I've really got nothing witty for this title...

I am just in the mood to write. Not sure what to write about yet, but you'll probably read it anyhow and waste ten minutes of your life you'll never get back just hoping that I'm going to say something witty and hilarious.

Sorry about the ten minutes.

I got a pretty new pair of shoes... They were on clearance for $20 at DSW. Oh, how I heart DSW. And Chinese Laundry. God bless them for making shoes in size Clownfoot that are comfortable and freaking adorable. I wore them to the drag show this last Saturday night, and holy hell were they comfortable! The drag show was a blast, as usual, and it was country themed. Normally I don't do country, but they did a lot of older stuff, Garth Brooks, Reba McEntire and the like. It was so much fun. One of my good friends, who is a queen at this particular club, performed a fantastic duet of 'Does He Love You?' as Reba. Bravo, Q... You rocked it.

I did have a decent amount to drink, so I eventually ended up dancing barefoot. My feet were so disgusting and dirty the next morning. Which didn't really matter in comparison to the sore arm and thigh I had from slipping on the ice in front of the bar.

Just call me Grace, ya'll.

I did dance my ass off that night, and it was wonderful. Though combining a good buzz with those strobe and laser light shows made me a little dizzy. Another beer cured that. I began to wonder if I was on a freaking acid trip after a while. Booming bass, strobe lights... It was what I imagine it would feel like if Baz Luhrmann directed my life for a few hours.

Poor Erflet has a double ear infection... He hasn't had one since before he was two. I got a call from Erf this morning to bring him in to urgent care, and thank sweet baby Jesus they still make ammoxicillin in the bubblegum flavor. I'm actually a little jealous, I loved that shit when I was a kid.

Erf, I am now happy to say, has a girlfriend. She seems to make him very happy, and I'm so incredibly thankful for that. He deserves happiness.

I have started seeing a new guy who has totally blown me away. I've never been treated this way by a guy in my entire life. He really is the epitome of a gentleman, and I'm eating up every second of it. I know, try to hold back your gasps of shock. Plus the conversation is amazing, and there's certainly some chemistry there. We had a fantastic first date last night at Blackwater, he actually wore a dress shirt and tie. I wore a little black dress with red pumps. It felt great to be on the same page with him. There were all those cute little awkward moments you expect on a first date, but they were far more cute than awkward. We will be seeing each other again soon, as we both agreed that a second date is definitely something we'd both like to see happen. For now, I'm just looking forward to the next time I get to see him.

Ooh, and he wears glasses. And kittens, you know what glasses do for me. Dress shirt, tie, dress slacks, glasses and smells incredible? Oh yes, I was so weak-kneed.

Other than that, nothing really too new...

Hours like whoa.

So as I'm sure all of you kittens might have guessed by now, I've been working like crazy. I always appreciated the time Sam put in, but they say you can't really understand until you walk in another person's moccasins.

My very first day, our newest and most expensive machine broke. It shut down the busiest part of the lab. Then another machine broke the next day. Then another on Friday. By that point, all I could do was laugh to keep from crying. I logged 64 hours last week trying to play catch up, and the next day the store would open and pretty much wipe out all the progress I'd made. Fun, fun.

My district manager came to do some training this week, and with his help we finally got caught up... But I've pretty much been working like a madwoman. 69 hours this week.

Anyone who says I'm not working hard can kiss my lily white Wisconsinite ass.

Sadly, I think I must have gone crazy, because I'm still enjoying it. I've never been in a management position before, and I hope I'm doing it justice. I have a serious issue with letting people down, and I'm now in a spot where if I mess up it doesn't affect only me.

But on the same token, I'm thrilled because I'm doing something I can be proud of. I'm working hard and being rewarded and recognized for it. My parents are proud of me, and their approval is like a nice wine; delicious, and going straight to my head. :)

Today I'm going grocery shopping, hoping to make some homemade salsa... It sounds delicious.

Speaking of delicious, I made the most fantastic thing ever known to man last weekend... Chocolate Bacon cupcakes. Chocolate and bacon = massive win.

I know this is a short entry, but I'm just not sure what else to say... So, um, yeah.

I am so freaking cool.

Okay, as I'm padding back and forth down the hallway to check on the washer in the communal laundry room, I realize something.

My neighbors have to think I'm the coolest girl ever.

Seriously, who else is anally checking on their laundry at 11 pm on a Friday night? This girl, that's who.

Was today really April Fools Day? It felt more like Friday the fucking 13th. Today was Sam's last day, and due to a 'situation' of sorts, he ended up leaving very early today. Which, hi? Sucked.

Combine losing a good work friend with riding the cotton pony, and you have a very emotional, uterus-inclined, crazy fucking patchwork blanket of hormones blanketing my psyche. Jesus. Honestly, I cried today. Like, a lot. Like, couldn't talk about him leaving without crying. The worst part is I have NO idea why I'm so emotional about the whole damn thing. Sad I could understand. This emotional level has a big pink vagina all over it.

He and I went through a lot together at work and there were a few very stressful times it was just him and I working together in the lab. I guess I felt bonded or some other sentimental bullshit. Or it could be that he's the only person in that building I could really be myself with... With everyone else I have to watch everything I say and do, and even when I said something over the top he never seemed to care.

He made work fun. I'm going to miss that.

Now I get to take over his managerial duties. Let the fucking fun begin. The next few months are going to be really, really interesting. Guess I've gotta put on the big girl panties (don't worry, I'll wear a pantyliner so I don't get uterus all over them) and just deal.

