ok, first of all, i can’t be held responsible for the title of today’s post. last night when i was going to bed, i came up with it and thought it was brilliant. and no, i wasn’t drunk OR on drugs. i can’t explain it, but for some reason i thought this was the most clever title ever. EVER.

i wanted to get up and at least write it down, but my body wouldn’t follow. i was insanely exhausted. so as i drifted off to sleep, i repeated the title over a hundred times in my mind so that i wouldn’t forget it in the morning. when i woke up, i reached in my memory bank in search of the “greatest title ever” and this is what my brain spit out.

so, “greatest title ever?” no. not feeling it. i’m not even sure what it means. but i felt it necessary to post it anyway since my brain worked so hard to keep it in queue. i think there’s something wrong with me. i know i say that a lot, but i’m serious this time. is this a new development? probably not. maybe i was hungry for chicken nuggets when i went to bed?

moving on. i know many of you have been wondering where i’ve been (mostly because of the oodles of harassing emails that all begin with WTF?) and i’ll tell ya–i’ve been busy. you know tommy and i escaped for an anniversary weekend sans the kids. i learned a lot on the trip. i learned that i really like tommy. i learned that away from the kids we have fun, we get along, and i enjoy his company immensely. (shocking, i know) even when we’re by ourselves his farts aren’t nearly as noxious–and his shuffling feet, his slurping and gulping and his obsessive throat clearing don’t have me plotting his untimely and accidental (wink, wink) death. the common denominator in all these scenarios? the kids. or rather, lack of kids. it seems that having the kids around and my noticing that i do most all the work has me resenting him–and therefore not appreciating all his little quirks/eccentricities/annoying habits. (we’ve only been home one day and my left eye has already begun twitching uncontrollably–the feet shuffling has GOT to stop!) when it was just the two of us it was easy to let go the fact that when the clock strikes a certain hour, his ability to function (other than his thumb fashioned on the channel up and down button on the remote control) turns to something that would make a coma patient appear mobile. in fact, it was downright adorable.

but we’re not alone at the beach anymore. and no, his letting me know how tired he is from his long day of returning emails and talking on the phone doesn’t make me feel sorry for him. it makes me want to run over him with my car. on accident, of course.

god love him. i just think it’s a man thing. and if you’re one of those lucky few who has a helpful husband, do not comment here. no one wants to hear how great he is with the kids or how he does most of the work–or even some of the work. odds are you’re lying because such a man doesn’t exist. well, except that i personally know two. and one of them is my little brother. he makes all other dads look bad. i mean REALLY bad. when i’m around him and i see how he is with my nephew it makes me want to punch tommy in the face–just once, really hard. i think i would feel so much better if i could do that.

but wait. i meant for this post to be about how much i appreciate tommy and how much fun we had on our trip. oops, i guess i got off on a little tangent there. so as i was saying, tommy’s awesome and we had fun. there. i said it.

on saturday i got a pedicure from this spa down the street from our house. i’d never been there and wanted to try it out. the actual pedicure was just so-so (actually it sucked–it was the worst pedicure ever) but what i enjoyed was the girl who *performed* the service. she told the most fascinating, heart breaking story i’d ever heard. i think i’m even going to write about it. it’s a sad story–probably the saddest, jaw dropping tale of a young woman’s life EVER on the planet, but somehow also a testament to the tenacity of the human spirit. the problem with me writing her story is that normally i write funny. and this ain’t no funny story. so if i do it, i may have to inject humor–like maybe the story takes place in a town where nobody wears pants. pants are not worn because zippers and elastic waistbands have been outlawed or haven’t been invented yet. it’s rough–definitely a work in progress, but you get the point. it’s a fucking sad story and it needs fart jokes or vagina talk. i’ll let you know what i decide. i may scrap the whole idea and just tell you the story here. one thing is for sure– i’ll never forget cindy as long as i live. i’ve thought about her every day since i met her.

and that’s about all i got for now. oh, there’s more don’t you worry. but i have to go. my real life is calling.

