I came across this blog today while pretending to work. It moved me more than words can say. At 39 Weeks and just 5 days to go, I can't wait another second to meet him.

25 Rules for Mothers of Sons

1. Teach him the words for how he feels.
Your son will scream out of frustration and hide out of embarrassment. He'll cry from fear and bite out of excitement. Let his body move by the emotion, but also explain to him what the emotion is and the appropriate response to that emotion for future reference. Point out other people who are feeling the same thing and compare how they are showing that emotion. Talk him through your emotions so that someday when he is grown, he will know the difference between angry and embarrassed; between disappointment and grief.

2. Be a cheerleader for his life.
There is no doubt that you are the loudest person in the stands at his t-ball games. There is no doubt that he will tell you to "stop, mom" when you sing along to his garage band's lyrics. There is no doubt that he will get red-faced when you show his prom date his pictures from boy scouts. There is no doubt that he is not telling his prom date about your blog where you've been bragging about his life from his first time on the potty to the citizenship award he won in ninth grade. He will tell you to stop. He will say he's embarrassed. But he will know that there is at least one person that is always rooting for him.

3. Teach him how to do laundry.
..and load the dishwasher, and iron a shirt. He may not always choose to do it. He may not ever have to do it. But someday his wife will thank you.

4. Read to him and read with him.
Emilie Buchwald said, "Children become readers on the laps of their parents." Offer your son the opportunity to learn new things, believe in pretend places, and imagine bigger possibilities through books. Let him see you reading...reading the paper, reading novels, reading magazine articles. Help him understand that writing words down is a way to be present forever. Writers are the transcribers of history and memories. They keep a record of how we lived at that time; what we thought was interesting; how we spoke to each other; what was important. And Readers help preserve and pass along those memories.

5. Encourage him to dance.
Dance, rhythm, and music are cultural universals. No matter where you go, no matter who you meet - they have some form of the three. It doesn't have to be good. Just encourage your son that when he feels it, it's perfectly fine to go ahead and bust a move.

6. Make sure he has examples of good men who are powerful because of their brains, their determination, and their integrity.
The examples of men with big muscles and a uniform (like Batman and LaMarr Woodley) will surround your son from birth. But make sure he also knows about men who kick a$s because of their brains (Albert Einstein), and their pen (Mark Twain), and their words (Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.), and their determination (Team Hoyt), and their ideas (The Wright Brothers), and their integrity (Officer Frank Shankwitz), and fearlessness (Neil Armstrong), and their ability to keep their mouths closed when everyone else is screaming (Jackie Robinson).

7. Make sure he has examples of women who are beautiful because of their brains, their determination, and their integrity.
The examples of traditionally beautiful women (like Daphne Blake, Princess Jasmine, and Britney Spears) will surround your son from birth. But make sure he knows about women who are beautiful from the inside out because of their brains (Madame Marie Curie), and their pen (Harper Lee), and their words (Eleanor Roosevelt), and their determination (Anne Sullivan), and their ideas (Oprah Winfrey), and their integrity (Miep Gies), and fearlessness (Ameila Earhart), and their ability to open their mouths and take a stand when everyone else is silent (Aung San Suu Kyi).

8. Be an example of a beautiful woman with brains, determination, and integrity.
You are already are all of those things. If you ever fear that you are somehow incapable of doing anything - remember this: If you have done any of the following: a) grew life b) impossibly and inconceivably got it out of your body c) taken care of a newborn d) made a pain go away with a kiss e) taught someone to read f) taught a toddler to eat with a utensil g) cleaned up diarrhea without gagging h) loved a child enough to be willing to give your life for them (regardless if they are your own) or i) found a way to be strong when that child is suffering...you are a superhero. do not doubt yourself for one second. Seriously.

9. Teach him to have manners.
because its nice. and it will make the world a little better of a place.

10. Give him something to believe in.
Because someday he will be afraid, or nervous, or heartbroken, or lost, or just need you, and you won't be able to be there. Give him something to turn to when it feels like he is alone, so that he knows that he will never be alone; never, never, never.

11. Teach him that there are times when you need to be gentle.
like with babies, and flowers, and animals, and other people's feelings.

12. Let him ruin his clothes.
Resolve to be cool about dirty and ruined clothes. You'll be fighting a losing battle if you get upset every time he ruins another piece of clothing. Don't waste your energy being angry about something inevitable. Boys tend to learn by destroying, jumping, spilling, falling, and making impossible messes. Dirty, ruined clothes are just par for the course.

13. Learn how to throw a football.
or how to use a hockey stick, or read music, or draw panda bears (or in my case alpacas), or the names of different train engines, or learn to speak Elvish, or recognize the difference between Gryffindor and Slytherin, or the lyrics to his favorite song. Be in his life, not as an observer but as an active participant.

14. Go outside with him.
turn off the television, unplug the video games, put your cellphone on the charger, even put your camera away. Just go outside and follow him around. Watch his face, explore his world, and let him ask questions. It's like magic.

15. Let him lose.
Losing sucks. Everybody isn't always a winner. Even if you want to say, "You're a winner because you tried," don't. He doesn't feel like a winner, he feels sad and crappy and disappointed. And that's a good thing, because sometimes life also sucks, no matter how hard (as moms) we try to make it not suck for our kids. This practice will do him good later when he loses again (and again, and again, and again, and again.....) Instead make sure he understands that - sometimes you win - sometimes you lose. But that doesn't mean you ever give up.

16. Give him opportunities to help others.
There is a big difference in giving someone the opportunity to help and forcing someone to help. Giving the opportunity lights a flame in the heart and once the help is done the flame shines brighter and asks for more opportunities. Be an example of helping others in your own actions and the way your family helps each other and helps others together.

