Holy hell, it's been over six months.

To the three of you who might still be following my blog, thank you. To any newcomers, my record is spotty, but I plan on updating at least once a week from now on.

So much has happened, my little kittens. So. Much. Shall I give you the CliffsNotes version? I'm going to pretend you're all sitting there in vapid admiration agreeing with every word I say, so here goes.

Last you all heard Erf and I had just moved into our new place in Duluth. Since then we've moved again... Into separate apartments. Back in October, I told him I wanted a divorce. I will explain, but that is a whole 'nuther post for a different day when my brain can handle writing about it.

We lived together until early this month (which, AWKWARD), and I got a one bedroom place in Superior while he and his friend got an apartment together in Duluth.

While this is bad news bears for multiple reasons, I can't help but be ridiculously excited for my very first apartment all on my own. It feels weird sometimes and I've been finding things to do to keep me out of the apartment when I don't have Erflet with me, but I'm getting more and more comfortable with it each day. I'm very slowly beginning the unpacking process (even though I've been here three weeks)(for real, I've had a crap ton of shit to do with wrapping things up from the old place and am just finding real free time), which is nice and annoying all at once.

I do hate not having Erflet with me every day, and it doesn't help if I'm doing something and lose track of the time that Erf texts me that Erflet was crying because I didn't call him to say goodnight. At the same time, I feel horribly guilty because I do enjoy the breaks I get. I shouldn't be enjoying this, but I've never had this much time away from him. Seriously, before now I'd never spent more than two nights away from him since he was born. He's now 5. I guess for now it's a novelty I'm sure I'll outgrow.

Work has been crazy insane and is looking to increase by a fucking buttload. Our doctor came on full time this summer, and since then we've been burdened with more jobs than we have staff or equipment to handle most days. Sam has put in his notice as he's sailing into bluer waters, and I'm very happy for him because if anyone knows how hard he works and how much time he puts in - it's me. However, this leaves my proverbial sperm sack in a vice because I'm the only one there who knows how to come close to doing his job until they find and train a replacement. And that means I'll be open to close six days a week after he's gone until they find a new manager.

I'm crazy thankful for the security and the overtime (which they hate authorizing, but is totes necessary in this case), but this means that my day off every week - which is my only solo day to spend with Erflet - is gone after next Thursday until further notice. Plus on top of trying to keep our heads above water jobwise, I get to train on paperwork and such with Sam before he leaves so someone can get it done.

Enough bitching.

I got to be a bridesmaid for the first time in my BFF's wedding this past October! For any of you good kittens who have read my not-really-recent-but-still-most-recent posts, the bridal shower cake was a total hit. It was a deliciously moist coconut cake with almond filling and vanilla buttercream frosting done in ivory and lavender. Anywho, it was an insanely beautiful wedding, she was absolutely stunning. And the reception was so much fun! She moved down to Arizona with her new husband, and is doing fabulous down there. :) As she so eloquently phrases it, 'the desert agrees with her'.

I went from light brown to bleach blonde to black hair. One of these days I'm going to go fucking bald, and I'll have no one to blame but an empty box of hair dye... Next up is red. :)

The whole unintentional weight loss has been going fairly well... I dropped from a size 22/24 to a size 18/20. And the fact that I'm in a second floor apartment sure as hell isn't going to hurt. I've been learning my lesson not to go crazy when grocery shopping; my building is also a secure building - so I need at least one hand free to unlock the downstairs door. I also don't spend half of what I used to on groceries... It's been nice.

Except I keep finding stupid things I need to buy, like a dry erase board to remind myself of all the crap I need to do that I keep forgetting to do but people keep getting pissed at me for forgetting to do them and so I bought myself the board so people can stop yelling at me. And I bought a new showerhead (because I overzealously broke my old one trying to install it), and I've named it Gerard because it has two heads... One is removable and the other is stationary. Which means I don't have to go cold when I use the handheld to... um... shave my legs. Yeah. And a dish drain. And I have to buy some sort of shelving thingamajig, because I have a lot of shit and a really small fucking kitchen.

Not too sure what else there is to say for now, but I have internet at this place so you can bet your sweet little asses I'll be updating way more often.

I leave you with something I thought at work today that sounds incredibly dirty and really isn't:

"Sometimes it's really annoying when the box is soaking wet."

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!

Yes, kittens! It's a POST!

I know, I've been a terrible, terrible blogger. I haven't updated with regularity, and every post since I got the interwebz was strewn with hostility and a complete and utter lack of humor.

