Beef with Blogger

I've always been told that I shouldn't bite the hand that feeds, but a--I'm currently making zero dollars and zero cents off this blog and, in fact, probably losing money because the hours that could be spent working that I, instead, insist upon spending with my blog, and b--I'm under a hex this week, and my actions cannot be held against me.

But here are some things that really make me frustrated with this site, and that I want to email blogger about, but instead I'm making them come to me. Counterintuitive, right? I'm hoping it's backwards day.

--Why, oh why, are the pictures so hard to place?? I've complained about this before--with agreement from other bloggers--and still seem to wrestle with it daily. It takes me a maximum of ten minutes to write my posts, as you can probably tell from the spelling and typing errors--but then another 45 to position the pictures correctly. And even then, when I review the post later, the pictures have moved, making the sentences hard to follow and leaving huge blank spots on the page. C'mon. It can't be that hard to follow my mouse when I move it. Make it work.

--I cannot tell you how many comments I've left on people's posts. That's because they never get published. Blogger wants to be sure I'm a human, which I appreciate, since I don't want non-humans commenting in their alien script on my posts, but come the hell on. I know, on more than one occasion, a letter or number that is not a real letter or number has been included in my "are you a human" test line. They want me to retype what I see but an upside down blurry squiggly line isn't on my keyboard. AND even if I type the line exactly as it shows, they tell me I have typed it incorrectly. And they like to do this until I give up, delete the comment, and punch the screen. This isn't even addressing trying to leave a comment from my iPhone or iPad. I've had other people text me to tell me they're trying to leave comments from their iPhones and can't. I've also spiked both of those devices on the ground after trying without success to be identified as a real human.

--Dear Blogger, when I add a site to my reading list, please send me updates when they occur. I have three, count them, THREE sites that I follow that never make it to my reading list. (To clarify: I follow more than three, but those specific ones don't show up.) I have to check those sites individually each day, every hour, obsessively until a new post is published. I don't know why blogger wants to keep them from me, but please, please just send me their damn updates.

Okay, I think I'm done. I think, otherwise, I enjoy using this site and am grateful for the ease with which it has helped me create a blog. I also appreciate it telling me who my audience is and where they come from (Shout out to Latvia!). And if these glitches ever get worked out, it would be perfect, but until then, I got some beef with blogger.

PS--my hands naturally typed beer instead of beef. What's on my mind??

How Do You Break a HEX?

Someone's put a hex on me. No, really. That's the only thing that makes sense as to why the most random, ridiculous sh*t is happening to me. It's not one big thing or even lots of big things, but it's little annoying things that are starting to make me think I'm losing my damn mind.

So, whoever you are, this is what you've caused me this week (yes, I realize we're only three freaking days in):

Wait a minute...I think Joel was in this band once.

--I wake up Monday morning and realize I've completely forgotten to do a HUGE report, and so I have to rush to get it done and turned in FOUR DAYS LATE.

--Because I was spending so much time fixing the first blunder, I miss the deadline for a report that was due that same morning. So I complete it and turn it in late.

--Then after turning two reports in late, I have to email my boss and apologize for working too many hours this pay period. You see, anything we work over 37.5 hours needs to be noted as comp, and because they don't want us taking 6 straight months off, we're not allowed to accrue more than 10 comp hours in a pay period. And if we do and seek prior approval we can earn more, but not more than 20. Well I had to email my boss and say, "Sorry about those 22.5 comp hours I earned. Oops."

--So I think the worst of it was over for Monday, until I almost ran out of gas. I was panicking and traffic on Frederica Street was ridiculously busy, and apparently there's only ONE gas station on the busy part of Frederica Street so I'm praying that the fumes I have left will inch me another mile or so to the Shell. And it does.

Yup.

--Because I'd taken the rest of the morning off in an attempt to not accrue even more comp time, I looked at my phone only to realize I had about 30 emails that had piled up and needed responses. So I get the gas pump going and get back in my car to try and get some of those emails done. Suddenly, a woman starts banging on my trunk, because the gas pump had not only filled my tank up, but was also soaking the car, the parking lot, and everything around it with gas. I jump out of the car, slip in the huge puddle of gas, soak the bottom half of my pants with gas, drop my cell phone in it, and am still unable to get the pump to stop. When I did stop the pump, I notice that I have pumped almost $30 of gas all over everything. Including myself. The woman who helped me said the same thing had happened to her at the same pump a few days earlier. She retrieved the manager who said if I would please move my car, he would hose it off. I insisted he do something about it, and he gave me a free $6 car wash to help get the gas off my car. Gee, thanks.