so i sat down at my computer and began writing my next book. although i’m not really feeling it. so i think instead of making poppy marlow a full length young adult novel, i’m going to make it a short story and be done with it. and because poppy is supposed to be 10 years old, i can’t find a way to fit in sex and wild use of the ‘f’ word, so it seems boring and pointless to me. BUT harley will think it’s great in a pg kind of way (she’s soooo 6 years old), so i’m going to do it.

i churned out 3 pages and then stopped. i read over it and was horrified and disappointed at the lack of va-voom displayed in the content. i mean normally i’m fascinated with my own writing, but this time it was different. i just couldn’t connect with the story or the characters. then i looked around me. i hadn’t noticed how distracting the coffee shop was before now. sharing a table with me and sitting directly across from me was a rather large man, slurping his mocha frappucino and licking chocolate off his fingers. he saw me watching him and quickly apologized. minutes later he began clipping his fingernails. yes. let me say that again. he was clipping. his. fingernails. at. the. table. in. public.

side note: if you don’t know me very well, then you don’t know that i think clipping anything off your person, whether it be your toenails, fingernails, nose hair, etc., should be done in the privacy of your bathroom…with the door locked. how would everyone like it if i just whipped out my razor and started shaving my crotch in the middle of freakin starbucks on a wednesday morning?

so anyway, now i’m grossed out completely and am fearful that his nail particles have somehow traveled through the air and landed in my mouth. i begin to cough, hoping that any and all fingernail parts that aren’t mine will extract themselves from my general area. i want to blow the space around me but am afraid that i will attract more negative attention since minutes before when i was reading what i had written, i kept making ugh noises and talking to myself in a sort of demeaning way. i turned to the person sitting next to me (who was bald–i don’t know why i had to throw that in–it’s not relevant to the story–that’s just really the only characteristic i remember about him–oh, that and he had a humongous mole on the side of his nose. who doesn’t get a nose mole removed? i have 1 (1!) hair growing out of my chin that tommy insists needs to be lasered. but this bald guy has a huge mole–that i swear said hello when i looked at it– just sitting there on his face). but other than the mole, he wasn’t a bad seatmate. except the mole was distracting. and his head was shiny. but other than that, he was fine.

i tried really hard to focus on my writing.

but i couldn’t. i overheard these 2 young college girls going on and on about the upcoming social. it was like fort worth’s version of the hills. and it wasn’t any better. but it wasn’t any worse. there were a lot of ‘likes’ and ‘oh my gods’ and then giggling.

and then i thought about my bus–you know, the one without brakes? and started pointing out everyone in the coffee shop who i’d give a ticket to. that bus is so full, we may need another one.

i saved and closed my document, got on the internet, googled jigsaw puzzles, and clicked on puzzleworld.com.

ordered 2 puzzles, opted for overnight shipping, and then called it a day. waved goodbye to the bald guy, made a face at the i-clip-my-fingernails-in-public guy (by the way, i wanted to ask him if he was single, but decided against it since i would only be pointing out the obvious and i didn’t want to bring it up to him in case it’s already a sore subject for the guy–and his mom probably already gives him a hard time about it anyway–but really she should have taught him better manners than to clip his nails in public, so his still being single is her fault anyway–oh, the irony) and then got the hell out of there.

i can’t wait for the ups guy to deliver my puzzles.

i’m such a loser.

someone send help…and wine.

first off, yes, i’m ok. i haven’t died, changed my identity and moved away, or forgotten about you. i’ve just been off. uninspired. material-less. humor challenged. whatever you want to call it–that’s me. so thank you all for the emails that basically read like this: HEY! WHAT THE FUCK? WHEN YOU GONNA BLOG?

well, my friends, the answer is…now.