And humor was something you were used to getting from me, kittens. It was something *I* was used to getting from me. But for a while there, I lost it.

I quit my job on Thursday. It felt hella good. It felt like I was getting oral from Gerard Butler while he was offering me diamonds with one hand and chocolate with another. It was delicious, and my tummy was all full of the butterflies. That's not to say that I didn't appreciate the opportunity to learn and grow, but let's face it - when a job nearly makes your husband leave you, it's to the point where it's JUST. NOT. WORTH. IT.

I interviewed for the job on Wednesday morning, and by 3:30 Wednesday afternoon they were calling me to offer me the job... I am going to be a lab technician (doesn't that sound all fucking grown up and shit?) at an optometry place called Eyemart. I'm going to get a white lab coat to wear. One that doesn't make me hug myself all the time! I'm going to be cutting the lenses for glasses and assembling the glasses.

Most importantly, I'm going to have pretty much set hours and I'm going to have a steady paycheck. Because it sucks to have your landlady asking you when you'll be able to pay her SOMETHING towards rent. And having to tell her you didn't know because you didn't know when your next paycheck will be? It was a huge flux from when Erf and I were both in steady, full time jobs and paying our bills with money to spare. I hated it, and it was depressing. And while I know there will still be struggles ahead, I'm looking forward to the time when Erf graduates from school and is able to get a big-boy job, I'll be working full time, and we'll be able to afford a fucking date night now and then.

When I informed my boss of my intentions to terminate my employment, I thanked him for the opportunity and said that he and I both knew that it wasn't working for me. And I didn't (and still don't) feel it's fair to keep working somewhere where it's just not working. He was a good boss. But he looked at me and said, "It's hard for it to work out when you can't give it 100%." And I realized that this was the right choice. 100% means spending more time away from my family than I am willing to, it means sometimes going 3 or 4 days without seeing my son, it means being absent from my marriage... I gave it 100% once. My husband threatened to leave me, my son was having behavioral problems.

Nothing is worth that. Never again.

I like working a set schedule. I like having someone to answer to. I like knowing how much money I'm going to make. If that makes me less of a person in their eyes, than so be it. But I'm happy again for the first time in a long time. I can have tickle fights with my family without being annoyed. I have happily watched my son's behavior problems dissipate.

Yesterday was my birthday, today is Mother's Day. A weekend of celebrating getting myself back. To celebrate being able to have my family begin to reconnect.

I missed me.

Sugar-coated marshmallow fluffy bits of goodness. And I'm not just talking about last night...

Don't you absolutely hate it when you have a topic to blog about, and then forget what it was once you're at your computer?

That elated feeling of "Oh my gosh, I actually have a really good topic to talk about!" and then the letdown of, "what the fuck was I going to blog about again?"

I've even tried reminding myself via Twitter. I remembered the topic, just not what I was going to say.

As my friend Ooh Law Law would say, "Eff it, give me Doritos."

Speaking of shout outs, I have a long overdue one... But better late than never, yes?

My best friend Dana's mom started a new blog about her new wine club called Wine Timers, where she and some close wine-loving pals get together once a month to try new wines, socialize, and just have some fun! She was kind enough to feature a post about my Chocolate Red Wine Cupcakes, because, DUH. They're chocolate cupcakes with RED WINE IN THEM AND THEY WERE DELICIOUS. So go check out Wine Timers, and perhaps it'll inspire you to begin your own wine-tasting club!

Yesterday I went over to my friend Julie's house... And together with our friend Becca, we were supposed to teach Julie how to bake pies. However, Julie is a wee bit overzealous, and decided making ten pies was a good idea. Ha, yeah. Not so much... There wasn't so much 'teaching' as 'hurrying the fuck up so we weren't baking till 10 pm' going on. We made two french apple pies, two french silk pies, two strawberry cheesecakes, a lemon meringue pie (that turned to fucking soup because the filling didn't firm up), a strawberry rhubarb pie and a banana cream pie. Yeah, I know! I'm crazy tired today, and I still have to clean the kitchen and begin doing crap for tonight's Easter dinner.

Fuck that ham shit, we're making turkey burgers. I hate anything with veins of fat, so I avoid ham. Because, obviously. I'm also making homemade macaroni and cheese (which I have been CRAVING) and corn. And possibly brownies. Because brownies rule. And I may as well stick to the whole comfort food theme. I was going to try making beingets, which are a New Orleans dessert. But they just sounded too mothercocking complicated.