Also, I hate when I want to eat and I'm not hungry. For a few reasons, actually. For one, nothing ever seems to sound good. Like, even if I were at a restaurant I have no clue what I'd order (besides a big fucking drink). And B, it's all unhealthy or some bullshit.

And on another note, I tried edamame the other day and holy hell is that delicious. Who knew legumes could be tasty?

Right now I'm stressed and upset, and I want to eat. Except I'm not hungry. Our boss bought us Dairy Queen (I got an Oreo blizzard, if any of you really care), so the pint of Ben and Jerry's in my freezer is totally unappetizing to me. Chocolate doesn't sound good. Tried having a few pieces of Laffy Taffy, and that's not working for me. Two strawberries and I gave up on those.

Christ, no wonder I'm not hungry, I've eaten a lot today. (Cause I also got an order of teriyaki boneless wings for lunch)(shut up, I was craving fried food and after the day I'd been having I deserved it)

In the words of Fairy Godmother from Shrek 2, "Someone bring me something deep fried and smothered in chocolate."

Ha, I said that to a coworker and she gave me a questioning look. I informed her I was riding the cotton pony and she just blurts out, "too much information!" hehe. Then she told me the state fair isn't for a couple more months, so I'd have to wait. Grr.

I'm going to attempt Chocolate Bacon Cupcakes on Sunday as a gift for Sam for helping me move last month. I hope they turn out well and that he likes them. I'll have to catch you all up on the food porn you've been missing, too! At least now I have some blog post ideas for when my stupid formerly bleach blonde brain is too fried to think of anything coherent beyond, "It's 5:00 somewhere, right?"

There is nothing that sucks more than feeling useless.

Especially when you're a parent who feels useless.

You kittens might be wondering what I'm feeling useless about...

After the last few nights (and a few nights a week during the past month) of Erflet waking up screaming, shaking, and inconsolable - I did what any parent would do. I Bing'd it.

Night terrors, that is.

Like the good mother of a newborn I was, I read the What To Expect books. The pregnancy one, the first year one, and the toddler years one. Back when I had time to read a book and it wasn't a few pages here and there while I was on the commode.

By the way, Erflet thinks it's hilarious to come into the bathroom while I'm laying a deuce and mock me by saying, "Can't I poop in peace?" He's his mother's son.

Anywho, there was a mention of night terrors - to which I paid ZERO attention, obviously. Mommy fail. Some part of my post-partum frazzled baby spitup coated brain must have stored it, though, because I remembered what they were called long enough to type it into the browser.

Kidshealth.org describes night terrors thus:

"Night terrors typically occur about 2 or 3 hours after a child falls asleep, when sleep transitions from the deepest stage of non-REM sleep to lighter REM sleep, a stage where dreams occur. Usually this transition is a smooth one. But rarely, a child becomes agitated and frightened - and that fear reaction is a night terror.

During a night terror, a child might suddenly sit upright in bed and shout out or scream in distress. The child's breathing and heartbeat may be faster, he or she might sweat, thrash around, and act upset and scared. After a few minutes, or sometimes longer, a child simply calms down and returns to sleep."

Holy balls, have these bastards been watching in my windows? This has been happening for the last month (also, yay for mommy guilt, because these began occurring around the same time we moved and so now I feel responsible)(fuck. me.) at least a few times a week and has happened the last three nights in a row.

And there's nothing I can do - he has to 'outgrow' them. My little sister apparently got to the point of running out of the house and punching and kicking people during her night terrors. Great. And, a child has an 80% higher chance of experiencing night terrors if a family member has had them!

On a brighter note, Erf, Erflet and I are going to go hiking again tomorrow. Between working on my feet, not eating as much as I used to, and hiking/walking/swimming, I'm beginning to lose some weight. I say that as I sit here eating half a pint of Ben and Jerry's Mud Pie ice cream.

You know what would be awesome? If I were a size 14 again. I was at my ideal weight when I was a size 14, because I'M SIX FUCKING FEET TALL. Yes, I am tall enough to enter America's Top Model, but I will never do that because I would be so tempted to bring in baked goods and get the skinny stick figures with poufy lips all fat and then I'd get kicked out of ATM and I'd laugh and tell my grandchildren the epic story someday.

Also, then I could wear those adorable jeans I've been holding onto for the last 6 years because my big lard ass can't fit into them anymore but I don't want to get rid of them in the hopes that I'll fit into them again someday.

You have those jeans too, don't lie.

Who would've thought tequila and puff paint would go together?

I've discovered a new talent.

Puff-painting t-shirts. No, really.

Okay, stop laughing. Yes, they still sell puff paint. No, I'm not tragically re-living my youth.

Erf got a work study job at a youth organization at a local rec center, and came home one day with a blank t-shirt that he said he wanted my help decorating. Cause I'm all autistic artistic like that.

He wanted something with 'flames' that looked 'really cool'. So off to the local WalMart to purchase some puff paints and tweezers (because Erflet, for the second time, absconded with my tweezers and had moved them to god knows where).

We put Erflet to bed, and I got to work. Enter some Jeff Dunham's Spark Of Insanity, because I love Peanut.

3/4 of the way through the shirt, my dad knocks at the door. He asks if I want to go and do some shots with him. Um, yeah! But... Can I finish the shirt please?