--Smelling of gasoline and realizing my cell phone case has soaked up the smell and will never be usable again, I head off to my evening work event. Apparently there was a glitch in my GPS--that glitch may or may not have been user error--and because I was engrossed in my audio book, I didn't realize it had taken me TWO HOURS in the WRONG DIRECTION. And to a street that ended into a lake. I mean, the street resumed on the other side of the lake, but what was I supposed to do?? I don't have one of those cars that turn conveniently into boats.

I wish I'd been given a sign.

And that was just Monday. Other things that have happened:

--I overslept.

--A dress I planned on wearing to my staff meeting yesterday--which was clean--had some sort of questionable material stained all over it. It looked like gorilla glue, but I didn't want to jump to conclusions at 4am, and frankly, I didn't have time to because I had to search for something else to wear and get on the road.

--I missed my exit not once, not twice, but three times en route to my staff meeting. There was also so much construction--and weird construction--that it made me think I'd mess up and was driving on the side of the highway that was closed. But, no, no. The road crews had us driving on the shoulder, because the entire highway was closed.

--I thought I overslept, but apparently I didn't because I got to Frankfort 45 minutes too early. And when your wake-up call is 3am, 45 minutes is like a month.

--I ate four pieces of pizza and Arby's yesterday. (This hex includes over-eating.)

--I yelled at Joel for no apparent reason two nights in a row.

Outta my way. No, SERIOUSLY.

--I can't freaking sleep.


--I spilled ice water all over me and Sharla at lunch. It was hot out, but not hot enough to want to go the entire day soaked.

--I showed up to visit schools not only on the first day of school--which is crazy busy and the contacts look at you like, "uhh...you know what you can do for me? Leave me alone," but also during bus pick-up. So my car got blocked in, and I had to stand and wait until all of the buses loaded and pulled away in the 95 degree heat at three.different.schools.

So, many times over the past couple of days, I have said, "I'm done. I'm going back to bed until this hex is broken." But I haven't given up yet. I'm taking Friday off and using this three day weekend to unwind and hit the reset button. Next week will be better. I know it will. Because the Universe told me it will...

Just F***king Fobulous

No, No, that's not a typo. I meant to type fObulous. You see, recently, my company, decided we need to take every measure imaginable to be a secure steward of the private information of our clients. Now, I don't personally work with clients, but some people who work at my job do. But still, I have to go through all of the security measures too.

The first one was having to go through federal security clearance by writing down every place we've ever lived, the names and numbers of every neighbor we've ever had, every job we've ever had, every school we've attended, every car we've ever driven, everyone we've ever dated, slept with, or thought we might have a slight crush on, everything we've ever eaten, every time we've ever sneezed and what we were wearing at the time, and every time we've ever gone number two and what color and consistency it was. They also took fingerprints, mug shots, height, weight, BMI, shoe size, pant size, ring size, and length of our second toe on each foot.

My security paperwork

 During all of this, there were stirrings that we should be scared that something they find out like you once peed your pants because you puked too many times would mean that we were no longer employed at this particular establishment. Then someone who actually knows what the hell they're talking about told me not to worry that no one had been denied security clearance and especially hadn't been fired. But then I was told that they are, in fact, beginning to contact every person you put on your clearance paperwork to make sure you're not a complete effing train wreck. This has me a little freaked out, because not only are the people I put on there going to say that I am a complete train wreck who takes down every small village in my path, but also because I made up half of the people I put on my paper work. Joe Schmoe never lived next to me on Brentwood Drive and his number is definitely not 867-5309. (Note: In case the feds are reading this, that's a lie. No one on my paper work is made up. I just thought this bit was funny the first time I used it. Sorry, Mr. Obama, I won't crack that joke again. But now it lives in internet infamy and will be giggled at for centuries. Who's got the last laugh now??) (Other note: Probably STILL the federal government.)

Then the real bomb dropped last week when we had a meeting in Frankfort. We were informed that, from this point forward, we must carry around a fob that will give us a new code every minute. We must input this code into our computer, or we will be locked out. Let me tell you why this is a problem for me.