And after spending 8-9 hours baking my fucking ass off yesterday, I am so not in the mood for complicated. I'll be lucky if I get off my ass and take out the trash and wash the damned dishes. Ha. But I kinda have to because my parents are coming over.

Erflet had a good Easter morning, he got two baskets... Was on a sugar high when my BFF Dana came to visit. Good thing he's cute. :) He kind of wore himself out at the grocery store running about, I think. That and the fact that he spent all day yesterday on Julie's son's trampoline. :)

Erf is going back to school tomorrow after having two weeks off for spring break. He's kind of nervous as he's got more classes this semester along with a math course. We both suck at math. He had fun at Julie's yesterday, too... He actually came out of his shell, I was so proud!

I'm going back to running shows tomorrow... Out of the marketing room, back to the real money-making.

I'm so way too tired for dishes and more cleaning. But my kitchen is nasty. So much for a day of relaxation before I get back into the grind. *headdesk*

I'm aliiiiive... I'm aliiiiiiiiiiiiiive!!!!!

So, after $140 on a router and a new stick of RAM, my computer is finally internet capable!

The good news is that I'm going to have a shit-ton of time to blog, kittens.

The bad news is that it's because I sprained my ankle.

Yep, yours truly - who is the most graceful person on earth (/sarcasm) - slipped on the ice and fucked her ankle up royally. I sprained my left ankle, and it went out from me to the left, perpendicular to my leg, as my body weight came crunching down on the right side of my ankle. I felt and heard that little bastard crunch.

More good news? There are no breaks. I still have to see an orthopedic specialist tomorrow, because the ankle bone on the fibula side is separated a bit from where it should be.

I did dun gud. Wanna see my gorgeous, unshaven, swollen ankle? Too bad, you're going to anyway. :)

Isn't it beautiful?

Anywho, I am now the mother of a 4 year old. Erflet turned four earlier last month, and I'm still in disbelief. We had a great time, took him up to the mall, had Pretzelmaker for dinner, played with trains at Barnes and Noble, and got him a double chocolate Godiva cupcake for a treat. :)

Ugh, this damn splint feels like it's cutting into the outside of my foot. At least Erf is being a good nurse... He insisted last night that I be a good patient, no being stubborn about trying to do things by myself. Letting myself be pampered and having every whim attended to is more difficult than I thought it would be... I just don't want to overdo it and then have him tired out when I really need him. I seriously couldn't ask for a better husband.

Poor Erflet was freaked out, though. My mom screamed up the stairs to my dad, "Come quick, Ashley fell!" Erflet was in tears by the time my dad and Erf got me inside. He wouldn't come near me for about a half an hour, and asked me, "Mama, are you going to be alive tomorrow?" I felt so bad for him. My sister, Katie, came to put Erflet to bed while Erf took me to the ER, and she said he had a really tough time falling asleep. He didn't want to go to daycare this morning, either.

But seeing me on crutches is apparently a sight and a half. I've never sprained or broken anything before now, so crutches are a totally foreign concept to me.

I've got some updates and downloads to do, so I'll blog again later or perhaps tomorrow! Yay! :)

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!**

To my sweet, wonderful, tolerant husband...

I'm going to get sort of sappy again. Because sometimes you lose yourself in the child and forget the man who helped you get one. And I don't ever want anyone to doubt that I love my husband very, very much.

I would like, if I may, to take you on a strange journey...

Fittingly enough, we're going to fly back to Halloween 2000. I had recently moved in with my parents (I grew up with my grandparents), and I was having a tough time with things. My then-boyfriend had a 'thing' for Britney, so I dressed up as Britney for Halloween. 'Baby One More Time' Britney. No, I don't have photos, but suffice to say I was hot in my plaid skirt, knee-high socks and heeled loafers. The braided pigtails were really hot, too.

That was the first time he saw me. It was a rough day, and I was a bit down. He told me later that he had the urge to come up to me and give me a big hug, but he was afraid I'd freak out a bit. Considering that we'd never met, he was probably right. :) He would see me every once in a while walking through the halls of the school. Then after the new school year began in 2001, he didn't see me once. He thought that perhaps I had moved.

Cue the second semester of school, 2002. My very first class of the year was Weight Training. We basically got to fuck around with the gym equipment all hour. Easy A class. Then, we saw each other. He was amazed to see me again, and I was stunned by the feeling I got the first time I saw him. I knew then that he was someone special, and I was right. The semester creeped by with him too shy to talk to me, and me trying vivaciously to get him to talk to me.