17. Remind him that practice makes perfect.
This doesn't just apply to performance-based activities (like sports and music) but also applies to everything in life. You become a better writer by writing. You become a better listener by listening. You become better speaker by speaking. Show your son this when he is just young enough to understand (that means from birth, folks - they are making sense of the world as soon as they arrive), practice trick-or-treating at your own front door before the real thing. Practice how you will walk through airport security before a trip. Practice how you order your own food from the fast food cashier. Practice, practice, practice.

18. Answer him when he asks, "Why?"
Answer him, or search for the answer together. Show him the places to look for the answers (like his dad, or grandparents, or his aunts/uncles, or his books, or valid Internet searches). Pose the question to him so he can begin thinking about answers himself. Someday, when he needs to ask questions he's too embarrassed to ask you - he'll know where to go to find the right answers.

19. Always carry band-aids and wipes on you.
especially the wipes.

20. Let his dad teach him how to do things.
...without interrupting about how to do it the 'right way.' If you let his dad show and teach and discover with your son while he is growing up, some day down the road (after a short period of your son believing his dad knows nothing), he will come to the realization that his dad knows everything. You will always be his mother, but in his grown-up man heart and mind, his dad will know the answers. And this will be how, when your son is too busy with life to call and chat with his mom, you will stay connected to what is happening in his life. Because he will call his dad for answers, and his dad will secretly come and ask you.

21. Give him something to release his energy.
drums, a pen, a punching bag, wide open space, water, a dog. Give him something to go crazy with - or he will use your stuff. and then you'll be sorry.

22. Build him forts.
Forts have the ability to make everyday normal stuff into magic. Throw the couch cushions, a couple blankets, and some clothespins and you can transform your living room into the cave of wonders. For the rest of his life, he'll be grateful to know that everyday normal stuff has the potential to be magical.

23. Take him to new places.
Because it will make his brain and his heart open up wider, and the ideas and questions and memories will rush in.

24. Kiss him.
Any mother of sons will tell you that little boys are so loving and sweet. They can be harsh and wild and destructive during most of the day. But there are these moments when they are so kind and sensitive and tender. So much so that it can cause you to look around at the inward, reserved grown men in your life and think, 'what happens in between that made you lose that?' Let's try to stop the cycle by kissing them when they're loving and kissing them even more when they're wild. Kissing them when they're 2 months and kissing them when they're 16 years old. You're the mom - you can go ahead and kiss him no matter how big he gets - and make sure he knows it. p.s. (this one is just as important for dad's too).

25. Be home base.
You are home to him. When he learns to walk, he will wobble a few feet away from you and then come back, then wobble away a little farther and then come back. When he tries something new, he will look for your proud smile. When he learns to read, he will repeat the same book to you twenty times in a row, because you're the only one who will listen that many times. When he plays his sport, he will search for your face in the stands. When he is sick, he will call you. When he really messes up, he will call you. When he is grown and strong and tough and big and he feels like crying, he will come to you; because a man can cry in front of his mother without feeling self-conscious. Even when he grows up and has a new woman in his life and gets a new home, you are still his mother; home base, the ever constant, like the sun. Know that in your heart and everything else will fall into place.

It's official, he has a kickstand! Our 4th sonogram this morning confirmed that I have a tiny penis growing inside my tummy! Meet Connor Steven Pratt.

Now that is my son. Look at him already showing off and posing for the camera. Jeremy and I cannot wait to meet him.

6/14/2011

When the last of the my three alarm clocks went off yesterday morning I seriously considered rolling back over and calling it a day. Getting up and getting out of bed was going to take some serious will power or possibly even an act of congress. I literally had to give myself a pep talk just to sit up.

After a shower and the makeup skills of a five year old, I finally drug the rest of me downstairs and into my office. I sat down at my desk, looked around and promptly decided that I certainly did not posses the necessary skill set to make it through an entire work day. I had no idea what to blame my complete lack of energy on but then again my give a damn was apparently marked as absent during roll call this morning too.

Somewhere around 1:00 pm I raised my little white flag and accepted defeat. I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. I had a prescription to pick up at CVS and since my period was also missing in action I went ahead and picked up a pregnancy test just for good measure. A part of me already knew that I was pregnant, but a much bigger part of me dismissed the idea completely.

As I was sitting at a stop light on my way home an unidentified flying object attacked my face. Something flew into my car and across my face at the speed of light. I had no idea what had just flown into my car but at the time I was more concerned with where it had landed. After a small thud I looked around waiting for this mysterious creature to introduce itself. Nothing. Fear set in. In a panic I rolled the windows down and thrust my body as close to the driver’s side door as possible. I just knew that this thing was going to attack me at any moment. I drove home in silence with only one eye opened as I winced at every sound I heard.

I finally made it into the parking garage of our building and jumped out of my car as if it were on fire. I located the tiny key chain flashlight that Jeremy had given me and began my forensic intensive search for the unwanted passenger in my car. After what I thought was a thorough search and inspection I still couldn’t find my little hitchhiker. I began to wonder if I had made the entire thing up or if days from now I would be attacked unsuspectingly while driving down the highway. I closed the doors, rolled up the windows and grabbed my CVS bag to head inside. Something told me to look inside the plastic bag. I softly opened up the bag and peered down into the bottom of it. A small brown and yellow butterfly sat quietly inside.

I set the plastic bag down on the floor of the parking garage and gently let the little guy out. He quickly scurried out and then moments later flew away. Some people believe that a butterfly is the personification of a person's soul....Meaning that if you see a butterfly, it might just be someone that has passed away visiting you or bringing you good luck. I burst into tears. I knew in that exact moment that I was actually pregnant.