Fob and badge. Together they succeed,
together they get lost in my sh*t.

We were also given badges to get in and out of our buildings several months ago, and mine have--at time of publish--been replaced three times. I lost one. I'm pretty sure that one still exists somewhere in my property but its whereabouts are forever unknown. And one was sold with my car. Realizing I'd sold my security badge for a the low-low price of $2000--because the value of my car was at least $6,000 by my estimate and everyone said I was silly to think it was worth that, and they even scoffed at me when I said I was going to price it at $3500. Every car buyer in town jumped at it when I priced it for $2500, and it quickly sold for $2000. Days later, after the transfer, I went to pay the taxes on the blue book value of the car...seven f***ing thousand dollars. So I refuse to say that I took a five grand hit on my car, but rather, like to think of it as selling my picture off my badge for the low price of $2000 and throwing in the car because I'm a good person--I contacted the buyer on multiple occasions, and she would never call me back or drop my badge off. I'm convinced she's saving it for when I'm famous, then she'll make a financial fool of me for the second time in my life.

So not only am I afraid I'm going to lose this fob and have to pay my company a million dollars to have it replaced, but I'm also scared that I'm simply not smart enough to use it, and thus they'll discover my incompetency and simply quit submitting my paycheck realizing I'm too dumb to notice.

Me, Destiny, and Jo graced the IT guys with our collective presence last week when we had to be trained to use our fob. I hold a belief that IT guys have boring lives jobs, but that could be completely unfounded. Much like the belief that someone who drinks as much wine as me is considered an alcoholic. But I am positive that we rocked those IT guys' worlds. In an effort to cover up our fear of being too dumb to continue to be employed by the state of Kentucky, we spent almost a full hour in the IT office making complete fools of ourselves, and generally cracking the guys up. We needed no less than three explanations as to the difference between passwords and passcodes. We refused to follow directions, thus making them have to repeat themselves about 100 times, and we were pretty much preoccupied by making each other laugh the whole time.

This is what Dee did while she was supposed to be paying attention to our fobbing lesson.

At one point, I questioned, because I'd heard this rumor, if the fob tracked us wherever we were going. One IT guy said absolutely not and even if it did, they didn't care where we were, which I know isn't true because if people didn't care where I was and what I did, my phone would never ring, no one would read my blog, and my mom wouldn't think I was dead if she hadn't heard from me in 5 minutes. Also, I'm pretty sure our bosses care we were are because we're being paid to be in a certain place 37.5 hours a week. The other IT guy, when asked--because I insist on polling the audience--said at any given minute, the government could run a report and figure out exactly where each of us is. This is really scary, because I don't really like that someone gets to know sometimes I spend the better part of an hour in the bathroom, sometimes I sneak to Pizza Hut and eat an entire pizza by myself in the dark parking lot, and that I have been spotted in Rue 21 more than once. So I've decided I'm going to start leaving the fob in weird places where no one will mess with it--like the janitor's closet at one of my schools, in a mailbox of a home that's for sale, or in my state representative's trunk--so that if the government decides to track me, they'll think something far more entertaining is going on than what actually is in my life which is usually that yes, I am at the Pizza Hut buffet for the third time this week.

Let me save you a report.
This is where I'll be.

But that gave us a great idea. And by us, I mean Jo, but we now all act as one. We are going to start taking pictures of our fob in funny, random, or exciting places and sending the pictures to our staff with the subject line "Where Have You Been Fobulous Lately?" The IT guys found this pretty funny, until I announced--way too loud--that I was going to take a picture of mine between my butt cheeks because that's both random and funny, and they threatened to take my fob and have me escorted out immediately.

Jo is busy being fobulous in Cali

So my charge is to not lose my fob, try really hard to remember how to use it, and apparently to keep it out of my orifices. I can't promise that I will succeed in all or any of these, but I will have a pretty damn good time taking pictures of it in fobulous places. I just hope the IT guys never do a scan of email, because I don't actually like it when people other than Jo and Destiny see pictures of my naked bum.

Dreams of Reality

 Recently, over a few glasses of afternoon wine, my girlfriends and I discussed the image we'd had of ourselves as almost thirty-somethings and where we actually are in our lives. I thought this was quite interesting, because none of us were living the lives we thought we'd be living at this point. But, we wondered, is it better? Worse? Or just unexpected?