So he sat down and watched Peanut and Jose Jalapeño with us. ('A condiment?' 'I do not use them.') This is what Erf's shirt looks like:

Pretty cool, huh? I thought I did a pretty good job, if I do say so myself. So off to a local sports bar we went. Which, hi? Sweet and sour mix is not the same thing as margarita mix. But tequila is tequila... Then I made my big mistake. I told my dad I wanted to do a shot of tequila. I've never shot tequila before, unless you count the shooter of Patron - and let's face it, Patron is in a whole different class from Cuervo. My dad orders two doubles, and orders mine with 'training wheels'. I scoffed. I did a double shot of Jack Daniel's with him WITHOUT A CHASER, didn't I? I could handle tequila. He smiled, and looked at the bartender.

"Serve hers with training wheels."

So after some instruction on how to shoot tequila (apparently, there's such a thing as too much salt), I lick my hand. I apply salt. I shake off the 'too much' salt. I lick my salt-covered hand. I raise the plastic cup (yes, they served the shot in a PLASTIC FUCKING CUP. Ghetto, yo) and shoot the tequila. Midway through, I realize that tequila? Tastes like fucking vomit. Tasting anything remotely vomit-flavored usually triggers my harf-reflex.

I sucked hard on that teeny, tiny lime wedge let me tell ya.

And realized there's still a half a shot in the cup. Shit. My mouth is watering uncontrollably, and I have no clue how I'm gonna taste that again and not vomit. However, the second half-shot wasn't nearly as bad as the first. Perhaps it was the salt. Anywho, I headed home - slightly buzzed, very happy - and did some buzzed intarwebz surfing.

Erf goes to work and comes home with a handful of t-shirts and a box of various colored puff paints.

Guess who got volunteered to decorate shirts without being asked? Yeah, it wasn't Bob Ross. So I thought I'd share photos of my pretty shirts with you, kittens.

I heart this one the most, I think it's wicked.

Yes, I do heart glitter.

Obvs.

I am now going to find a plain t-shirt in my closet and make a shirt that has my blog's tagline across the chest:

"Giving Jesus his money's worth since 1985"

Should I put my blog name and URL on the back, or would that be tacky? What do you think, kittens?

Also, there will be food porn coming soon. I have lots to catch up on, so get ready for some porn-picture heavy posts!

Stupid free Interwebz...

I have a confession... (Ha, I typed foncession instead of confession at first. Perhaps today's a lysdexic day...)

I leech free interwebz. There happens to be an open network connection that's usually around 54-68% signal strength, and I'm too poor to pay the $50-60 per month that decent internet costs one in this hellhole of a stupid ass town.

The bad part of all this is that I have no idea when I will and will not have Interwebz. I think the streak so far is a week with the 'Webz not working. It keeps giving me this "Cannot associate with Access Point" error. And I know to fix it you're supposed to press some button on the modem. But what the fuck can I do when I have no idea who I'm even leeching from?!

Coincidentally, the interwebz always seem to be connected at THE MOST INCONVENIENT TIMES. Like an hour before I should be going to bed, or when I have errands to run instead of the time to lounge around and surf the 'Webz.

But mothercocking ass monkeys, I paid $140 for a wireless network card and a RAM upgrade. Interwebz need to be cheaper.

Ace Of Base's 'Don't Turn Around' just came on Media Player.

I tried scallops for the first time last night at my parents' house... We had steak and scallops, salad, veggies, potatoes, and then amaretto cake for dessert! It was a shit-ton of food, and it was all delicious. Is there anything happier than steak with drawn butter?

Maybe eating stale Peeps for breakfast. Pink bunny Peeps. Ooooh yeeeeeeah.

Shit, am I ever awesome.

I had a one-week follow up doctor appointment today. Besides staring at the doctor's huge, Chiclet-like teeth, I modeled for some photos.

Alright, alright. They were x-rays.

Are you happy? You've dashed my dreams of modeling. HA. Yeah, right. I've never wanted to be a model. As a kid, I dreamt of being a singer. Then I realized that people rarely make it as a singer without a lot of hard work. And me, not so much about the hard work.

Tangent.

So Dr. Chiclet came back in and pulled up my x-rays on the computer. I should have known something was up when he pointed the screen in my direction. He didn't do that last week.

"We've made a new discovery." He announced.

Like he's Christopher Columbus and I'm the New fucking World. Yeah, ok.

"See this right here? It's a posterior tibia fracture. (I could have the verbiage wrong) That means that you did actually break your ankle."

Is it sad that my first thought was, "Cool! A broken ankle sounds way more badass than a sprained ankle!"?

Cause seriously, when you tell people you sprained your ankle, they think it's like a two-day heal or something. But when you say you broke something... There's respect. Like when I told my boss yesterday I wanted to play my first day back at work by ear, see how my leg felt after the first show... He rolled his eyes and said, "Really? Seriously." Like it doesn't still hurt. People don't get how much a sprain hurts. I didn't, until now.

But when I called to inform him that I broke it, there was respect in his voice. Like, "Oh, wow. This really is serious" respect. Luckily he's a great boss, and he's letting me move to the marketing room so I can be on the phone scheduling appointments and elevating my leg.

Also, I just realized that this is my First. Broken. Bone. EVER.

I need to celebrate tonight! Hahaha, I'm sofa king wee tot tid.

Does this x-ray make my ankle look fat?

FYI, the break is right below the little hand. Paint Shop Pro won't let me add a circle or an arrow or anything really, and MS Paint keeps freezing. So this'll have to do.

And no, my lovelies, I haven't forgotten my promise of food porn. But interwebz crashed the other day and we just got them back, so I need to upload the photos of the Tiramisu Cheesecake. :)

I think I might be a wee bit OCD...