Not only had a butterfly flown into my car but it had actually dive bombed my CVS bag. This was no mistake or coincidence. A positive pregnancy test minutes later confirmed that Jeremy and I were in fact expecting and with that baby makes three.

Yum Dinger and I are now officially cohabitating and blissfully living in sin. He moved in a few weeks ago and I must admit that becoming a domestic goddess has been a little tougher than I had hoped it would be. As a mostly single person for the past three years, I have become accustomed to jammin out with my clam out any old time I feel like it. Not being able to walk around the apartment in my birthday suit singing Wanted Dead or Alive has taken some getting used to.

Though this is not the first time in our long history to play house together we are certainly being more adult about it on our second try. (When I say we, I really mean just me.) Surprisingly enough I am learning how to share rather quickly. However the whole principle of “keeping my hands, feet and all other objects to myself” still escapes me. It is safe to say that my reputation of not playing well with others is quickly recovering from a long history of failed attempts. My 1st grade teacher, Mrs. Forton would be prouder than the parent of a fat kid in a cake eating contest at my recent skill development.

Life as an adult has certainly taken me by surprise, but I must admit that where I am now is exactly where I am meant to be.

Yum Dinger and I recently took a long weekend and got the hell out of Texas. I cannot begin to describe just how badly we needed some serious mileage between us and the rejects that we surround ourselves with on a daily basis. We booked a cabin on Lake Hamilton, loaded up the car, and drove to Hot Springs, Arkansas where we learned that inbreeding is still alive and well in the south.

We spent most of our weekend out on the lake in whatever vessel we could get our hands on. We started small, we went with Jet Skis right out of the gate. Though every rental place that surrounded Lake Hamilton advertised that they rented these little death traps we found in fact that they did not. Apparently there is a sand bar issue on that particular lake…..I cannot be sure at this point seeing as how we only dealt with twelve year olds at every turn. We finally found some unsuspecting idiots to loan us their jet skis on Lake Ouachita. We played in the water for hours like two monkeys slinging feces at each other. I could not wipe the smile off of my face if I tried.

The next day we rented a pontoon boat from yet another twelve year old that worked at the boat dock. He was quite possibly borderline retarded. Even on his best day he was in a close race with the likes of Forrest Gump. After Dinger and I had signed away the rights of our first born and given a blood sample to satisfy the written rental agreement, we finally boarded the boat. We spent the next four hours in our own little love bubble. As far as we were concerned were the only two people on the lake. Even though we did not catch a single fish, it was the happiest I have been in years.

On our last day in inbred heaven we arrived at the Arlington Hotel for a much needed massage. After the hotels famous Sunday brunch I made my way down to the spa in quite the chipper mood. I was ready to get this party started. I was introduced to a rather large woman as my masseur. She was at least six foot tall and had seen better days. She was wearing a stained apron and a banana clip in her hair. Though she introduced herself as Melanie when she shook my hand, I decided that the name Larry was much more suited given her stature and complete lack on interest in her appearance. Larry and I became very close during our short time together. I have had my share of massages over the years but I have never had my entire butt rubbed by a complete stranger. This experience was all together new to me and though I felt at least a little violated at first, I quickly warmed up to her sausage like fingers.

Despite the numerous brother cousins that we came in contact with during our trip, we had an absolutely fabulous time. It doesn’t really matter where we go though, Dinger and I could have a first class time at Wal-Mart on a Saturday night. We go together like Tiger Woods and white girls. Whatever our depraved minds are made up of, his and mine are the same.

Last weekend I took a trip to the great state of Oklahoma to visit some friends of mine. It had been an especially trying work week and I was desperately looking forward to a weekend void of any responsibility. I packed up my SUV, dropped my pug off at grandma’s and began the five hour journey to see my favorite couple, Clit & Kickapoo.

I should have known when my navigation system did not even recognize their address that I was going to be in for a real treat. Once I crossed the Texas border into Oklahoma all bets were off and I found myself trapped in hillbilly hell. It is often said that Texans are the not brightest light on the tree but there should be a special place in Wikipedia reserved for the wing nuts I encountered that particular weekend.

Somewhere between trailer park towns and the numerous Native American tribal grounds I decided that I was going to brave the locals and stop at the next gas station to relieve myself. I happened to see a sign for Loves, so I threw on the turn signal and made my way over to the ever popular hangout for truck drivers. I walked inside and immediately rushed over to the bathroom in an effort to avoid any sexual harassment from some random toothless wonder. When I entered the ladies restroom another woman was coming out of one of the stalls at the same time. She was in her late seventies or maybe even early eighties. She was wearing a notably large t-shirt with a wolf scene on the front of it. She had a Marlboro red hanging out of her mouth and at first glance it looked like her hair had not seen a brush in quite some time. She grunted at me “Good Morning” as she passed me on the way to the sink. Mind you it was almost 5:00 in the evening. The entire trip was pretty much a clown show from that point on.

I finally arrived at Clit and Kickapoo’s somewhere around seven. I should have been there much earlier however my GPS has an obvious sense of humor. My route that day was peppered in towns with a population of less than four and two lane highways that one could easily play chicken on. I was elated to finally be out of my car. I began drinking almost immediately. After a few cocktails and catching up on what everyone had been up to we decided to head out to a local bar.