friday with the threat of hurricane ike looming overhead, tommy and i did what most people would do before a potential natural disaster…we went to a fund raiser. and not a cheap one. i didn’t mind paying $200 a person for this event because it’s for a really good cause. and no, it wasn’t women without handbags or something insane like that (although, note to self: check out possible venture into charity for designer purse-less gals). anyway, we got to the venue and there was a band and an open bar and people in line for food. i was starving so after receiving my glass of pinot grigio (of course) i made a beeline for the food. now let me just say that history shows i’ll eat just about anything. i was raised on fried spam sandwiches for christ’s sake. but even rednecks draw the line somewhere. and the food at this event was…well, let’s just say it can be summed up in a 2 syllable word–GA-ROSS! i tried to eat it. i really did. i was that hungry. but i couldn’t do it. after two hours of shmoozing and listening to my stomach grumble, i told tommy it was time to go. plus i wanted to check out exactly where ike was so that i could “brace myself” for the big event. side note: as you know we live in fort worth. we are usually a safe distance from hurricane action. but this time those meteorologists/sadists scared me into thinking we were going to get hit with ike’s leftovers. all of our soccer games were cancelled in advance (thanks ike!) and the tcu football game was moved from 6pm to noon on saturday, grocery stores were packed with people buying bottled water, batteries and duct tape. so i sort of bought into all of the hype and prepared my own way. i bought a brisket to cook. because nothing says hurricane preparedness like the aroma of beef brisket filling your house.

so we got home and i forgot all about being hungry once i got sucked into all the coverage. i finally gave up waiting for ike to hit and went to bed. i woke up around 5am and ran to the kitchen to turn on the tv. sure enough, ike hit at a category 2 and was headed our way. it was already beginning to rain. i put the brisket in the oven and waited. harley woke up around 8 and came running, screaming, “have we been hit by the hurricane yet?” sadly, i shook my head and said, “harley, it looks like ike took a sharp right turn and is headed for tyler. it’s not even a hurricane anymore. it’s only a tropical storm with 50-75 mile an hour winds.” she looked outside and then back at me. “dang it,” she said. and then in almost the same breath she said, “so they cancelled my soccer game for nothing?” all i could do was nod my head (and grin like a baboon on the inside). i had to act like i was upset about that too. whatever will we do now on a saturday with no soccer? boo-hoo.

then! tommy appeared and announced that he was taking ethan to the tcu football game and that they would be gone ALL AFTERNOON. holy shit–the universe was smiling on me. i’d never been so happy in all my life…this week. i thought about all the writing i could get done, or maybe i could go get a massage or maybe a pedicure–or better yet– a massage AND a pedicure.

nope. instead, i opened my new thousand piece jigsaw puzzle and began working it. there’s something terribly wrong with me. send help.

i finished it in two days. it was so fun. i couldn’t stop. i willed myself, please, for the love of all things good and mighty, please stop. but my inner puzzle lunatic self (i call her pam the puzzle diva) wouldn’t listen to my rational self and continued to work away despite all the crying and yelling. it was exhausting having to referee pam and bradford’s (my rational, mature, responsible self–he doesn’t get much playing time to say the least) arguments over whether or not to stop with the puzzle nonsense and be productive. bradford, using his wit and booksmarts, dangled something shiny in front of pam and she forgot all about the puzzle and the spell was broken. but, i decided not to write (this is where the being uninspired part comes into play) and went to see the movie, the women, instead. i highly recommend this movie, but only if you have a vagina. no man in his right mind should see this movie. in fact, my friend ellen, who was with me, pointed out that not one man appeared in the entire movie. not one. not even in the background. oh, here’s what we consumed while watching the movie: a pitcher of beer, an order of buffalo wings with ranch AND bleu cheese dressing, french fries, and chips and queso. ask me how much was left. none. i even think at some point i licked the inside of the queso bowl. hey, no one saw me. it was dark in there.

i came home to the most wonderful smell. i thought, how sweet. tommy’s cooking something. oh dear, i think it might be burning. i yelled, “tommy…” and then stopped in my tracks. it all came rushing back to me. TOMMY WASN’T COOKING SOMETHING—I WAS!!! i ran to the oven, opened the door, and was horrified to find my once beautiful brisket was now a blackened, perfectly seasoned, brick/door stopper. tommy came into the kitchen, took one look at my offerings of food and said, “no thanks. i’m trying to give up tree stumps. too much fiber.” hardy har har. leave the comedy to me, mister-you-are-not-funny-man.