Also, in my dreams, I was a cute preg Asian lady

If you had asked me when I was 12, 15, 18, or even in my early 20's, if I thought I'd someday be 29 years old, unmarried with no children, working for a not-for-profit agency promoting higher education, and living in Owensboro, KY, I probably would have answered with some colorful four letter words.

Why did this image come up when I
googled 'modern working woman?'
I just...there are no words.

But, the question is, where did I think I would be? I can remember imagining my life as a teenager and young adult--hold the effing phone. Am I no longer a young adult? When the hell did that happen?--and having two distinct ideas of what my life would be. The first one was living in a big city, working for some cutting edge agency, possibly in advertising or as a writer at a fashion magazine. Every day, I'd wear some ridiculously fashionable dress, stilettos, and have my cell phone (those totally didn't exist in my fantasies) constantly glued to my face talking about the upcoming deadlines I had to meet, or better yet, tell my staff to meet. This fantasy was akin to Samantha in Sex and the City, only with fewer curse words and bedfellows.

I don't understand. You're not Asian in all of your dreams?

The other image was being a happily married working Mom. Hustling my kids out of the house in the morning to rush to my job as a counselor, where I could leave if one of my six children got sick at school or needed to come home from daycare because they missed their working mommy a little too much. Relieving the nanny, I'd stroll into my large, beautiful home in a quaint town to cook dinner and wait for my hard-working husband to get home from his equally busy and glamorous job. (Plus tell me why the most disturbing part of this blog so far is the fact that I thought someday I'd want to cook???)

REAL LIFE

Let's talk about where my life really is. At 29, I'm almost a year into a relationship with a wonderful man/business-owner. At this point, we're not so close to the marriage dream. And although we I want children badly, things keep ringing through my mind like, "well I don't want to be knocked up when we go to Florida in Sept/celebrate Destiny's birthday in December/celebrate my 30th in February/celebrate Jo's bday in May/during the summer/on weekends/on holidays/on days that end with y." I work for a non-profit agency that gives me 15 hour days and months worth of 6-day work weeks. While I'm comfortable on my salary and in my career, it definitely doesn't afford for ridiculously fashionable dresses (hell, I'm flying if I don't wear the same outfit every day for a week!), stilettos, high-rises in New York, or huge houses with bedrooms that sleep my six fictional children. We live in the town we both grew up in and find joy in grilling dinner at the farm or watching movies in bed most nights.

I wouldn't give this guy up!

And it really makes me wonder would I be happier had those dreams become my reality? Would I feel fulfilled? More exciting? Or would there always be something missing? Would I always wonder what life would be like if I lived closer to home or did important work rather than lucrative work?

Perfectly happy in this life

My guess is that's the eternal question. Where could I be? Where would I be? I do know that had I moved to a big city after I graduated college and sought a job at a fast-paced, cutting-edge agency or married young and birthed six children right away, I definitely wouldn't be the person I am today. I never would have found passion in higher education and outreach, I never would have met and fallen in love with Joel, I'd never get to have slumber parties with Jaxon or see his Christmas plays, my family wouldn't be a five-minute drive away, and I never would have met half of the friends who mean the world to me now. So, while it's fun to think about the woman in stilettos working in an office with all windows or the woman feeding organic chicken to her yup-lets, when it comes to reality, I'm perfectly happy right here at home.

Happy National Best Friends Day!!

In honor of National Best Friends' Day--honestly, guys, I heard on the radio it was TODAY, August 5th, but now that I've googled it, the interwebs is saying it's June 8th, August 1st, or August 15, but whatev, I heard today, so here goes--I'm going to give shout outs to my OSOs. I'm thinking about honoring each of these awesome people in a post this week, so I've confined myself to one line each. (Update: I can't do that. I'll just try to keep it brief.)

*In no particular order*

Leslie and Shannon--these girls are essentially one person. They finish each other's sentences and speak a secret language. But, I know when I need a girls' night, these girls are on it. And that we'll have more fun and laugh more than any other night of our silly lives.

Megan and Brandi--again, we were a three gal show. These girls stood in my office and helped me not go crazy for two and a half years. Somehow when we worked at the worst place ever, we made the best friends ever.