I cannot even begin to describe the band that was playing at the bar. The lead singer looked like he had just come from a Billy Ray Cyrus look alike contest and both guitarists were sporting a mullet. In the short time that we were there they busted out a cowbell, a tambourine, a saxophone, and maracas. When the waitress finally approached our table I ordered my usual vodka water with three lemons. Kickapoo decided that sounded like something she could get into and ordered the same. Minutes later the waitress came back with two vodka waters with three slices of limes perched on the rim of each glass. She winked at us and proclaimed that she had even gone to the trouble of getting us some extra lemons before she turned and walked away. I looked down at my drink and scratched my head. Surely she understood the difference between a lemon and a lime? I flagged down our fruit expert and politely mentioned that I would go ahead and drink what was in front of me but on the next round I would like lemon instead of lime. She looked embarrassed or I could have been misreading confusion on her face. She apologized and told us that on the next round she would bring us a whole shot glass full of lemons. Way to go retard, offer to bring us the smallest container you have in the bar FULL of lemons. What an amazing gesture that was. We only stayed for about an hour before I begged the two of them to get me the hell out of there.

Later that evening after the three of us sat on the back porch drinking our troubles away I excused myself and drug my tired ass to bed. Somewhere around 2:00 am, I was awoken by the sound of a UFC fight in the next room. Clit and Kickapoo had obviously drank one too many and were now screaming at each other just outside of my bedroom. I could not make out what they were fighting about or if any blood had been shed but I decided to check it out anyway. A few minutes later I walked into the living room to find Kickapoo in her panties and Clit peeing in the backyard. I turned around and went back to bed.

The next day after having lunch and running around town we headed back to the house to grill out and watch The Hangover. I was delighted to stay in for the evening given my experience at the bar the night before. On the way home from the grocery store Clit asked me if I wanted to see the house owned by the woman that invented the stair master. Who could say no to that? We detoured past the road that led to their house and made our way over to stair master heaven. We pulled up to a mini mansion that had one of the most scenic lots I have ever laid my eyes on. This woman knew what she was doing. She had tons of land, a duck pond, countless trees, and had clearly spent more than I make in a year on her monthly landscaping bill. Kickapoo was driving down a side street to get a better view of the house when I noticed a rather large pile of rocks right outside of the gate. I looked back at Clit and dared him to jump the fence and steal one of the large rocks. I have no idea why I did this, however it sounded like an amazing idea at the time. Clit was game for a little B and E so we both exited the vehicle and stopped just outside of the gate.

A car full of meth addicts slowly drove past us as we were standing there. At this point, Clit began to get a little nervous and was telling me to “be quiet” and “just be cool for a minute”. It was almost as if we were in a lost scene from Stand By Me and I had just asked him if he wanted to see a dead body. Neither of us made a sound. Clit attempted to back out at the last minute. When I asked him if he had a vagina he decided it was now or never. He hopped then fence and ran over to the pile of rocks. He grabbed the first one he laid his hands on and ran like a girl back to the car. We both jumped in as Kickapoo sped away. The three of us laughed the entire ride back to their house as we marveled at our trophy.

We spent the rest of the holiday weekend sitting on the back porch drinking and laughing like we were five again. Despite their address, I really do love Clit and Kickapoo. They can always be counted upon for a good time. Whether we are making jokes at each others expense or robbing neighbors of their landscaping materials, there is never a dull moment. After all we had been through that weekend we were damn near family by the time I got back in my car to begin the ridiculous drive home.

I have had a certain man in my life for the past nine or so years. We’ll call him, Yum Dinger. We have a complicated love/hate relationship. I love him, he hates me. Well, okay so I guess it's not all that complicated. Anyhow, for better or for worse he has always been there. We are two peas in a pod. We go together like mustaches and child molesters.

Dinger and I usually like to spend our time somewhere between dating and being best friends. It’s a gray area that I would not trade for all of the free alcohol in the world. These days we are trying our hand at dating again and I must admit that it is going exceptionally well. I have been happier than a retard with a balloon. What can I say, the man makes me smile.

My mother and I recently took a trip to New York City. It was a first for both of us. We stayed in Times Square, we ate in posh restaurants, and even took in a Broadway Show. At the time we thought we were living our own little version of The Real Housewives of NYC. You would have thought that we grew up on the Upper East Side in a rent controlled apartment with a view of the park. We were absolutely ridiculous. We had lunch in Chelsea, we went shopping on 5th Ave, took pictures in front of the Plaza, and then one afternoon we had the bright idea to wander over to Chinatown. This is where our little vacation took a wrong turn and we almost ended up with our pictures on the back of a milk carton.

Mom desperately wanted a knock off Chanel handbag. She drug me to parts of New York City that were certainly not in any travel guide I have ever seen. Our taxi dropped us off on the ever infamous Canal St and so it began. Let me start by saying that the sheer amount of people piled in and out of these little makeshift stores was enough to send any claustrophobic into therapy for years. I immediately noticed that NYPD’s finest was also camped out on every corner. I could not decide if that was a good thing or bad thing. Either way it made for some nice scenery.

The first couple of huts that we went into had plenty of handbags but nothing with the kind of label that we were looking for. Every shop owner that we walked past tried to waive us in telling us…“We make great price for you”. “Come in! Have a look”. “Hey pretty lady you want Rolex?’. I have never been so popular in my life. I was eating up all of the attention and really enjoying myself but Mom was on a mission so we pressed on. After a few more “stores” we began to realize that tracking down anything with the word Chanel on it maybe harder than we thought. We discussed giving up and calling it a day. Suddenly I heard a voice behind me whisper “You want handbag? Gucci, Prada, Chanel?” I turned to find a rather small Asian woman in large black sunglasses nodding me to follow her. I looked over at my mother and told her to follow me. We had hit the jackpot.

The small woman, we will call her Connie Chung, was wearing a brown hoodie that was at least 3 sizes too big for her and kept talking on a walkie talkie as we followed her down Canal St. Connie told us to stay far behind her so it would not look like we were following her. This was evidently not her first rodeo. Every few minutes or so she would look back and make sure that we were still there. Before I could say Jimmy Choo she had led us off of Canal St. and into some real shit. The streets signs were now in both Chinese and English. I no longer saw any other tourists passing us on the streets. Now we were surrounded by little Chinese woman carrying grocery bags and Chinese men sitting outside smoking cigarettes. I looked over at mom and whispered that we may be in “Big trouble little China”. She of course did not get the reference and gave me that same funny look that she always does when I throw something random at her.