Junior year prom was rolling around, and I didn't have a date. I was going to take our landlord (Hey, he was a hot firefighter with a Harley. And better yet, he was willing to go with me.), and my heart dropped every time Erf described the night he had planned for his then-girlfriend for prom. Then, O! miracle of miracles! They broke up! I flew in there, regaling him with my woes of not having a real date for prom... Just a hot firefighter pity-date. :)

Then, he looked at me with his face blazing red and said, "Why don't we go together?"

Within a day, we were officially dating.

Things were bliss for quite some time, going on dates, talking every night on the phone... One of his favorite stories involves me trying on stripper heels, falling down, and knocking over a table full of shoes. In late April/early May of 2003 my Grandma fell ill. Her kidneys began failing, and her congestive heart failure was causing her heart to give out. We had been living with her for almost a year, and we had hospice nurses coming in to help with her care. It was basically just keeping her morphine dripping and waiting. Erf was the best boyfriend a girl could have asked for. He worked at a local construction outlet store loading/unloading trucks during the early (5 a.m.) shift, then worked at a local nursing home as dietary aide. When he was finished with work around 2:30-3:00, he'd come over to our house and do whatever we needed. Cooking, cleaning, helping with grandma's care, and just being there. Even when I wasn't home.

May 4th, 2003, my grandma passed away. Erf spent most of his free time with us, helping to do whatever we needed him to do. Shortly thereafter, things at his house became strained with his sister moving in, and Mom allowed him to move in since I had turned 18 on the 8th. (yep, 4 days after my grandma died. Good timing, huh?) In June of 2003, his mom died suddenly of a massive heart attack. I did what any good girlfriend would do, I spent time with his family alongside him, doing what I could. Soon after, things conspired and he ended up moving back in with his dad unwillingly. I followed within a month.

That began the first stressful period of our relationship; he shut down after his mom died. I persisted, because I'm a tough bird to shake, and not long after we got an apartment of our own he began to come around. Then we moved to Fargo. Another tough period of time for us. I tried to reconcile with my birth mother, and it didn't go so well. I was reeling from the rebuff, he was upset being so far away from home. Then Erflet pronounced his impending arrival. Not long after, our commission jobs failed us and we lost our apartment. We moved in with my grandparents before unceremoniously getting the boot in the form of my grandma paying the deposit and first month's rent for an apartment for us - even though I had to quit my job due to heavy weight lifting.

Stomach cramps during pregnancy - especially when lugging a 70 lb box - are never good.

So we were stuck in an apartment, me jobless, and Erf not working due to the lack of appointments in December. Erflet arrived, and things got worse. We fought all the time, I was a crazy bitch who was overly-protective of our son, he resented me for not giving him a chance.

The lack of sex couldn't have helped at all, though.

One day it seemed to snap us both; we needed to work this out. And slowly, we did. We put the effort and hard work into it, and we pushed through. We rekindled our love, and one night while talking decided it was time to finally make an honest woman out of him. ;)

On April 10, 2009 (Dude, we so got married on Good Friday. Getting married on the day Jesus was crucified = WIN), I became Mrs. Erf. And regardless of the hard times we're going through right now, we know that we can push through it together.

Baby, here's to us, 70 years from now, yelling at one another in utter deaf bliss. I'll love you even when you crap your pants and sprout hair long enough to be braided from your nose.

I even promise to dig on you when your glasses could double as a microscope.

I love you. :)

Yes, he is biting my shoulder. We're kinky like that.

Watching Evil Dead pre-bedtime was not the best idea I've ever had...

So, if you've never seen Evil Dead, it's this cheesy 80's horror flick about this group of 5 teenagers/young adults who rent a run-down cabin in the middle of nowhere. What could go wrong with that? I mean, come on. The bridge you crossed only lost a shitload of boards, but hey, who needs to drive our retro-mobile back over to the other side of the bridge? We have a cabin to ourselves!

So, tellingly, they find a mysterious book with Satanic-esque drawings and a tape recorder. But, it's one of those giant ones with two big wheels - like you'd see in a recording studio. They haul it up out of the basement and begin listening to the tape. It's this guy talking about flesh-possessing demons who lay dormant but never truly die. And then, like the fucktard he is, he records the incantation that resurrects these havoc-loving, cataract-sporting, never-gonna-die buggers. The kids, being douchebags, listen to the incantation. Demons are resurrected and begin possessing said Douche Bags. Gore ensues.

My mind and my brain were watching this movie in separate modes, apparently. My mind was slowly turning into a giant cooch, and was becoming more and more afraid of said demons. My brain was slapping my mind upside the head going, "You giant cooch, this movie is so fucking stupid and it's not even scary."