Elizabeth--she's someone I can talk to about everything that's going on--good or bad. She identifies with my ups and downs like no one else can. I am so lucky to have this beautiful person in my life.

Erin--E used to live down the street from me, and we spent the better part of a winter and her first year of marriage sitting on her couch eating cheese balls, chocolate chip cookies, and drinking red wine while watching TV. Sometimes, she's the only one who gets it.

Sharla--Few people in this world have shot up so quickly on the best friends list. I met her and knew right away we would be part of each other's lives forever. She does more for others than most people I know. And we can freaking party like rock stars when we have the energy.

Trina--I remember seeing her for the first time and thinking, "there's a cute girl in a fashionable dress living in Owensboro, and I don't know her, how'd that happen?" Whether it's impromptu weekend trips, coffee breaks, long walks, or just sitting on her couch with our faces in our phones checking our facebooks, just being around her makes me happy.

Jo--when I need a real, honest, no-nonsense perspective, I call Jo. She'll tell me like it is and even make me laugh while she does it. Sometimes til I pee my pants. She's basically a certified therapist without the office. And one word about this girl: perfect. 

Destiny--this girl is my sister from another mister. She knows my inner-workings and loves me anyway. She makes me laugh and motivates me in ways no one else does. I can talk to her about anything, literally anything, and if we need each other, the hour between Owensboro and Bowling Green feels like a ten minute drive. 

Carrie--I have known this girl since I was 11, and as an icebreaker, she hit me in the back of the head with her cello bow. She is the one person who knows everything about me and never needs a back-story to what's going on. When my parents got divorced, she laid in bed and cried as hard as I did. She's been there through it all.

Jamie--I never know where to start with Jamie, because our friendship means everything. She's known me since I was born, but in the last four years has known me better than anyone else. We're each other's non-marital soul mates. Like we have some sort of unspoken connection, we know when each other is hurting, we feel each other's pain, and can count on each other to listen when no one else can. We stay up all night talking, laughing, and crying when we're together. And God is smart enough to not put us in the same city, because together, we are the perfect woman.

CD--Not just a man's best friend, but mine. He will recharge me and comfort me unlike anyone else. And there's something heart-warming about someone who is so excited to see you when you get home. 

My bros--what can I say? I love those boys.

My Grannie Annie--the woman can listen for hours. And never once judges that I haven't asked how she's doing. She thinks I'm her "poor baby, poor baby" when I need it, and her "beautiful, smart, loving" granddaughter when I need it. And I'll always, always need her.

My mom--always a girls' best friend. She's completely irreplaceable and, although I make fun of her all the time, I can't imagine my life without her and never want to know what that's like. Because, sometimes, a girl just needs her mommy. And when I do, she never lets me down. 

Joel--the love of my life. The man who surprises me with the ability to help me keep everything in perspective when I'm falling apart. He is the one person who I can tell my deepest thoughts to as I'm falling asleep, and he'll still love me unconditionally when we wake up. I love this man with everything I have, and although he knows I need my time with the girls, could spend every single second with him. 

Casi--everyone needs someone in their corner, and I'm smart enough to think I deserve to be my own biggest supporter. Luckily, I have amazing friends and family, but when all else fails, I have me. And, I gotta tell you, that Casi Clark girl is really something. 

Week in Flashback

Because I spent the last week flashing back to moments in my life, I haven't been able to update you on the things that were happening in real time, except this. And because it's Sunday and time for long, ridiculous ramblings, I'll tell you all about my week. Lots of blogalicious things happened this week! (That's a term Dee made up, and it's amazing.)

--I worked A LOT. Like so many hours that I'll probably get in trouble, because that's what happens in my job, but that's okay. And it's boring so I won't tell you about it.

--We had a meeting in Frankfort. You know how those go. I, of course, had to get up at 4am, and had to do it again yesterday, and have to do it again Tuesday. Three times in seven days. So if I sound crazy, I am it's because I haven't slept in a week.

--During the meeting, we were given a chip that we now have to carry around so that we can securely use our work laptops. I was going to tell you all about it, but it turned into its own post. So I'll publish that soon. It's really quite hilarious. And scary.