the brightside? i needed a doorstop for my closet door that keeps shutting. i carried it into my bedroom, put it down in front of the door and walked away. 10 minutes later i found my 3 degenerate dogs gnawing at what was left of my once perfectly seasoned doorstop. i screamed, “what’s the matter with the canines in this family? does not one of you respect my things? out with you before i salt, pepper and over cook all of YOU!” i looked at the sad excuse for a doorstop, picked it up and threw it in the garbage. so much for being prepared for a natural disaster. thanks a lot, ike!

sunday morning i got up early to finish my puzzle. yes, i’m fully aware that i have a sickness. but frankly i don’t give a shit. i could have worse hobbies. like crack. or midget porn. or cutting out pictures of puppies and scrapbooking them. or cutting out pictures of puppies and scrapbooking them while watching midget porn while doing crack. you understand I’M on crack–not the midgets, right? i wouldn’t want to give porn making midgets a bad reputation. just so we’re clear. so i finished the puzzle, high fived myself and then walked around the house feeling especially light on my feet. like i just accomplished some great task. i returned to gaze upon its finishedness, when i saw this guy (backwards-wearing-soccer shirt-don’t-comb-my-hair-i-gotta-penis-and-you-don’t-boy) taking apart my puzzle! i screamed, “why you little…” and decided NOT to call him a bastard, ran toward him and he giggled and squealed. this was a game to him! i scooped him up off the table, put him down on the floor and gave him 5 seconds to run before i was coming after him. harley, in the meantime, jumped on the table and began putting the puzzle back together. seems a six year old can do it. bummer. i thought i was exceptional. turns out i’m only as smart as a first grader.

you want to hear the really pathetic part? i still have the puzzle sitting out. i know i should put it back in the box and hide it from myself–or give it to someone so i won’t be tempted to work it again anytime soon, but i can’t. i’m thinking of building a shrine for it. i know, it’s unreasonable. ooh, maybe i’ll be one of those people who glues it together and then frames it and hangs it on the living room wall. i’ll give that some serious thought. right after i start cutting out pictures of puppies for my new scrapbooking hobby.

here’s another thing. i’m reading ALL OF THESE BOOKS right now. i’ve started all of them and haven’t finished any of them. i must read the friday night knitting club for book club next month. but since i know it’s not until the end of october, i’m putting it off. i’m almost finished with eileen cook’s unpredictable (remember she’s the author who gave me a blurb for my book cover–love her) and it’s a cute story. i can totally relate to the main character. she’s a maniac. i’m about 1/2 way through the secret life of bees (movie is coming out soon, i want to finish it before it does), and i’m in chapter 4 of the doctor’s wife. the other 2 i’ve just started. i don’t recommend doing this (reading 6 books at once–i’m getting the characters and the storylines all confused and jumbled–it’s like a REALLY bad lifetime movie) unless you would like to experience what being addicted to crack is like–or so i imagine.

to add to a my already puzzle working, procrastinating, busy mother of four life, it appears i’m getting sick. in fact, everyone in my family is sneezing, coughing, achy and generally pissy. there’s a shortage of tissues now and we all seem to be hoarding them in our hiding places. the older girls have them stuffed in their drawers, tommy stole a box and locked it in his office, harley snuck some under her bed and ethan put a wad of tissues down the front of his pants. rest assured i won’t be using those to wipe my nose.

maybe instead of buying a brisket/perfectly seasoned doorstop for hurricane preparedness weekend, i should have bought kleenex and nyquil…and maybe some throat lozenges.

my luck changed when yesterday tommy said, “you wanna go to the dallas cowboy game tonight and sit on the 9th row behind the cowboy bench?” i gasped and was all, “does your driving annoy the SHIT out of me?” he stopped for a minute, thought about what i said and replied, “does that mean you DO want to go?” i jumped up and down–and then stopped because i was getting whoozy. “hell yeah, i wanna go!” so i got busy working out all the moving parts to this well oiled machine we call a family (it’s not so much ‘well oiled’ as it is frighteningly dysfunctional) and we took off for the game.