Cause really, it was cheesy 80's horror. It wasn't scary. But I'll be damned if my mind wasn't as convinced as I was.

Being the brain-iac that I am, I decide watching outtakes is a fabulous idea. Something funny to take my Giant Cooch mind off the Super Scary. Nope, just gives my Giant Cooch mind a yeast infection.

Because now, my darlings, I am pretty terrified. And I know it's irrational. I know that there's nothing out there, waiting to possess my flesh and spew green creamed corn at me. (Cause I looked up the trivia on IMDb - the guts were made out of green-dyed cream corn) But I've always had this irrational phobia. I don't like walking down pitch-black hallways, not knowing what lies ahead. I don't swim in lakes - EVER - unless I can see what's underneath me. Because, my pets, I will break out into the shakes. No lie. I'll pee the lake, and I'll freak the fuck out.

Don't look at me like that. Find me someone who HASN'T peed in a lake and I'll give you a liar.

So, because Erf is taking a shower, I have to make the bed. I'm not even lying when I tell you that I was bent over at the waist, trying to keep my feet as far away from the under-bed as possible. I walked over to my side of the bed, broke out in the shakes, and jumped up onto the bed. Shaking.

Yes, I am a huge, huge pussy.

The tale does not end there. Erf was having a grand old time laughing at me. Because he and my brain? Totally on the same wavelength. "It was just a movie, it wasn't even scary."

Except the Giant Cooch had me incapacitated. Evil mind. It was fucking with me.

I'm laying in bed, eyes darting about, with the light on. I'm 24 years old with a 3 1/2 year old son, and I'm scared to turn off the light. I am ashamed, even as I type this. Erf suggestively says, "Hey, I've got a boner. Why don't you come over here and I'll distract you?"

I'm irrationally terrified, and you think bumping uglies is the solution? I know someone who can help you. Her name is Rosy Palms. Distract that.

I turn out the light (because I have to pretend I'm not a giant quivering quim) and try falling asleep. Giant Cooch just laughs at me.

I hallucinate my dreams. I'm awake enough to be aware of my surroundings, but I see things that aren't there until I fully wake up. I once woke Erf up because I was convinced there was a box on the wall of our old apartment that was spewing out spiders. He was not happy. I'm weird.

So, of course, every half hour or so last night I would wake up to see the un-dead ready to possess my flesh. Lots of fun. I'm so motherfucking sleepy. Today, I'm fine. I could watch that film and laugh at it. Kind of like Ghost Ship - I had a similar experience with that flick, except I wasn't afraid of it until I had a halluci-dream that my family members were all in my room, dead and decayed, trying to murder me to harvest my soul.

I'm so fucked up. If you want to pretend you no longer know me, I'll understand...

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.

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.

He's a one-stop shop with a real big *uh*...

So I didn't get to watch DWTS Tuesday night. I know, I know. I'm sorry. Erf needed the TV more than I did at that moment.

Which leads me into my blog post topic for today, which is all about how crappy the last few days have been for me. I wasn't going to blog about it at first, but then I remembered that blogging is supposed to be all healing and supportive and crap.

No, this is not a plea for sympathy. I just don't have anything else going on in my life right now, so what the hell, right?

Erf was (past tense, you'll understand later) a manager at a local fast food place. They call them QSR's (Quick Serve Restaurant), I suppose because they want to sound more sophisticated than McDonalds. Or maybe they want to sound like spies, but they massively failed. Whatever.

He had a review about a month ago, and they told him he was 'lazy' and a 'lollygagger'. Who the fuck uses that word anymore?! Seriously. I know that this couldn't be true because I've worked WITH Erf, and I've spent time with his co-workers outside of work. Lazy is not a word that you apply to my husband, he's one of the hardest workers I've ever met. However, the co-worker who described him as such is notorious for sitting in the back office, running useless errands during rushes, and other miscellaneous offenses. They gave him 30 days to 'shape up and improve', but wouldn't tell him exactly what he was doing wrong.

I can get not telling someone HOW to fix a problem at work, but not telling them WHAT the problem is? What the everloving mothercock? That's just irresponsible management.

He had his 30 day review review on Tuesday. They demoted him.

To maintenance. He's below the fucking burger-flipping crew members now. And to top it all off, he went from making $27,500 a year to $8.50/hr.

He makes less than I do. We just moved into an apartment with a one-year lease. We chose this apartment because it has 3 bedrooms and we wanted a place we could stay in for a while.

