Who are all these people and what the fuck is so funny?

I don't remember if I have posted this picture in the past, but even if I have I think it is classic enough to be posted again. Watch out Jessica Simpson! These boots are made for... ?

Right after this picture was taken, Josh burst into a brilliant blue flame and Jack just up and flew away.

(No one is safe when I get blog-happy.)

I'm sending out an Amber Alert if Brooke doesn't call me soon...
Hello? Tap, tap,tap. Is this thing on?

This is Einstein. Three years ago she was born in our garage and originally she was named because she was the first of the to figure out the litter box. Brilliant!!! Everybody loves baby pictures ( Einstein is pictured with her sleeping brother, Stanley). Look how big her head was! Like an orange on a toothpick...




This is now. All things considered, she is a good cat. She keeps me warm when I'm sick and does all the required cute things. She is the reigning bug catcher of the house (she beat Jason by a landslide) AND she is soft like a fluffy bunny. For the first two and a half years she was the lowest maintanence animal in this zoo, but the last few months have been very different. I blame Jason and his feather on a string toy that he brought home from Petco. She is obsessed with that damn thing and meows anytime we get near it or just look at it, and for an hour after we looked at it - or until we give in and pick it up and play with her. She will chase that feather as long as you will drag it around, or until one of you passes out. Most of her day is spent sitting on the string just to make sure it doesn't move without her consent. Now that she has figured out that the Meow is how she asks us for things -they never stop. When she wants something really bad the meows will come out so fast that they will overlap and she can really get going. I'm starting to think she has a real OCD problem. If she wasn't so damn cuddley and soft (and in my lap right now)...

We may have to consider an intervention and rehab. This would be so much easier if she was just a drunk like the rest of us.

How dare they invade my space! ( To all Jason's dorky friends: talk down your woody, I'm not talking about Space Invaders. ) I'm talking about the 30 or so children that are on the swim team that practices at MY pool on Tues, Thurs, Friday evenings. Am I being punished for something? True, they only take up 4 of the 6 lanes so if I want to swim I can - but swimming has become something I do to relax. Children and relaxation are not two words that have ever been in the same sentence before today, and for good reason. Not to mention the three swim coaches that stand on the side of the pool and scream loud enough to be heard even if the kids were swimming in concrete instead of water.

But last night, against my better judgement I braved the pool full of children ( and probably a considerable amount of urine ) and did my usual swim. I was proud of myself. I faced my fear. And I was doing quite well; I was probably 20 laps into my current 30 lap routine and making good time- when I heard something that made me flop belly first out onto the side of the pool like Shamu waiting for a sardine. Just a quite comment made from one child to another while standing at the end of the lane, and, had I not come up to breath as I turned to make my next lap, I would have missed the conversation altogether...

She was so calm and ho-hum about it... " I've lost my bandaid"

I tried to hide my grimace, but I was determined to carry on. Right up until...

" and my scab."

Is it a person's actions that makes them old? Or is it how they think? Maybe its the things they hear themselves say...

Whatever the case, my youth came to a screeching halt tonight when Jason and I made sure that we were home in time to catch the second half of Henry VIII on PBS's Masterpiece Theatre because we watched the first half last week and it was SOOOOO good. That should support my case, but if you need further proof of my old age onset:

I actually baked a cake for no occasion.
I have already started plotting where my garden will be this year.
At 9:15 I started looking at the clock and thinking that I should have been in bed already.
Skip Mcbride was on TV and I uttered the phrase " I guess we really do need some rain, don't we?"
Jason, without looking up from his book says " Yup, guess so."

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGG!

Sunday nights used to be an exciting challenge because the Pub was closed, so we had to find some other dive to get trashed in. We drank every night, and I thought that was normal!
For a long time I thought hangovers were why everyone hated Mondays.
Live and learn...

My life as a day-shifter is going well. I managed to get to work dare I say, early, all this week - except, of course the day that I called in sick. Screw'em - I was puking like Lindsay Lohan before the Teen Choice Awards. I got off work Friday evening and started blowing red, white, and blue chunks- which continued every twenty minutes until 9AM the next morning. I lost 8 pounds in 12 hours. I doubt I would have been much help at work. I was back at work the next day, although I probably could have used another day off to allow my kidneys to painlessly start working again.
Of course I made Jason take a picture of me! Ari never got tired of being hurled across the room when I had make a break for the bathroom. He always came right back and was asleep again in no time. I didn't have the energy to argue. That's when you know I'm really sick...

Now I know how a dried apricot feels.
It took me a few days to rehydrate and wean myself back on solid food, but I feel okay now, and I've gained back 5 pounds. I'm just happy that I can stand up now without getting dizzy.

Spent my last few scheduled days off running around trying to get a few things done, such as:

Lunch with Irma, check.
Oil change, check.

Short session in the pool to see if I kept any muscle mass, check.
Hair appointment, check.

Get update on the Supreme Court nomination hearings via NPR, check.
Play Guess That Liquor while Ted Kennedy is speaking, check.

Senseless trip to the casino to spend money I don't have, pending.

Squish all the loose skin around the dog's neck up around her face in scrumptous wrinkles and laugh hysterically, check, check, check.

Nap, pending.

By 2 AM we were all slurring like Dick Clark...
Morgan was nice enough to host the NYE party this year, so we repayed him by trashing his pad with confetti poppers and tackey beaded necklaces. Who gives a crap! Its a rental!

This year I resolve to finally be rid of all this unnecessary exterior and become a brain in a jar. I should have resolved to do this world domination thing much sooner; I would have saved a ton in student loans...

Happy New Year to the Wicked Witches of the East, West, and South...

And, of course, to the rest of you!