After what seemed like miles Connie finally turns around again and whispers to me “No more store, you look at picture”. I had no idea what she meant. At this point we were so far into this misadventure that I really didn’t care. I had to see how this played out. Connie gets on her radio again and I see another woman across the street talking back to her. This one was much taller and you could tell by the way she carried herself that she was much higher up on the counterfeit ladder than Mrs. Chung. Once we made our way across the street the taller woman pulled out a laminated piece of paper from underneath her Bra. She was a real class act. She had us go stand in a corner and open it up. Once we opened up the sweaty piece of paper we saw that it had pictures of handbags on it. I now understood what Connie Chung had whispered to me earlier. Mom sorted through the 50 or so handbags and picked out one that she wanted to look at. I nodded to the tall broad to come back over as we had made our choice. My mother pointed to the picture of the one she wanted to look at. Before we could get another word in, she said yelled at us that it would be “90 dolla”. I burst into laughter. I seriously thought she was kidding. She apparently did not think this was funny at all and snatched the paper out of my moms hand and walked off.

Mom and I looked at each other and knew that we might be in some serious trouble. We were now deep into Chinatown and all kinds of lost. I was not positive that we would be able to find our way back to Canal St. I started picturing myself being sold into slavery and forced to work in the factories that make the handbags. I had leap into action and use whatever brain cells I had left over from my teens. I grabbed mom by the hand and started trying to retrace our steps. Connie saw us making our way back with out a purse in hand and gave us a dirty look as we passed her. What an amazing friend she turned out to be. We finally made it back to Canal St after making a few wrong turns and seeing things I really could have lived my entire life without seeing. The streets were once again peppered with pale faces and women wearing fanny packs. I had never been so happy to see poorly dressed Americans in my life.

I was checking out a particularly good looking member of the NYPD standing a few feet away from me when I heard another voice behind me whisper.. “You want handbag”. I turned to Mom hoping she would have had enough of Chinatown and wanted to keep walking. This was not the case. I was surely high if I thought for a minute Mom was prepared to leave NYC without a beautiful knockoff on her arm. The woman was on a mission. I turned to the voice I heard behind me and nodded that the deal was on. This time our tour guide was an adorable little Chinese man. I immediately named him Fried Rice. He was a much better fit for us as he did not seem near as sketchy and smiled almost too much. He was wearing a delightful little button down tucked into his khaki pants. I liked him right from the start.

Fried Rice took us behind a park just off of Canal St. and led us into a building that was within spitting distance of the Manhattan Bridge. Our new friend did not speak as much English as I would have hoped but he knew enough to get the job done. He took us into what we thought was an apartment but ended up being handbag heaven for my mother. Every square inch of the place was lined with every label you could think of. From floor to ceiling was nothing but handbags in every color of the rainbow. My mother finally found one that suited her and began the long bargaining dance that Canal St. is known for. Fried Rice eventually settled on a price that seemed fair to the both of them and we said our goodbyes.

Mom and I eventually made our way back to civilization and into a cab. We had made it out of this near disaster alive and well despite our better efforts to completely throw caution to the wind. Mom marveled at her new handbag and I vowed to never set foot on Canal St. again.

I am almost positive that I was born with a certain amount of anger management issues. I take an active effort to control the part of my brain that wishes to bitch slap the majority of people that I come into contact with. As I have gotten older this task has gotten much easier. It is a rare occasion that others can see the better looking version of The Incredible Hulk that lurks beneath the surface of my smile. A few days ago my ability to control this beast completely failed me and I unleashed some serious misplaced anger on an unsuspecting contractor. My timing however ended up being impeccable as I turned the perfect shade of green for Saint Patrick’s Day.

I was at work and chatting up and incredibly handsome gentleman that had stopped by my office. A few minutes into my fake laugh and perceived interest into what he was saying one of my residents walked in and asked if he could interrupt me for a moment. My first thought was to tell him that he already had. Instead of my usual snarky comment, I went with something like “sure” and followed him outside to the parking garage so that he could show me how a large truck was blocking the exit gate.

A contractor had parked his truck just outside of the gate completely blocking it from both sides. Before I got close enough to see what he was doing I called out to the poorly dressed man standing next to said truck and did what I thought was the obvious thing given the situation. I told him he needed to move his truck because he was blocking our gate. This clearly did not go over well with Mr. Pit Stains. He began shouting and throwing his hands up in the air like a wild monkey. As I got closer to him it appeared that he had been working on a portion of the gate track. My boss was of course MIA at the time and had evidently failed to mention to me that she scheduled a contractor to repair the gate.

I suddenly found myself standing in the middle of a pissing match between two grown men. My resident was yelling at the contractor to move his truck and the contractor was yelling back some sort of nonsense at the both of us. I considered for a moment just letting the two idiots fight it out and calling the rest of the staff to watch. I ended up going with the alternative. I used my “outside voice” to get the attention of the contractor and told him to calm down. This made Pit Stains very angry. In addition to speaking to me like I was a five year old he also managed to work in some expletives here and there. He was now screaming at me. After telling him at least 3 or 4 more times that he needed to calm down and stop yelling at me I realized that I was trying to reason with someone with the IQ of a potato. I gave up.