The co-workers who called him lazy (and are subsequently called lazy by the crew members when said co-workers are out of earshot) got promoted.

This, it fucking blows chickens.

My wonderful Twitter/blogger/real life friends, Beautiful Mess, Aunt Becky and Dana, helped tremendously by listening to my whining and bitching, and then reassured me that all will be okay.

My only surefire cure to disperse anger (which, hello, I was livid) is to cry. A lot. I cry watching movie previews for Angels In The Outfield. I cry like I'm fucking postpartum. It's insane.

So what do I do? I poured myself a large glass of wine, grabbed my chocolates, and settled down with Erf to watch P.S., I Love You. This is an incredibly sad movie. It's surefire to make me cry. Like Armageddon and Steel Magnolias (We'll sell t-shirts saying, 'I slapped Ouiser Boudreaux!' M'Lynne, you just missed the chance of a lifetime! Half of Chinquapin Parish'd give their eye teeth to take a whack at Ouiser!).

Sorry.

Anywho, I cried my eyes out. And by that I mean, I blubbered. Like, soap-opera-fake blubbered. Except it was real. That grieving widow cry. The lip-sucking, gasping-breath, annoying cry. Insane, is what it is. Erf laughed at me, because it really was quite funny. No better way to dispel the anger than laughter through tears. It's my favorite emotion! I felt much better.

Then yesterday I got a call from Erf to tell me that he has a management position interview at a local sports bar and grill next week. Silver linings, people.

Except my broken tooth. Fucking nighttime tooth-clenching. I clench my teeth at night like teenage boys clench their cheeks at drive-ins. That is to say, tight.

Not that teenage boys go to drive-ins anymore. But if they did, they totally wouldn't wanna gas their date. Unless they were trying to knock them out. Baked beans are cheaper than a roofie, people. Lesson learned.

By the way, in case you care, Erf took out his anger by playing Need For Speed and smashing into cop cars. To each their own, right? On a related note, I was on the phone with my mom last night as he was playing. He asked me what kind of car he should buy (I picked the Toyota Supra). My mom chimes in with, "I really don't think that now is a good time for you to be looking at buying a new car."

It's a video game car, ma. Put away the wire hanger, and I'll stop calling you Mommie Dearest. :)

Shiny, shiny shoes...

Sooooo, welcome to the new blog template!

Am I sassy enough for you? You bet your sweet little net-surfing asses I am! And now my blog is shinier, prettier, and sassier. Because we have to keep up with things, people. Seriously. None of that shitty-looking blog template to defile your eyes, sweet kittens.

And shoes? Well, I love them. With the passion of a Biggest Loser contestant that finds themselves locked in a bakery overnight. Except shoes don't slather over my skin as well as buttercream does.

There was another template I briefly considered. But Aunt Becky helped me see the pornographic, retina-burning-blaze-orange error of my ways. And I'm going to try and fix this light font, don't you worry. So please be patient if all of a sudden my font turns white or some crap. I'll fix it all one way or the other. If you'd like to find a spiffy new template for yourselves, scope out PYZAM. I think they're just for blogger, but I'm a fucking idiot today so I can't be relied upon for anything, really.

My aunt is now out of surgery, and everything went as well as could be expected. It was textbook. She will be released tomorrow, so hopefully she'll only be out for two weeks. Because to be honest, while I'm not exactly nervous about doing my best at doing both her job and mine at the same time... I'm not completely at ease, either. I just figure I'm going to have to take what comes my way and figure out how to get shit done.

Today is a slow day. I'm just not quite on my tip-top awesomeness. Which, I know, you didn't think was possible. So I'm going to entertain you by telling you the story of the first time I met Erf's parents. Because it's goddamn funny.

Erf's parents invited me up to dinner a few weeks after we started dating. I, of course, was the proper amount of a nervous wreck. I liked this guy, and I hoped that his parents liked me. But I know now that, well, everyone likes me. :) Erf was done with school early that day (yes, we're high school sweethearts. Awwww....)(Shyaddup.), and so he and his sister came to pick me up. My hair looked fine, I had minimal makeup on... Enough to look pretty and like I cared about my appearance, but not too much. Don't want to scream 'WHORE' when I walk in.

We walked in to the house and I was introduced. Things had that amount of tension in the air that there always seems to be when you first meet your significant other's parents. But that's ok, everyone always expects it. You don't want to say the wrong thing, because really, it's like an audition.

We sat down to the first of the many dinners I've had there; beef stroganoff. I even ate the onions, and I'm one of the pickiest eaters I know. We're all sitting around making small talk and chit-chatting between bites, when Erf's mom apparently decided it was just too tense.