Yup, that was her

--After the meeting, I got to go hang out with Jo and Dee for a bit. En route to get some wine--duh--we saw who I dubbed Homeless Barbie. She was walking in the median of a highway, blonde ponytail swinging in the wind, hot pink back-pack, shorty short denim shorts, and high-top tennis shoes. I think I owned this Barbie as a child, before she lost her flight attendant job and had to hitch hike to get around. No sooner than we saw her, though, a car pulled onto the median, presumably to help her, but also maybe to kidnap her. Also maybe it was the start of a porn movie. We weren't sure, but there was wine to be purchased so we said a quiet prayer that the man pulling up was just Homeless Ken and proceeded with our plans.

--Jo and Dee and I solved all the problems of the world over a glass of wine.

Who can't finish a bottle?

--Several days later, I got to have dinner with my friend/hair expert, Leslie. I knew this was going to be a great night before I even saw her, because she called and asked if I pick her up. She did a little pre-gaming and wanted me to drive. At dinner, Leslie and I realized we both love Apothic Red wine, and so we ordered a bottle of it. The server commented that she could cork that for us, because she'd never been able to finish an entire bottle of wine, even with a friend. Apparently, this girl doesn't have the right friends. Leslie and I saw her challenge by finishing the bottle...and half of another. At one point, I asked another server to please send Tammy over, pointing to our server. Then when she arrived and I started calling her Tammy, she said, "who's Tammy?" I said, "um, you." "My name is Asia," she countered. Oops. People love it when you make up names to call them which is clearly what I did. And it couldn't even be blamed on my wine intake, because I could still figure out that she charged me and Leslie $32 for our bottles of wine instead of $23. Or maybe Tammy thought my blunder was worth $22 to her.

--On Friday, I FINALLY got to meet my friend Sharla for lunch even though we've been trying to get together without success for a while. It was great to get to see her again, and we experienced Bill's at lunch, which was incredible, and Sharla blogged about it!!

I could take this kid too.

--Joel and I had lots of good time together this weekend. I decided Friday night that Joel was a worthy opponent and challenged him to a wrestling match. Now, I'm not using wrestling as a euphemism or a code word for anything. I mean, seriously, a fierce competition where I was determined to kick his ass. However, at one point, he had both my arms and legs pinned, and I'm pretty sure I pulled every muscle in my neck trying to head butt him.

--After we made up, I was so happy to be home spending quality time with him after such a long week that I whispered into his ear, "Baby, you're all that I need, when I'm lying here in your arms, I'm finding it hard to believe, we're in heaven." And told him that wasn't that romantic how I'd just made that up. He said I didn't make it up, that, in fact, it was a song lyric. WRONG.

Here's to best friends

--Then, when we were spending quality time together Saturday evening, I was cracking him up with my awesome antics, and he meant to say I was hilarious, but it accidentally came out sounding like irritating. So weird how those two words sound alike.

--Saturday, I worked in Lexington and Destiny and I got to have lunch to celebrate National Best Friends' Day. Not only did we do a little boutique shopping (whoa, I can blow some moola!), but then we ate one of everything on the menu at Ramsey's!

Thanks for earning me a buck, folks.

--This weekend was a free weekend at Sam's Club. I've really been wanting to go, because I have problem with food hoarding, so I make the trek this morning. I spent WAY too much money and probably got more food than we can eat in 6 months but I was drunk off of the gigantic sizes of the food. But I realized Sam's tragic flaw. NO GROCERY BAGS. I didn't realize this until the sweet lady at the checkout was loading my cart, and then went into a panic. You see, I knew that I would get home and not only would I have to carry all of these individual groceries into the house, but also then up the stairs to the refrigerator. I began to panic. I knew that I would have to make no fewer than 70 trips in with the groceries, but also that I have a lazy streak that stretches from here to Fiji. So I will inevitably leave things in my car thinking I'll just bring them in when I need them. Then I started to get terrified that I'd find an 80 ounce bottle of Ranch dressing in my floorboard in six months or that some day everything will be covered in sticky, and then I will realize a huge bottle of sugar-free vanilla syrup will have burst under the weight of all the other sh*t I keep in my car. I just might write to Sam's and tell them what an inconvenience this is for me. It doesn't matter, though, I can't get a membership to Sam's because my fridge isn't big enough we simply don't need to buy trail mix in bulk and then sit and eat it mindlessly.