My name is Ashley, and I am a compulsive Chex Mix separate-er. I cannot simply grab a bag of Chex Mix and imbibe. No.

I must first eat all the pretzels I can. Then come the breadsticks. After that, the rye chips. Which, really, aren't that bad. It's sort of my reward for choking down the awful pretzels and breadsticks. Then I separate the seasoning-drenched Chex from the barely-seasoned Chex. I totally save the best for last.

If I were a kajillionare, I would totally buy Chex Mix in bulk from Sam's Club or Costco - or fuck, maybe from General Mills themselves. Cut out the middleman cost. Then, I'd pay ten or so people like, $20/hr to sort the Chex from the rest of the mix.

Because when you're stupid rich, you can do stupid shit like paying people to separate your Chex. Kind of like in the movie Willy Wonka And The Chocolate Factory - the old version with Gene Wilder, because Johnny Depp's Michael Jackson-esque nose freaks me the FUCK out - Where Veruca Salt's father buys up Wonka Bars by the box and has his peanut-shelling factory workers shelling chocolate bars.

It would make me undeniably happy. As long as they wear gloves and stuff. Cause, you know. I'm not a germaphobe, but hand-washing is good.

I'm going to attempt my first shower today. Yes, I'm yucky and unshowered. But I just got a removable support yesterday, gimme a break. I don't like to take showers sitting down, and I'm pretty sure I can balance myself long enough to get clean.

But seriously, around 2 am this morning I thought that because lightly walking on my sprained ankle didn't hurt, it would be a good idea to actually do it. This morning, my ankle laughed at me and told me, albeit physically rather than verbally, that walking on it right now is NOT in my best interest. I'm anxious and impatient to be able to walk on my feet and ditch those stupid mothercocking crutches. Having a sprained ankle would be a picnic if not for those damned crutches.

Also? I slept in until 10 am this morning. And it felt GLORIOUS.

Tomorrow, I think, calls for Food Porn. What do you think, kittens? I have a wee bit of food porn to catch up on. ;)

They call me... Grace.

I really am grace personified, aren't I?

The answer to that is, "Yes. I am."

I got to go see an orthopedic specialist today, as my fibula ankle bone wasn't where it was supposed to be. All due to my most recent episode of being Grace Personified.

Yep, I'm that girl. The one who loses fights (frequently) to inanimate objects (such as the ice that whupped my ass on Sunday), and is constantly giggled at by friends and family for her klutziness. It's all good, I've got a Chris Farley-esque attitude about it all. I'll usually do whatever it takes to get people to laugh. If they're not laughing with you, they're laughing at you. And I'm okay with both of those things. :)

PLEASE JUST LAUGH, KITTENS. That's all I ask. It doesn't hurt. Usually.

I didn't do this to make anyone laugh. But I ended up finding the humor in it all anyhow.

Isn't it beautiful? You can even see where that mothercocking splint was biting into my foot on the outside. Fucking splint. At least it's not the size of a baseball anymore!

Here you can see pretty much exactly how I landed. When I say I flipped my foot out perpendicular and did a zombie foot-esque pose, I mean it.

The good news is that they took off the stupid splint (OH! Sweet, sweet relief!), and equipped me with my beautiful new Bledsoe boot. I know, right? You all want one. You know you do.

My ankle bones are back in place (wahoo!) and there wasn't any damage to the tibia or fibula as there can be in some situations. I can begin slowly bearing weight on my foot (which is... good. Or so they tell me) and should be able to walk on it in a few days or so.

Wierd Al Yankovic's "The Night Santa Went Crazy" just came on Media Player. It's delightfully demented and hilarious.

Erf is determined to meet for lunch today - he's craving ribs from a local restaurant called C's. Their ribs are pretty mothercocking good, if only I could get over the gag reflex of the fat on the ribs. Stupid gag reflex.

Grey's Anatomy, Private Practice, and Castle are all new this coming up week. This gives me a serious case of the happy. Castle's episode title this week is "The Mistress Always Spanks Twice". Castle and Beckett in the underground world of sexual domination? I can only imagine what Nathan Fillion will be able to do with this script - he's just too damned hilarious. Even if he doesn't follow me back on Twitter. Sad Panda.

Dudes. THE CHICKEN DANCE POLKA! *Clap clap clap clap*

Holy motherfuck. I'm watching Katt Williams.

Dude is like a little black Chris Kattan. He's spastic and 4 feet tall.

Not to mention WHO-LARIOUS.

By the way, I'm super excited that my parents know Chris Mancini. Well, they don't KNOW him know him, but they've heard of him. But he once commented on my blog.

How did this come about? Because I told my parents that I was friends with Dane Cook on Facebook. Along with 12,000 other fucking people.

And then my dad told me I needed to do something to make myself stand out.

Because apparently, the dream that I had where he and I had some mad awesome chemistry and he asked me on a date? He doesn't remember being in that dream. Bastard. He never called after that either.

So to prove my Awesomeness (TM), I told him about Chris Mancini commenting on my blog. And to my delight, they've seen him on TV before!

I just moved up a spot in life. *smile*

Speaking of Movin' On Up...

(To the east si-i-de...) (Ok, enough with the Jeffersons references)

I have a job!!! I start my training next Wednesday. I don't feel like describing it, but it should be good money. And as a backup, I've also got an interview for two other positions before I start training on Wednesday.

The bad news is that Erf is done at the fast food restaurant of Douchebaggery. He was supposed to have through Black Friday,

(Nov. 26 for those of you morons who don't know what the fuck Black Friday is)(You suck if you didn't know that Black Friday is the day after Thanskgiving, btw)

but they told him that business isn't good enough for them to keep it so they made him run 6 fucking boxes of shit from one store up to the other and THEN fucking told him that they didn't need him anymore.

