Here are some things about me you probably don’t know.

*My middle name is Rae. I’m named after my Uncle Ray, who when I was a child, convinced me he had a bear living in a tree in his front yard. I have been afraid of bears…and trees…and men named Ray ever since.

*I slept in the same bed with my two younger brothers until I was 14 years old. OK, 15. Because I was afraid to sleep by myself. And I only stopped then because my parents made me.

*In middle school, if the teachers gave no homework I would make up work to do because I loved doing homework. I would show my teachers the next day all the extra work I did. They thought it was odd. My mom swears to this day that I was never dropped on my head as a baby. I was just a school nerd.

*If I didn’t bleach or color my hair I’d be almost completely gray headed. It’s been this way since I was 28.

*One time when I went scuba diving I was nearly eaten by a grouper the size of a two bedroom apartment. I’ve never been able to look at a fish in the face again. Not even our pet Beta, Douglas. His beady little eyes scream “I will devour you!”

*When I was 15 I faked a stomach ache to get out of going to church camp and ended up having my appendix removed. DO NOT TELL MY MOTHER.

*My grandparents named my butt cheeks, Precious and Adorable. And they would fight over which cheek was cuter. I think this might explain a lot of what’s wrong with me.

*When I was in elementary school I used to cry because I wanted to be a boy. Not because I wished I had a penis, but because my mom wouldn’t let me play football in the front yard without my shirt on.

*I like going to the movies by myself so I can sit in the dark and eat a hot dog AND nachos AND popcorn without feeling like people are judging me.

*I’ve never won anything in my life–except a Cabbage Patch doll–when I was 12. And then Avitable ate it. Cuz he eats the fuck out of those.

*I’m terrified of going to the dentist. They have to practically drive to my house and pick me up for my appointment. And there are usually promises of candy if I behave for the doctor. I don’t normally make it through without crying…or behaving.

I think this pretty much sums it up. It all makes perfect sense now doesn’t it.

Weirdos need love too.

***Please keep Anissa in your thoughts. For updates on her condition, you can go here.

i’m afraid i’m becoming one of those angry, bitter women. you know, the ones who have a scowl permenantly fashioned on their faces? they constantly look like they’ve just swallowed something sour. well, my brow is furrowed as we speak.

i don’t know what happened. one minute i was excited to come to the beach (which we haven’t even SEEN yet) and the next…well, let’s just say i feel like murdering someone.

i think i’m tired. i’m spoiled and i’m tired. at home, patricia is there to help out during the day–there are 4 of them you know and 3 of them are smarter than me (and the only reason the 4th one isn’t smarter than me is because he picks up old food off the floor and eats it, and i haven’t done that in like 2 weeks) but here it’s just me against them and i’ve spent the entire week so far running around like a crazy person meeting their every whim. one of them farts and i jump up and yell, “what do you need? what can i get you?”

it’s exhausting. tommy has watched all of this from a very comfortable chair in the living room and keeps saying, “why are you doing this? they’ve got you trained. you’re like a monkey on the street corner. blah, blah, blah.”

ok first off, i’ve NEVER seen a monkey on the street corner so i have no idea what he’s talking about. monkey prostitutes?

anyway, i think it all started on the drive down. we didn’t leave until noon on sunday and our original plan was to drive until we got tired and then drive the rest monday morning. but because i was making such good time (yes, i was driving. i have to drive because tommy’s driving drives me nuts to the point where i’m grabbing the steering wheel and pressing his leg down on the accelerator–it’s better for our marriage if i do the driving) so i let the family know we wouldn’t be stopping. they didn’t care. they were all nestled in the back watching movies. i whipped into a convenience store and bought one of those tall full throttle energy drinks. that shit works. i STILL haven’t been to sleep and it’s wednesday.

and therein lies the problem. i’m tired. AND also…i cut my finger on a starburst candy wrapper and it’s finger i use to pick my nose…so that has me all bummed out too. have you tried to pick your nose with a finger that’s NOT your nose picking one? suddenly it’s like you’re retarded or something. so i just gave up.

seriously, i cut my index finger on a candy wrapper. who does that? i don’t even eat starbursts. ok, that’s a lie. i totally eat starbursts–except the red ones. the red ones are gross. my favorite is pink. pink starbursts are the bomb. anyway, i wasn’t opening a starburst for me this time–it was for one of my ungrateful, slave driver children and i cut my finger.

the good news is ethan’s better. i’m sleeping with him just in case. and that’s awesome. he digs his little ninja feet in my back and scratches me with his razor sharp baby toenails. i’m afraid to look at my back for fear i might find open wounds. i don’t have time to go to the doctor and get stitches–someone might need their ass wiped or a yogurt opened or another bowl of cereal–what would they do if i wasn’t here to do it for them–if i was off, i don’t know, seeking medical attention?

tommy informed me when we got here that he’d have to work some. so he’s been disappearing in the morning and coming back in the afternoon. lucky bastard. i’m not really sure about the whole “work” story though. so far he’s emailed me 2 videos from youtube and made comments on facebook. how much does this type of “work” pay? sign me the fuck up.

last night around 9 i turned in. a minute later tommy came in the bedroom and asked, “want to watch a movie?”

i looked at the clock again. maybe i’d read it wrong. maybe it was earlier.

nope.