My favorite of Dad's many doggies

--Also, today, I got to spend good time with my momma, Grannie Annie, Pa, and my daddy. Pa coughed up the $1 he owed to me and Grannie Annie because a year ago, we made a bet that Ashley and JP from last year's Bachelorette would remain together for  a year, while he argued they'd break up way before then. I told him to please write on it "Casi was right." And then sign it so I could frame it. He wouldn't do that, but I'm going to forge his concession and frame it. Then wrap it up and give it to him for Christmas.

--I got three whole hours to hang out with my daddy, just me and him. This may not seem like a big deal, but there are always a million things going on when Dad and I are hanging out. I love love love my stepmom and brothers, but it was so nice to have all that time, just me and Daddy, hanging out, talking about life. I even convinced him to pause his movie and talk. I loved it.

--We're having pizza for dinner!!! And, in our house, that makes for a GREAT week!

Mixed Up Momma

So for today's flashback, I'm not going to tell you one specific story about Mom--oh, I have some pretty effing hilarious ones, but she would, without a doubt, sneak into my house and murder me in my sleep if I put them on here--but yet, I'll tell you about what I like to call Momisms.

I know she looks pretty hip...

Our mom likes to stay hip to what's cool and trendy. (See how ironic it is that I use the word hip??) She is always trying to keep her finger on the pulse of what's going on in our lives, especially the funny stuff. She isn't always completely successful.

So, many years ago, we took a family vacation--the whole fam,--Chris included--and it was the '90's, so "deez nuts" had become a common joke. In true, inappropriate Kevin and Chris style, they were whipping out deez nuts jokes around my family constantly. No one was immune to getting sucked into the deez nuts trap (oh, maybe bad choice of words there), and then the family would crumble into piles of laughter after Chris and Kevin had duped one of us again.  So we get home from vacation, Mom is slaving away at the laundry, while the rest of us catch up on recorded--with a VCR!!--television programs. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Mom comes running into the living room and says, in a frenzy, "Guys! Guess what I left in the hotel room????" We all look at her inquiringly. "THOOOOOOSE BALLLLLS!!!"

Strike one.

Gah. Twins.

**Disclaimer: This next snippet is completely and totally politically incorrect. But, I assure you, my family is very open and accepting of all lifestyles and choices. And we love Jesus. So feel free to come to our house for chicken anytime.**

For many years, I was a super, super single girl. I was completely uninterested in dating any straight men, but my favorite past-time was hitting up the gay bar with who I liked to call my Gay Husband. He was my absolute favorite person to hang out with, and I always got a big kick out of the people who'd see us out and assume he was my straight boyfriend and ask me when I thought we'd get engaged. Awesome. So, I ended up, one New Year's Eve, at a party where I knew almost no one, but I quickly became a hit at the party, because there was no shortage of gay men, and I am like Owensboro's version of Kathy Griffin. Later, I was recounting the story to my mother, who commented that it was my lot in life to be surrounded by amazingly attractive and charismatic men who had no interest in me whatsoever. "That's just fine," she noted. "You'll just be a gay nag." That's right, gay nag. I know exactly the label she was trying to put on me--but won't say it here--but I'm fairly sure she had no idea that she was completely mistaken.

Strike two.

On her wedding day. In the can.

A couple of Christmas's ago, Jaxon was starting to get older, so Kevin took it upon himself to begin teaching him adult sayings. I mean, he was the ripe old age of 5, so it was definitely time for him to start saying things like, "That's what she said." Kevin spent the bigger part of one day trying to demonstrate to him funny times to slip the phrase in. Because he knows there's a rule in our family that you "don't repeat what Uncle Bo says," he never really used this new tip, BUT Mom apparently had been listening to this lesson and thought she might need to exercise her newly learned phrase. While decorating the Christmas tree, Kevin said something--I'm fairly sure it didn't warrant a "that's what she said," but suddenly, my mom perked up and said loudly and proudly, "I think I heard her mention something about that!"

Jack says, "I don't want to hear it, Nana."

Strike three. She's out.

I think, at that point, we put her on talking restriction, which happens often in our family, but doesn't necessarily stop her from trying. She may not be the hippest, coolest, most crass Mom on the planet, but she's mine. And I love her and love the hilarious stories she provides. So, keep keeping on, Mom, and maybe one day you'll get it right. But I doubt it.