Bastards.

I just watched Katt Williams pretend to throw a bowling ball... Hrm.

This motherfucker just came on asking for a "What?"

Got one for ya, right here. Whaaat?

Also, I think I'd like to have sex with Danica Patrick.

You lucky, lucky kittens.

Yes, more food porn. Strawberry Chocolate cookies (I'm pretty sure I perfected my recipe, by the way) (Yes, I know you all don't really give a shit about the recipe that I invented unless you're eating it), Peanut butter chip peanut butter cookies (I love Reeses for making both peanut butter and peanut butter chips), and miniature apple pies!

I also made Wanchai Ferry Spicy Garlic chicken for dinner. Look at me, all domestic-y. Shut up, enough with the June Cleaver cracks. Or I'll stuff a cleaver in your beaver crack. It's a meal in a box, sans chicken. And, because I'm so domestic-y, I made jasmine rice instead of the tiny packet of plain rice they include in the box. Cause jasmine rice is the SHIT.

I think it's really funny that you can find the directions online. Cause if I threw out the box, I'd totally go online to print off the directions instead of DIGGING THE BOX OUT OF THE GARBAGE.

Oh shut up, like you've never had to do the Dig of Shame.

Now the only digging you'll be doing is digging into your screen, hoping that it's Wonka-vision and you can reach up and grab my baked goodies.

Ooh, that sounded kinky!

So, the problem I've been having with my various strawberry cookie recipes is that the strawberries weep during baking, and inevitably soak the cookie in strawberry juices.

Haha, juices.

So, 78 paper towels later, I successfully squished the juices out of the strawberries. Not only were my cookies less liquidy, but the strawberry flavor was better incorporated throughout the batter.

See? I made milk chocolate strawberry cookies with Ghirardelli chips - Nestle can't touch Ghirardelli. When you pop these kittens in the microwave (ha, kittens in a microwave)(Just kidding, PETA, I'd never REALLY put a kitten in a microwave... At least, I'd never turn it on.) the chocolate melts and it tastes like a chocolate-dipped strawberry. Mmm, mmm!

While I was perfecting my strawberry cookies, this was chilling in my fridge. Because chilling formed cookie dough (like peanut butter or sugar cookie) helps it form better and with less mess. Peanut butter cookies made with Reeses peanut butter and Reeses peanut butter chips.

My kitchen smelled like a friggin peanut butter cup. It ruled.

Pretty peanut butter balls (ha, balls) coated in sugar, awaiting desecration by fork tine.

FYI - the chips made the flattening a wee bit more difficult than I thought...

But it worked out just fine. No worries! I wish my camera phone would've captured the sparkly sugar. They were prettyful!

Ah, chopped Granny Smith apples. Are you enjoying your coating of sugar, flour, cinnamon and nutmeg? You bet your bitch asses you're enjoying it. Especially with the secret ingredient I added!

Miniature apple pies!

Seriously, these things are just too darling!

I'm slowly turning into a baking blog, aren't I? I mean, obvi, I won't hold a candle to Bakerella for quite some time. But I'm okay with that.

Because I blog about other things besides baking. Like New Problem Monsters and wanting to beat the hell out of my husband.

Ooh! "Out Tonight" just came on Pandora! "I wanna put on a tight skirt, and flirt with a stranger."

Erf took Erflet up to his dad's again yesterday to do laundry. They both came home acting like dicks and smelling of stale cigarette smoke. Erflet was good until his cousin got home from school. He didn't listen for SHIT last night, and Erf was acting like a patience-devoid asshat. I wanted to slap them both and go to the bar. I was afraid that I'd come home to bloodshed, however.

Even Erf has finally realized that Erflet gets a bad attitude when he hangs around his cousins. It might help if the boys were a wee bit better disciplined, but I'm not their mom and it's not my responsibility to interfere with her parenting. Or lack thereof.

Don't get me wrong, I love my sister in law, she just has the family half Russian (where ya Russian to? Haha!)- half German temper. Erf has it too, and I've been slowly training him to calm down and be a wee bit more patient. Not an easy task, believe you me.

And I'm the one who has to take him to daycare the next day and explain to them why he has a bad Thursday almost EVERY WEEK.

Speaking of daycare, Erflet's daycare is being closed by the church. Stupid asshats. Luckily the other center is still open and two of the four teachers are going to move to center 1 and Caden is ready to begin there on November 9th. I'm incredibly sad because this means 1) No more living across the street from the daycare and 2) I'll have to get up half an hour earlier now every day he has daycare. Pissmonkeys. I already get little enough sleep. Fucking night-owl personality...

However, tonight is Grey's and Private Practice - and I was up baking until 1 am. No lie, check my Twitter. I foresee headpillow at 10:05 pm tonight.

And Erf has a job interview, um... Right now. I'll update if there's any news!

**Update - Erf said that they liked him and he's going to meet with some other people next week! Excellent!**

Because I'm sure most of you are just dying for this...

I realized that as much as I bitch about how Erflet looks nothing like me, I've never provided you all with photographic proof of said claims.

How terrible of me. *slaps self mockingly* Bad llama.

So, here it is: photographic proof that we look almost nothing alike.

Yeah, check out my giant Jew-schnoz. Ohhh yeah. Bom bom, chick, chicka-chicka.

However, there's no denying he's got one obvious feature of mine. Can you guess?

