belly button. I hate mine. I have always been unhappy with my BB. It used to be hairy (GAH-ROOSSS), until I started waxing it. Now, after four kids, it's all stretched out and misshapen. It's saggy. It's sad. The BB along with all the stretch marks from the first kid, make for a less-than-desirable midsection. I was going to post a picture to prove it, but it looks much worse in picture form than in person. I'm too vain.

At least my ass is tight.

Don't be alarmed!

It's just me checking back on my blog. I've changed it again. I'm going to be better at updating it. I promise. I have made changes to encourage me to visit my blog more instead of Brandi's. I think that if I look at my month old post long enough, I'll want to update more often. Whatever it takes, right?

some funny things happening right now:

• Trystan playing with the dog (boxer) and getting punched in the face. BY A BOXER!!
  
• The dog running in circles chasing his tail. He's a boxer. He has no tail. It's like me trying to wear pigtails. Have you seen my hair lately?
• Mimi's pancake fail. I guess you have to learn how to make pancakes somehow, right?

My plans for the week:

• Go to Costco for greek yogurt. I MUST HAVE MY GREEK YOGURT!!!!
• Tune up my bike and ride at least 45 miles (not necessarily consecutive).
• Take kids to park for picnic and playgrounding. Yes, you are invited. Llamame.
• Try not to watch the season 5 finale of Weeds yet.
  

WOOO-frickin'-HOOOO, right?

My week is gonna be a blast!

outta touch

have you ever been in a room full of beautifully delightful people who you enjoy spending time with, only to realize that you are sitting on a chair in a corner by yourself talking to no one?

and when you realize this fact, you find someone to talk to and discover that you have nothing to say?

so you just leave?

---

how about when you think things are going pretty well, only to find out everything was a lie?

and there are so many of them, that you can't ignore anything, and you're totally overwhelmed at the task of addressing, correcting, and preventing?

---

ever wake up thinking about how many more hours before you can go back to bed?

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what about when your darling spouse invites you out for lunch, and you turn him down because you "hadn't planned on going out" today?

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yeah, i'm a lil' bit depressed right now. don't ask why. just make me feel better by telling me how fantastic i am. k?