here’s a picture i took while sitting in my seat (using my iphone). no, that is not roy williams sitting in front of me–that’s just a fan wearing his jersey. the real roy williams was on the sidelines. i took this picture before the game. we got there 3 HOURS EARLY because both my brothers (who are geniuses by the way–wink, wink) told us we’d be sitting in traffic for 2-3 hours. um, yeah, not much to do in a football stadium 3 hours before the game. we did eat some pretty disgusting food and tommy sneezed 278 times BEFORE kickoff. it was super fun and we stayed for the whole game. we forgot that we felt bad until we got in the car at midnight at started driving home. we stopped at walgreen’s, bought some nyquil, and took turns drinking it straight out of the bottle.

i woke up this morning and didn’t know where i was. then ethan came running in my room, crying that he peed in his pants, presley reminded me she needed 10 dollars for school, riley wanted to leave early so we could go to smoothie king, harley wanted her hair in a ponytail (no bumps this time, mama, and pull it up higher please) and it all came rushing back to me. it’s THESE people again. and the universe continues to laugh…

edit: ooh, one last thing. you must, and this is not an option or a suggestion, rent the movie and then she found me. it stars helen hunt (who also wrote, directed and starred in it), colin firth (love HIM!), bette midler, and matthew broderick. if you don’t cry at least 3 times in this movie then you are a robot.

tommy comes in front room where i’m watching tv. “did you know there are 743,000 web pages devoted to or that mention lemon pie?”

me: “really? i don’t understand the internet at all.”

tommy: “what don’t you understand?”

me: “like, where is it? where is the center, the hub, the sterile metal building that houses the giant computer that stores all the information about the whole world and its contents?”

tommy (closing his eyes and making a constipated face): “there is no such place. it’s just out there–in cyberspace. there is no hub…to use your elementary term.”

me: “so if i mail a letter to the internet, it won’t go anywhere? because when you mail a letter to the white house or the north pole it gets there. i don’t think you’re giving the u.s. postal service enough credit.”

tommy (turning a funny shade of red): “there’s no address for the internet. it’s not a place. there’s nowhere to send a letter because it’s not a tangible thing. it’s…it’s…oh, fuck i don’t know. just forget i even said anything.”

me: “hmmm. so why did you google lemon pie? you don’t even eat pie–or dessert for that matter.”

tommy (shrugging his shoulders and then pacing the room): “i don’t know. no reason. i just tried to think of something benign and lemon pie was the first thing that popped in my head.”

me (eyes widening): “since when is lemon pie benign? and of all the words in the entire universe you chose lemon pie?”

tommy: “you’re missing the point. i just picked a word…at random…and googled it. the word is not the issue. the issue is the vastness and the reach of the internet. it’s powerful stuff.”

me (sighing): “yeah, i totally don’t get it.”

tommy (seeming engaged now): “get what?”

me: “why you chose the words lemon pie to google. i mean, are you hungry for pie? because if you are, i’m in. i’ll put my shoes on right now and we can go get pie. you just say the word. although, does it have to be lemon? because i could really go for some coconut cream…ooh…or chocolate cream. you know the kind they serve at the lunch box that is smothered in whipped cream and chocolate shavings?”

tommy (standing up and putting his hands on his hips): “you’re annoying to talk to sometimes.”

me: “you’re just figuring that out?”

tommy: “no, i just forgot for a minute.”

me: “well, you’re welcome.”

tommy (making that face again): “for what?”

me (rolling my eyes): “for reminding you that i can be annoying. du-uh.”

i get up and brush past him.

tommy: “where are you going?”

me: “to get my laptop. i’m going to google ‘shithead.’ how much you wanna bet your mug pops up on the screen?”

tommy: “fine. we’ll go get pie. but next time i’m googling naked, mute nymphomaniacs.”