I ushered the resident past Pit Stains and directed him to an alternate gate that I had momentarily forgotten about during all of the commotion. The resident was able to finally exit the property. I waived him goodbye as I started to walk back to my office. I was approaching the back of Pit Stains bent over working on the gate. I attempted to just walk past him and go on about my day. I knew better than to try to reason with this clown. He however was clearly ready for round two of The Hulk vs. Pit Stains. He jumped up just as I was almost past him. He walked over to me and right into my personal space.

He apparently had overheard me apologize to the resident regarding his behavior and really the situation in general. He now wanted to know where his “EFFIN apology was”? That was it. That was the exact moment that I lost all control over my mouth. In a split second I turned into a ten foot tall bullet proof broad from somewhere along the Jersey Shore. More than a few of the vile phrases that came out of my mouth that day could only be found on urbandictionary.com. I was spewing words at him so fast that I am pretty sure I made up at least one or two of them. I was screaming obscenities at him and shoving my finger in his face. I am sure I even used some moves I remembered seeing on the Jerry Springer show in the early 90’s. I pulled out all of the stops for Pit Stains….. He truly got some of my best work.

Who knows how long this spectacle went on for? I was certainly out of my mind at the time. Thankfully, the entire scene ended as quickly as it began. I threw out one more “Who the French do you think you are?” and abruptly turned and walked away. Pit Stains however serenaded me with his extensive four letter vocabulary until I reached the front doors of my office.

As I sat back down at my desk moments later I was not at all proud of myself. I had just declared war on a complete stranger. Not exactly one of my finer moments. Luckily my handsome stranger was still patiently waiting for me in my office. I went back to tossing my hair and giggling like a school girl in record time.

In my experience, repulsive and completely random things just do not happen to people on a Monday. Usually this task is reserved for Friday or Saturday nights and almost always involves alcohol. Sadly this was not at all the case for me last Monday. I have to admit that after Brett Michaels I thought I would have been better prepared for the preposterous side show that found its way into my living room. To my surprise I was entirely mistaken.

It started off as a quiet evening at home. I had just gotten out of the bathtub when my blackberry went off. It was the OG and he wanted to come over. I was a little surprised to hear from him. We really had not spoken much since the night he silently crapped his pants while we attempted to watch The Hangover. My first instinct was to tell him that I had already prepared to call it a night and he should probably be doing the same at his age. Instead, I eventually caved and said what the hell.

He made it over to my apartment in record time. I was still in my robe when I heard the knock on my door. As I went to let him in I wondered how in the hell he got over here so fast. Either I am entirely too predictable or he had been sweating to the oldies earlier in the day and was still in hyper speed.

I brought him into the living room and told him to make himself at home. He sat down on the couch and began flipping through channels on my TV. I figured he would be okay on his own while I changed into my pjs and finished up in the bathroom. A few minutes later I heard him rummaging through my refrigerator and helping himself to whatever he found. Though I was a little annoyed that he was digging around in my kitchen like a meth head in full tweak mode, I had to remember that I was the genius that told him to make himself at home.

I emerged from my bedroom only a few moments later. As I walked into the living room and took one look at the scene in front of me it was all I could do to remember to breath. I stood there in silence for what seemed like forever. I remember thinking that I had to have been dreaming because this kind of shit just was not possible. Sitting on my couch in all of his glory was the OG… butt ass naked eating tangerines.

This lunatic had actually removed all of this clothing, ransacked my refrigerator, then sat down on my couch and made himself a little picnic. I looked down and noticed that certain parts of his body were nestled in between my couch cushions and this was not the kind of situation that a little febreeze could take care of. His sad little man boobs were ever so gently resting on top of his stomach where he also had 3 tangerines camped out waiting for their turn to be peeled.

After I picked my mouth back up off of the floor I finally managed to speak. I asked him just what in the hell he thought he was doing. He proceeded to tell me that this was his idea of a practical joke and that he was just trying to make me laugh. I could not even respond. I threw his pants at him and told him to get dressed. As he was shoving his own little tangerines back into his pants he kept asking me what was wrong.

At this point I knew that this would be the last time the OG and I saw each other. It became more than obvious that the only time he and I had any chemistry is when I was completely snockered. Since I was not prepared to become a full blown alcoholic I did the grown up thing and told him that it was time for him to leave. I walked him to the door and locked it behind him. I spent the next hour cleaning my couch cushions and throwing out the rest of my tangerines.

I certainly do not remember sitting down one evening with a glass of wine and writing out my new life plan. However it has become apparent over the past month or so that I may have entered the witness protection program with out my knowledge. I woke up the other day and realized that I had made more than just a few changes in my life without so much as blinking an eye.

I rolled over in bed that particular morning and noticed that the sun was pouring in my bedroom window. It took me a second to remember that I had pulled my curtains back a week or so before to “let some light in”. If you have spent any time in any of my apartments over the past few years you would know that I prefer to live in a cave. Sun light has always been my nemesis and I pride myself on walking into my apartment in the middle of the day and having to adjust my eyes to the utter darkness.

A few minutes later I drug my tired ass into the bathroom to turn on the shower. I glanced over at the mirror and almost didn’t recognize the brunette with sleep in her eye that was staring back at me. Flash back to New Years Eve when I got the brilliant idea to dye my hair and remove any trace of the blonde locks that I had sported for the past 28 years.

Later that morning after going to battle with some random A hole and then mastering the art of looking busy, I snuck outside to enjoy a few moments of quiet and a cigarette. I grabbed my pack of parliament lights and headed for the door. I almost didn’t recognize the box of lung cancer in my hand. I had smoked the ever popular Marlboro Lights since I was 16… When exactly did I switch brands? And more importantly.. Why?