So she decided to break the ice with this little gem:

"So, Ashley. Did you know that (Erf) has one nut that's smaller than the other?"

I almost pissed myself. She just pulled it into the conversation so casually. Like she was asking if I knew if he had blonde hair.

Poor Erf turned purple, he was so embarrassed. Here I hadn't even gotten into his pants yet, and his mom is asking me about his testicles.

Cindy and I got along famously from that point on. She was one of the sweetest, funniest people I've ever met. I wish Erflet could have met her. They would have loved each other so much...

In other news, my friend Cheryl's (who I met for dinner and drinks last night) job is moving her to the same building and the same floor as I work in! We're gonna be next-door-floor neighbors! I'm pretty psyched about that.

So, um, yeah. I'm going to go drink my jasmine tea (this tea is the shit) and possibly watch the New Moon Trailer again... Cause I'm a fucking dork today. :)

You will find out more about me than you ever wanted to. I promise.

If you're feeling lucky, I have one simple question for ya. Do you feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?

My question is this: what in the ever-loving hell is it that is even remotely sexy about watching someone spit in another person's mouth?

Hubby and I rented an adult movie to have some special time together, and being in a kind sort of mood... Well, I picked one that he wanted. No, it was not a flick full of spit, it was of the 'squirting' genre. Not golden showers, but female orgasms.

Confession time: it gave me a bit of a complex. I kind of wish I could do that. Not just because I know it turns Hubby on; but because I should not be the only one who gets messy.

Also, as I was in the video rental portal last night, I was talking to the kid behind the counter. We'll call him Kevin, because I think that's his name. I was making small chit-chat with Kevin, waiting for this little creeper to move to the other side of the video rental portal and away from the adult film corner. He finally did, I went back and retrieved the grey-covered movie I wanted, and watched the front counter. Because while I'm by no means embarassed by the fact that I have a healthy appreciation for porn, I don't want this skeezy kid knowing what KIND of porn I watch.

He was like 5'5", chubby, creepy in a "He-might-stalk-me-and-kill-me-so-no-one-else-can-have-me" way, and had this nasty wannabe goatee going on. His facial hair was so scraggly and sparse, it made me want to vomit.

And he was just sitting there and talking with Kevin. And talking. And Talking. AND TALKING.

Extremely irritating. Because every time I'd talk to Kevin, the kid would jump in the conversation like he wanted to impress me. It was like, little boy... Don't make hurt you. Because I really don't want to be within five feet of you.

Anywho (see, told you that you'd find out more about me than you wanted to), we were watching the movie and making lots of fun at the expense of the terrible, terrible acting. I even said to him at one point, "If I paid $7.50 to rent a comedy, I'm going to be pissed." The funniest set was this girl with greasy hair who came 'home' looking exhausted to a husband who was on the couch. He was 'so tired from standing on his feet in the unemployment line all day' and she had masturbated at work (where she's a 'waitress') with a spatula and some syrup. And it was probably the WORST acting I've ever seen in a porno. And I've seen some bad acting before this.

We started getting frisky... A few times... And after a while we were just sort of watching the movie to see if anything else was gonna happen. And then during the best set so far... The girl with the prettiest face so far, and the guy with the biggest snausage so far; well, he spit in her mouth. Oh dear lord. And Hubby and I chorused together, "Well, that did it for me." And we shut it off.

I know that there are many worse genres of porn and many other more offensive acts out there. And I probably wouldn't watch those either. I mean, there's bestiality, two girls one cup... Underage Asian anime rape-fantasy porn... Things that make you go bllleeeehhhh.

*Shivers* Seriously.

Though on a semi-unrelated note... When I was still baking my baby bun, Hubby and I were taking a shower together (oooh yeah, kink!) and he sneezed. Right in my face. While I had my mouth open. And a booger flew into my mouth and hit me in the back of the throat.

I very nearly vomited on him. Wouldn't you have?

I keep forgetting that today is 9/11. I mean, I know it's the 11th of September, but I keep forgetting that it's 9/11. Then I see all the Facebook statuses saying, "We will never forget" and I feel like a huge asshole because I am not one of those people who remembers shit like that. And I look out my office window (on the 7th floor, tres posh) and I see the flag at half mast. And I wondered who died. And then I remembered, DUH.

I'm such a dipshit. Bah.

But even though I'm a dipshit, please go vote for me at Aunt Becky's blog! I'm number 15, and I'm still tied in 7th place. I know I'd be Livin On A Prayer to get up into the top 3, but Ooooh, I'm over halfway there...