“it’s 9:15,” i said.

“yeah, so?” he went to put the movie in the dvd player.

“at NIGHT,” i answered back, annoyed.

“i know,” he said.

and then neither of us said a word. he stood there looking at me and i lay in bed, wishing his head might explode into a million little pieces, right before my eyes.

and then, “fine. i’ll go sleep in the bunk bed with ethan.”

“ok, goodnight,” he said. “i love you. i hope you get some sleep.”

and then i flipped him off (behind his back of course) as i headed down the hallway to the kids’ room.

here’s an observation: bunk beds…not so comfy.

i got up in the night and moved to riley’s room and slept with her. and of course, i brought ethan with me. sleeping without little ninja feet in my back just wouldn’t be the same.

oh, here’s a bonus bit of information. tommy told me last night that he’s having the best time.

i’m so glad.

it appears my laptop has crashed. and like everything else where i’m concerned, she has crashed in the most dramatic fashion. (cough, attention whore)

but really, if you’re going to go down, go down big, right? that’s always been my motto.

i don’t know what happened. i thought we were happy. i thought we had an understanding. every day for the last 2 years, i’ve sat down in front of nelly (that’s the name i gave her–the tv is telly–my stomach i call belly–the jam for my toast, jelly–i think you get the gist) with some sort of liquid beverage: in the morning, coffee; noon time, coke zero; evening, really must i say it? and stroked her keyboard til my heart’s content.

(i don’t know how i did it, but i just made using a computer sound like a cheap porno. i’ve never even watched porn on my nelly. ok, there was that one time but i couldn’t help it. midgets doing it is funny and those midget porn producers target weirdos like me. but that’s it, i promise.)

so anyway, i sat down sunday afternoon to, you know, do my business, and that’s when it happened. i powered her on (foreplay) and then instead of showing me the world, she gave me the middle finger in the form of a blue screen with this error:

unmountable boot volume

(who’s the perv now?)

unmountable? surely you jest.

boot volume? i’m not even wearing boots! and she’s never complained about the volume before. i’m loud. is this new?

the woman has gone mad. MAD i tell you!

i shut the top, paced the room, and then sat down in front of her again. “nelly,” i said, my voice quivering. “i’m sorry. whatever it is i did to upset you i’m sorry. please forgive me. i’m a schmuck. an insensitive, reckless, unappreciative schmuck. please say you forgive me. i need for us to be ok. are we ok? c’mon nelly, talk to me. show me the goods, er, i mean, you know i love you, don’t you?”

i opened her up again, rebooted, and got the same blue screen.

unmountable boot volume

“oh yeah, well fuck you too!”

and then i just walked away.

we haven’t spoken since. my stomach is in knots. i haven’t been able to sleep. i’ve really done it this time.

i thought we could get past anything. we’d been through so much already. there was the time that the e-man plucked off 17 keys from her keyboard. it was horrific. she looked so naked. she was so ashamed she wouldn’t even look at me. she had a keyboard transplant and was as good as new. then there was the time he (the same culprit) decided to pour an entire bag of sugar on her keyboard. you could hear her cries throughout the neighborhood (or maybe that was me) as i vacuumed and wiped and vacuumed some more.

but we made it.

and now this.

i picked up the phone and dialed the doctor, aka the computer guy. when i told him what was going on he audibly gasped and said, “ooh, that’s not good at all.”

desperately i shouted, “can you save nelly? er i mean, my non-living computing device for which i don’t have an unhealthy attachment to at all? huh, can you?”

he said, “i’ll be there in 30.”

true to his word, dr computer fix it man arrived, stethoscope and enema in hand.

(i made up the part about the enema. i threw that in there for tommy. he’s an old fashioned guy who grew up believing that a little pill up the bunghole cures all. sore throat? enema. sprained ankle? enema. cut your finger using a tomato knife? enema. frankly, the man is obsessed with them. maybe i should be writing less about my laptop and more on this subject? stay tuned)

i handed him nelly and said, “be gentle with her, kind sir.”

this time when i looked at him he wasn’t wearing his street clothes, but a red polyester footed bodysuit with matching cape. and patriotic music was coming from somewhere. it was weird.

his eyes sparkled, he smiled and winked at me, and then broke out in song. i don’t remember all the words to it, but basically it was about how he was going to make her better, make her happy again.

was it wrong to make out with him in the middle of my kitchen while ethan was pulling on my leg asking for yogurt? i didn’t think so either.

a few minutes later, i walked them both to the door. i stood there, said goodbye and then a single tear rolled down my cheek. i wiped it away and watched as they climbed in his ford mustang together.

funny, every guy who has ever fixed a computer of mine drives a ford mustang. what gives?

be well nelly! come home soon!