Cut to an hour or so later and I am sitting in the break room eating lunch two complete clown shows. The two of them have their taco bell spread out from one end of the table to the other. It somewhat resembled the last supper and I was half expecting someone to ask me to drink their blood. I proceeded to open my neatly packed tupperware and dive into the fresh fruit I had cut and prepared for myself the night before. Just as I was going to open my bottle of water the clown show asked me if I wanted to split a coke with her. I reminded her that in addition to recently becoming a vegetarian I also was no longer drinking sodas. This was the moment that I realized we were not in Kansas anymore.

I never make new years resolutions because I never stick to them. I find them pointless in this respect. Looking back, it’s almost like I was trying to trick myself into making a few improvements by not putting too much focus on them. Thus it seemed like a lot less work. I am not sure this says much for my intelligence level though…. I mean how dumb do you have to be to be able to sneak attack yourself?

The moral of the story is I stopped eating meat 35 days ago. I stopped drinking cokes almost four weeks ago. I finally broke down and bought a scale three weeks ago. I went from drinking crown and coke 2-3 nights a week to vodka and water only one night a week. As of this morning I am eight pounds lighter and the future is looking so bright that I may have to wear shades.

So last Monday night I found myself a little lonely and in desperate need of some entertainment. I had been in Florida over Christmas and surrounded by people for days at a time. Sitting in my apartment staring at the walls did not sound like a fabulous idea. I looked over at my suit case that I still had not unpacked and the piles of laundry next to it that I could surely do to occupy my time. It only took me about three seconds to pick up the phone and text the OG instead. He was standing outside of my door within an hour.

As I opened the door I let out a small sigh and smiled. This time he was more appropriately dressed and was looking rather dashing in his black rimmed glasses. Moments late we found our way over to the couch and opened the bottle of wine that he had brought with him. This evening was getting better by the minute. He had also brought over some fruit that he peeled and fed to me. This wasn’t quite as lame as it sounds I promise. It’s not like he cut it up for me baby style and said here comes the plane right before she shoved it in my mouth. This was much more adult and to be honest kind of endearing. After a few minutes of “How was your Christmas” and “What are your plans for New Years” we decided to watch my new favorite movie, The Hangover. I turned off all of the lights in the living room with the exception of the Christmas tree. Everything was set for a nice quiet evening at home. I snuggled up next to the OG just as the movie started to play.

This is where the evening starts to go down hill and fast.

I realized rather quickly that my date for the evening was not the movie buff that I considered myself to be. I had to remind myself that he had probably been around when silent movies were all the rage and may still be getting used to a color television. After almost every scene he would ask me “So what’s going on here”… I would spend the next five or so minutes explaining to him the premise of the movie or the reason why I laughed at a particular line. We were not watching The Talented Mr. Ripley or Clockwork Orange. This was the kind of movie even a five year old could have grasped.

Just when I thought things could not get worse they did. I was still snuggled up to gramps when he hit with me with some of the worst gas I have experienced in my adult life. I had just been bombed by the ever infamous silent but deadly fart. I immediately looked over at him in complete disgust. His eyes were fixated on the movie screen; he did not dare look at me. I started to dry heave just a little as the fumes made their way through my nose. I knew this maneuver all to well seeing as how I had just pulled the same shenanigans on my brother Christmas Eve in church. I had blown him out of the water just before we sang Silent Night. He told me later that it was like being hit with a heat wave and that he thought he might have even inhaled some of it. I now knew first hand what I had put my brother through.

You would have thought that the one that he let get away would have been enough motivation for him to clench his butt cheeks together for the rest of the movie. This was not the case. I sat there for the next hour or so holding back tears from the poisonous gas that surrounded me and practiced holding my breath for as long as I could.

It is a little known fact that the older people get the more they loose the ability to control the noises, or smells for that matter, that come out of their anus. I considered asking OG if this was in fact the case but reluctantly I sat quietly as he blasted me 3 or 4 more times during the movie. I tried to my hardest not to burst into laughter when even the dog jumped down and went into the other room.

So I started seeing someone new recently. I think at this point I have come to the realization that I either attract or am only attracted to someone that is an absolute hot mess. Let’s call him "The Original Gangster" or “OG” if you will. He is old enough to be my father and I am pretty sure that when I first met him he was wearing a smoking jacket.

I met up with OG for a few drinks last night. I had already tied one on pretty well when he walked into the bar. As he was approaching me I noticed he was wearing a plaid jacket and if I remember correctly there were some patches involved in there somewhere. Had I not been so inebriated I am sure I would have mentioned his attire and most likely asked him what in the hell he was thinking when he got dressed for the evening. However at the time I think I was just trying to concentrate on holding myself up at bar.

Cut to a few hours later and we have stumbled our way down the canal and found ourselves back at my place. After we ransacked my apartment looking for a lighter and raided my fridge we both passed out. We somehow managed to jack up my bed so bad that for a few moments I was trapped in my comforter and for the life of me could not figure out how to get out of it.

I am not exactly sure what time it was when OG woke me up in the middle of the night but I know this much… the words that came out of his mouth were right up there with “I smoked my mom”. This bastard wakes me up and tells me “Baby… I can’t find my gun”. What the hell? Your what? Apparently he had been packin some heat underneath his Mr. Rogers jacket the entire evening.

At this point not only has he woken me up to tell me that he has lost his gun in my apartment but now he wants me to help him look for it. What an amazing date this turned out to be. I somehow free myself from the jaws of my comforter and begin tearing my apartment apart looking for this mystery gun. He proceeds to tell me that he hid it somewhere and he cannot remember where it put it. I ask him why in the world he would hide his gun from himself in the middle of the night. He has no idea. With that kind of logic running around in his head I am now sure that we are destined to have children.

We eventually find his 45 after looking in every drunk person’s favorite hiding places. We looked through my pots and pans, we tore through my closet, we opened the dog food, and I am pretty sure we even looked in the Christmas tree. When I woke up this morning it looked like my apartment had been burglarized.