Yes, he's dressed up as Batman. This was Halloween 2007. I was dressed up as Bahamas Barbie.

Don't pretend you're not m'er-effing jealous. My costume rocked, because I bought the outfit in the Bahamas back in 2003. It says Bahamas all over it.

By the way; the baby blues? He's 5th generation. I, my dad, my grandma, and my great-grandpa all had the baby blues. Can you tell it's a dominant gene in my family? My sister, Katie, has them as well; but hers are pure blue. Erflet and I have flecks of hazel in ours.

See? Okay, so the flash brings out the white flecks more than the hazel. Look above the pupil. :)

Seriously, this is one of my all-time favorite pics of myself.

I'm so self-absorbed.

And one more stitch for the husband...

Okay, so, seriously.

I am so sick and tired of all these headlines EVERY. FUCKING. WHERE. about Jon and Kate.

Don't get me wrong. This girl enjoys juicy headlines just as much as the next person with a vagina and a gossip button. Angelina caught Brad having sex with the nanny? Dr. Phil has a sex scandal? Tom and Katie are on the outs?

Bring it on. I enjoy celeb gossip when it's just tabloid gossip. You don't really believe that Oprah is really an alien, do you? No, but it's still fun to read about. What was that green glow around her anyhow?...

As Sean Connery's character William Forrester says in the film Finding Forrester, "The Times I read for dinner. But this {The National Enquirer}, this is my dessert."

Now that we've cleared up that I don't mind tabloid dramz, I do mind this whole Jon and Kate thing. I never watched Jon and Kate Plus Eight. Never appealed to me. Whatever, no big deal. Not every person likes every TV show.

Then, the dramz began creeping it's way ever-so-steadily onto the tabloid covers. "Jon caught having an affair!" "Kate beats her kids!" Whatever. It's the shit they're slinging at each other that's got me pissed off.

Nope, I haven't read the articles, but the headlines and the Entertainment Tonight clips give me enough to put a bad taste in my mouth. Do you people not realize that all your dirty laundry is being aired in public? I'm sure that despite all your fuckup-edness, your kids will grow up to be at least functionable human beings, if not pretty smart kids. They'll know how to use the internet. They will see all your self-centered, narcissistic, money-hungry actions that they don't see at home.

You are not a normal couple having it out in the confines of a courtroom, arguing over whether he gets the frequent flier miles or you do because he earned them flying to Denver to meet his whore. Keep it civilized, douche bags. It's called poise and being an adult.

Plus, I'm sure that regardless of your current asshat factor, you do love your kids. I'm also pretty sure that once upon a time you didn't plan on having kids specifically to put them on a TV show. So act like parents, suck your shit up, and fight it out in court. Quit trying to make the general public feel sorry for you. We do, but it's because we pity you.

Damn mommy programming, making me all pissed off at irresponsible parenting. There used to be a time that I, too, looked scornfully upon crying infants in grocery stores and in malls. I used to go out for long, leisurely dinners to restaurants people rarely bring children to. And I used to go grocery shopping at 2 am because a) I could, and b) there was a slim chance of lines or children at that time of night.

UTERUS, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?! You bitch! You turned me into this sympathetic mom... *sigh* I guess I just have to embrace it. Shit.

Also, I'd like to say that Erf needs to stop fantasizing about moving to Kansas. I am not an adorable-cheeked gingham-wearing girl with braids. I do not do heat well. I went to Florida in February (FEBRUARY!) one time, and it was too hot for me.

It gets above 85 and I turn into Super Bitch. I make Kyle's Mom look like Mary Freaking Poppins. And everyone knows that Kyle's Mom is a bitch. She's a big, fat bitch. She's the biggest bitch in the whole wide world, she's a bitch to all the boys and girls.

And Erf's uncle lives in Kansas. And keeps taunting Erf with magical phrases like, "nice apartments" and "good-paying jobs"... Damn you. Fucking Kansas being all taunt-y to Erf. Bah.

Because I love you, because I care, here's a PSA about popcorn.

No this isn't some stupid PSA with starving Ethiopian children running around with their ribs sticking out, or with oriental kids with cleft palates.

Don't worry, lovers, I wouldn't depress you like that. Cause starving children and kids with sad, broken faces? They make me cry. I feel bad for them, I do, but when I'm worrying about how to afford to feed my own child? Not as concerned with the kids in 3rd world countries.

Whoa, what the hell? I'm here to tell you about popcorn.

More specifically, popcorn burn. From the kernel.

I had a stroke of brilliance yesterday. I decided to say fuck the food pyramid, I want homemade stove top popcorn for dinner. Not that I don't give the food pyramid a big F U every day anyway, but whatever.

I put my awesome pot on the burner, put in some veggie oil, popcorn kernels, and put the top on. Turn the heat on. Shake it up so the kernels don't burn. I got mad popcorn skillz, yo.

Popcorn begins popping. Erflet is fascinated. It gets to the top, so I take it off the stove, pour some in the bowl, and set the pot back on the burner. I'm not an idiot. I know popcorn keeps popping after you take it off the stove. A few kernels popped out of the bowl, no big. Erflet threw them out like a good helper.

The popping begins to slow, so I take the pot off the burner. I take off the top, and pour the remainder in the bowl. A few kernels pop, no big.

Then an un-popped, burning kernel jumped from the bowl, and down my bra. Right down my fucking cleavage.

My breasts are irresistible, even to food.