Not that being tied in 7th place isn't a great score for someone who's only been blogging for a month. But I'd drop down on my knees and write a Post Of Praise to you all if I could get above 4th! And my thanks to those of you little lovies who have already voted for me. :) Because I know there are 13 of you out there somewhere...

"Hello, I'm calling to procure a hasty abortion. Hold on, I'm calling on my hamburger phone."

Hello, fair Intarweb land!

I apologize for not updating on Friday - cause I totally would have - but my computer at work is being a severe dickhead. I don't know what's wrong with it, and I'm not techie-smart enough to fix the damn thing. However, I don't know if it's luck of the draw or not all in my head, but switching from Firefox back to Internet Explorer seems to have allowed me to get on the internet without freezing. Perhaps I'll download Google Chrome.

Anywho, you don't really care, do you my dear Intarweb? You're yawning and drooling and thinking to yourself, "Why the hell doesn't she just get on with being all witty and clever?"

So, onto the rants.

Hubby and I have been together for seven years. Matter of fact, we joined hands in the world of wedded bliss on our seven-year anniversary. It was also the five year anniversary of our engagement. We, like any other couple, have had our fair share of ups and downs... Sometimes it feels like more downs than ups. The important things about these tidbitlets of fact are that we didn't get hitched right away. We had started planning a wedding about four years back, then all hell broke loose in our relationship. It took us a good two and a half years to work our shit out. Add into the world of our stressed out relationship the birth of our son; having a child is stressful in a healthy, steady relationship. I sometimes wonder how we survived. But somehow, out of the dark and gloom that would rival Snow White's nightmare forest, we pulled together. Now, fair Intarweb, that's not to say that we never have disagreements (true fights are very rare - I'd say we've had maybe two in the seven years we've been together), but the point, precious Intarwebs -

And I do have one

- is that we waited. We talked out the marriage planning, and decided that the time was finally right. We married because we WANTED (notice the caps lock, that means I'm emphasizing the seriousness) to; not because we felt compelled to. Yep, we had a baby together. Yep, most people would view that as a sign that "It's Time" to get married. We resisted. We both knew the other wasn't going anywhere, and we waited. I've been seeing a lot of old classmates around my age who got married because they thought it was just the next step - something they were supposed to do, like they were following some life recipe. That's not to say, of course, that these couples don't love each other. I'm sure they do. But that doesn't mean that you HAVE (caps lock again, people) to get married. Marriage is Teh Sewious. It's not a goal line, it's just being handed the football. You have to work toward the goal AFTER you get the football. And you'll get tackled, and you'll fumble, and whatever other bad shit happens in basketball (Kidding, people. Kidding. Maybe.).

I frequently see some of these couples complaining that they hate their spouses, that they're unhappy... Well, it's because you married because you thought you were supposed to, or because you wanted a wedding. People need to stop getting married to have weddings. Honestly. I do know some couples who got married for the marriage and seem very happy. And I wish all the couples happiness and a long marriage if that's what they're meant to have.

My second irritation of the day happens to be about something even more (GASP) controversial.

I stopped by my mom's work today to pick up a check from a cake I did for them last week. They work down the block from the only clinic in town that happens to do abortions. Now, I'm pro-choice, but I don't think it's a decision to be made lightly. I can understand why other people are pro-life, and I think that they have a right to protest, just the same as I have the right to procure a hasty abortion if I so choose. Not that I've ever had an abortion, but if I wanted one, I'm glad to have that option available.

The problem, sweet Intarwebs, are when protesters parade around with mutilated aborted fetus posters, flashing them at all who pass by (on a fairly busy street in the downtown area, I might add). I can understand their scare tactic, even if I think it's rude and uncouth. But they don't know who is in each car that passes by. There are children that could see that. And I firmly believe that mutilated fetuses are not something children should see. Why in the hell don't they just show them to women entering the clinic? Why do they need to flash the goddamn posters at all? They're sick and disgusting. You don't show them flashing posters of dead soldiers when they protest war. At least, I haven't seem them do that.

I really want to walk up to them and bitch slap them back to reality. However, working for a criminal defense attorney has intensified my respect for the law. Also, I have a pretty mouth and I'm pretty sure I'd become Brunhilda's Bitch if I ever had to serve time. I may be a tall Amazonian, but I can't really fight for shit.

So maybe one day I'll walk up to them and engage their narrow minds, but for now I'm just going to bitch about it here. Because I'm sure that debating with them would have made me late for work.