Here, my friends, are photos I took of my cleavage (Yes, my bewbs, they're on the internets!) about 45 minutes after said burn:

You can see the trail it left down my bosom. Where it hopped on my left bewb and that big spot where it rested at the bottom of my underwire.

Close-up of the resting place. I still have a burn spot this morning.

Who wants to rub burn cream on my cleavage?!

You know you wanna. ;)

Oh, um, the PSA part!

Leave the top on until the popping of the kernels stops. Otherwise you too may get burned.

See, you thought I was just gonna stop at the bewbs! Ha!

Dirty quickie.

I was reading a post by Mommy Brained and was reminded of this story that I had to tell you all before I forget and have to leave work for the weekend.

Back in 2004-2005, pre-Erflet, Erf and I were strolling around our local Target. We were roaming the toy aisle due to my obsession with Barbies and Erf's obsession with... toys.

Some Star Wars flick had just come out and they had half an aisle dedicated the damned toys... But one toy will stick with me.

Fortune-telling Yoda. He looked kinda like this.

We, being mature Ah-Dults asked him all sorts of stupid questions.

Then, I had a stroke of sheer brilliance, similar to the stroke of brilliance I had when I bought our remote-control fart machine.

Yes, we had one. No, we don't have it anymore. I'll get to that later.

I asked Yoda, "Does Erf have a big penis?" (Not that I didn't already know. I was an Ah-Dult.)

Yoda, calmly and cooly, responds:

"Do not think; feel. Use the force you will."

I was on the floor laughing within 1/27th of a second.

Now, as for the fart machine... I bought it for both of us, and we attended a movie with a friend of ours and her boyfriend. I took the machine into the restroom so we could test it through walls.

Sure as shit, it did. I was in the restroom laughing while I peed, and my pocket was farting. It was fabulous.

Then, they set it off right as we walked past concessions. It was the loudest one EVER. And it was unquestionably funny, because all the employees were laughing at me.

I've also walked around the mall with it in my back pocket, and given someone else the remote. It's funny to walk through higher end retailers and watch the stuck-up snobs buying their Lancome and Estee Lauder react to my fart machine.

Then one day around 4 am, we woke up to farting noises. Constant, streaming farting. Either the fart machine was going off or Erf had something really wrong with him.

Nope. The fart machine was POSSESSED. We hit the off button repeatedly, nothing. It just kept going and going. It was the Energizer Bunny of Fart Machines!!!

We finally took the batteries out because... Obviously. It was 4 am, and we had just gone to bed two hours beforehand. Fuckin' fart machine.

In which I sit in my office, singing to Phantom Of The Opera.

I'm not a horrible singer, mind you, but I'm not Emmy Rossum... Fo' Sho'.

I do better with the likes of Kelly Clarkson, Christina Aguliera and RENT songs.

I live up north in Wisconsin. In a town next to the lake. (Lake Superior, for you morons who don't know what lake borders northern Wisconsin) I can literally look out my office window and see the lake. It's super choppy because it's windy, and motherfucking cold. And it looks brown, which probably means something fancy... Like that there's a giant spoon and God is stirring up the lake like settled hot cocoa. Or there's a strong current. Either way, I don't wanna swim in murky lake-water. Yuck.

So anyway, it was also cold yesterday and last night... So I brought my fan/heater home to warm our hearts and our bodies, because our heat is included in our rent. And that means that there's a pretty locked plastic box surrounding the thermostat. So I set up heaters in our room and Erflet's, (don't worry, they have automatic tip turn-off and they're energy efficient, and I only set Erflet's so high on low power to keep it from overheating him) and when it was time for Erf and I to go to bed, he climbs under the covers and tells me that it's still cold.

It was probably 40 yesterday, windy, and raining sporadically (try and use it in a sentence today - 5 points if you guess the flick!) and I wore a skirt, 3/4 sleeve shirt and no jacket. I don't mind cold. I embrace it. And the more blankies I can snuggle under (it's not unusual to find me under two comforters in the winter), the better I sleep. Erf sleeps better when it's warmer outside. You see where this is going? This was (not verbatim) our conversation after his 'cold' comment:

Me: "You're like a friggin polar bear."

Him: "Are you calling me fat?" (No lie)

M: "No, but you're always cold. And polar bears live in the cold, so they're always cold. So you're like a polar bear."

H: "No, polar bears have fur and fat, and I'm not fat, and they're always warm."

M: "Alright, fine. You're like... a... uh... Giant squid. They live at the bottom of the ocean and they're cold blooded (no idea, really, but he didn't know either), so you're a giant squid. Always cold. I hope you don't get eaten by a whale."

H: "Ooookay."

Later on as we were settling down to sleep, he was on his back. I had been using his arm for a pillow but he made me stop because his arm was falling asleep or some other pussy shit. I turned onto my side and was about to cuddle up to his side with my back to him, then he turns on his side away from me (not a scorn, it's just the side he prefers to sleep on). So I just snuggle against him, back to back, butt to butt.

He stretched, and I thought he was gonna fart on me.

I asked him if he was gonna fart on me.

He said no, he didn't have to fart. But that it would be really funny to fart into my buttcrack, and he wondered what sound it would make.

I then asked, "What do you think would happen if you took two people, had them spread their asscheeks, and put them butthole-to-butthole... And fart at the same time. What do you think would happen?"

He said, "I don't think their buttholes would touch that way."

I replied, "Well, what if one was on their side and the other was the regular way, and you fit them together like puzzle pieces?"

He said, "I think it would sound funny."

And then we went to sleep.

Now I'm singing along with Time Warp...

It's the pelvic thru-u-ust, it really drives you insa-a-a-a-ane...

I went up to Michael's last night to purchase some pie boxes for an order I have for Monday and a large tip coupler... Because it'll make my life easier. I also had to go to Cub (grocery store) to buy some things for dinner, so I thought, "I'll grab my ingredients while I'm here!"

I'm making three pies, and this was my shopping list:

36 oz. frozen raspberries (about $4.50 for one 12 oz package)

9 Tablespoons dried pectin ($2.50)

3 cups fresh raspberries (on sale 2 for $5 for those small plastic packages. I bought 4 just in case)

9 Tablespoons raspberry gelatin mix (about $1)

9 oz. cream cheese (blocks are only 8 oz, luckily they had small 3 oz packages) ($1 per package)

6 3/4 cups heavy whipping cream ($4.60 per quart; I bought 2)

Sugar and shortening (About $5)

Yeah, I totally spent around $45 on ingredients. FOR THREE PIES. I'm charging $45. The raspberries alone cost almost $30. I'm not making any profit; basically making the pies for free.

Fuck. My. Life.

*sigh* I didn't think frozen raspberries were so goddamn expensive!

Ahh, Kelly. My Life Would Suck Without You. Just the song I needed. :)

Is this a sexual thing? Does this *look* sexual to you?

Fucking right I'm sexual. You know you all want me. At least I know that Aunt Becky and Beautiful Mess do. I think Mrs. Soup does as well.

My sexual desire is something that used to be nearly constant... When Erf and I first began, um... Copulating... I wanted it all. the. freaking. time. Most guys dream of a woman who just wants to have lots and lots of sex, right? I didn't even demand that he make sure that I finished, mostly because we were still working out all the kinks of how to get me there and hadn't succeeded yet. And before you get all Judgy McJudgerson, know this; Erf is the only man I've ever had sex with.

You know, because I don't count Dirk the 7-Feature Handheld Showerhead. There was no penetration, I SWEAR!

*Cough* Um... No, really. My vagina isn't big enough and can you say yeast infection? Yeah.

So yeah. Erf is not just any guy. He began to worry that I just wanted him for sex. Cue the Awww... Yes, he even asked me for LESS sex because he wanted to make sure our love was real, and not just all full of The Lust. Cue June of 2005; when we found out that we were expecting an adorable, vomit and crap-filled crotch monkey. I had nasty morning sickness, and I am not a person who handles vomit well. Especially my own. I vomit with a force. The Dark Side wishes it were my vomit. I vomit out my nose, my back and stomach muscles are sore for a day or so, and oh; I can usually feel my eyes bulge out when I spew. Charming.

Erf was still attracted to me, in all my vomitty pregger-ness. I, however, would have happily given up The Penis for quite some time. Lots of mercy-fucking, lemme tell ya. My sex drive took a serious dip. I hated it, but that was around the time that Erf and I started going through a serious Rough Patch. We were 4 1/2 hours away from our families with an unexpected pregnancy and on the verge of getting evicted from our apartment because our jobs sucked. Oh, and this was just a year after his mom died and about 6 months after I had another failed attempt to reconcile with my birth mother - which was the only reason we really moved there in the first place.

I have just now begun to get my sex drive back. I have no idea if it was the pregnancy, stress, birth control (I switched to the copper IUD in February of last year), or what. But, thank the Lord, I actually WANT sex again.

Speaking of sex, I love being dominated (yeap, more than you wanted to know) and I'd heard that Secretary is a good dominance flick. Very kinky, people said.

I got the movie. I understood it. But I work for a lawyer who is self-employed. I'm his receptionist. He is older than my father. Anyone else see where this movie made me feel a little awkward? Not that I have any sort of interest in him beyond friendship, of course, but it put the image in my head. And the image was more than I ever needed. *Shivers* Creepy.

However, setting my awkwardness aside, I did get a bit turned on by the whole kinkyness of it all. And believe me, I totally rocked Erf's world. It was that hot, nasty, hair-pulling fucking.

On a side note, I would like to apologize for not writing lately. It's been so damned busy at the office and I'm too poor to afford $60 a month for decent internet at my house.

Speaking of being poor (I suck at segues), Erf's interview is today! I'm sending out good juju vibes to him, we both have good feelings about it. I even researched some crap online regarding interview tips and such to give him an edge. Yay me for being a good little wifey. (Ugh, that so conjured up the dress with the pointy boobs and a-line skirt, kitten pumps [no not actual kittens, just kitten heels - because, hello! Shoes made from kittens are SO last season], pearl necklaces, perfectly coiffed hair, red lipstick and black cat-eye eyeliner)

By the way, I love the word coif. It looks and sounds so dirty.

I also found out today that my cat, Midnite, passed away last night. I've had her since 5th grade, and she was about 13 years old. Maybe 14. She was old. She lived with my grandparents, and my grandpa was super close with her. She was his little buddy. So it's been kind of a roller coaster day.

My BFF's boyfriend comes home from the Air Force in one more day, and I'm pretty psyched about that!

Also, can I even tell you how much I LOVED Aaron Carter's dancing song on Monday? They danced to the Muppet Show Theme, and Animal had a drum solo! HOW WICKED AWESOME IS THAT?!

It was pretty wicked, lemme tell ya.

Erf has been annoyed with me the last few nights, because I keep sticking my face into his ribs and blowing air out of my nose so it makes farting noises. It makes me giggle lots, and then it begins our mock-tussling, and then I whip his ass.

I also realized how full of tangents this post is. Whoa look, there's another one! Kthxbai.