When I was a kid my mother faithfully dropped us off for school every morning. It was always the same routine. She would undoubtedly still be in her house coat and her hair gave new meaning to the term "bed head". My brother and I were not exactly morning people which attributed to much of the silence on the way to school. As we opened the car door and reached for our bags she would tell us that she loved us and then just as the car door was closing and we were rushing off to greet our friends she would call out to us "learn something". She said it every single day.

I have never paid much attention to Mom's little catch phrase. It has always been just another one of her eccentricities that make her mom. I sat down today to reflect on 2009 and her words popped into my head once again. "Learn Something". Looking back over this last year I started to wonder if I had in fact learned anything.

Top 10 Things I learned in 2009

1) Trying to drink my weight in crown and coke on a random Tuesday never leads to anything positive.
2) Spending any significant amount of time at work often makes me want to punch babies or the elderly.
3) I am apparently going to have to learn some kinda of tricky voodoo jazz so that I can put a curse on my BFF's house so that it will never sell and she will be forced to stay in DFW with me.
4) Brett Michaels only takes a crap in complete darkness. That is just weird.
5) No matter how hard I pray or what kind of deals I try to make with God, I will never get to date a real honest to goodness vampire.
6) Dating a man that is the spitting image of my husband and literally old enough to be my father was never a good idea. Interesting yes... but a horrible idea.
7) I can eat Chipolte once a week and never get tired of it.
8) It is absolutely possible to be so hung over that even your hair hurts.
9) Brett Michaels is, was, and will always be a total douchbag.
10)No matter how hard I fall or what mistakes I make, I am lucky enough to have people in my life that love me unconditionally and are willing to help me put the pieces back together.

I recently started seeing a grief counselor and I somehow simultaneously became mentally unstable. It’s interesting how the two coincide. But hell, I had to do something. My life was quickly becoming a really bad episode of the real world . I was undoubtedly the drunk girl in every season with her Ed Hardy hat on sideways screaming obscenities at everyone within a one mile radius.

I knew in my heart that the steps I took on my own to push through my emotional rollercoaster were only baby steps and really getting me no where. People say that toddlers look like a drunk person trying to walk when they first start out on their feet. Needless to say I took this to another level and went ahead and added crown and coke into my regular diet.

I have only been to two sessions and I am more than ready to give up completely. I meet with Dr. Evil every Tuesday. After our first meeting, she recommended that I come in once a week instead of every other week. I believe that was her polite way of telling me that I really needed a designated “out of order” sign to wear around my neck everyday. I agreed.

Last weeks session was like jumping off of a high dive in the middle of winter in your birthday suit. I was not at all prepared for the flood gates that followed. I did not know which was way up for the first couple of days and then went ahead and ended the week with going bat shit crazy on Brett Michaels. He packed up his things and left the next day.

Following that train wreck, I tried to leave town for the weekend and go out to my family’s farm to “get away”. This was not my brightest idea to date. My poor mother drug me around parts of Texas that even legislation had not seen for decades. I could barely get out of the car most of the time, my stomach was in knots, and I would have rather milked a bull then put food in my mouth. This road trip obviously did not work and I found myself praying for Monday.

I have another appointment with Dr. Evil tonight. I am not exactly thrilled at the idea of spending another hour locked inside a tiny room full of mirrors and questions that I do not have the answer to. Since fleeing to Costa Rica is not exaclty an option for me on a random Tuesday, I will have to settle for picturing her head as a basketball and squishing it while she is talking. Surely she will not be offended by this.

Somehow over the past few weeks my life has spun completely out of control. I have become this retarded drunk monkey of a dumb ass that I certainly do not recognize. I am not sure which way is up anymore. Any lurking sense of responsibility or self respect I may have had has completely left me.

I have been on this rollercoaster ride that I will admit at times has been incredibly fun, but at the end of the day (or the next morning) only leaves me feeling like Forrest Gump on a blind date with Condoleezza Rice.

The moral of this story is that I am officially a complete mess. I have got to do something to fix this. It’s almost as if I decided to drive strait to a little place I like to call “insanity” without passing go and without collecting my $200. Where in the French is my get out of jail free card?

Consider this my formal notice that I must get my crap together.

My brother and I recently took cruise down to Cozumel. To give you even a hint of the four days that followed after we boarded the boat… We were almost too drunk to make it to the safety drill. We were sitting in our room with our life jackets on contemplating how we could hide from the crew.

After this monstrosity of a vacation, we both come down with some kind of viral shit that could knock a linebacker on his ass. Eric started to feel bad while we were still on this ship; you can imagine how much fun he was on the last night and the 5 hour trip home the next day. I of course thought he was being a pansy and that he had just had too much “fun” in Mexico. We fought like two crack heads over the last piece of a rock. It was not pretty.

To my utter disbelief, I come down with the same shit he has been “whining” about for two days. All of the sudden I feel like I have been run over with a dump truck that subsequently reversed itself and went ahead and ran back over me. I have a 104 fever and would really like to shoot myself in the head.

I realize at this moment that I have made a fatal mistake. I had shipped Eric off to my mothers to avoid any further gun slinging from our encore of cowboys and Indians. I could just picture him being waited on hand and foot by the greatest caretaker this side of the equator. He would be getting five star resort mints on your pillow kinda treatment and here I was hunkered down at my place with a blanket covered in dog hair and a refrigerator that had not seen any resemblance of food in weeks. Immediate action had to be taken. Eric flew home the next day and I could not get to my mothers fast enough.

The next evening I found myself snuggled in freshly laundered bedding and things being brought to me like I was some kind of royalty. Even my pug was grateful to have blown that Popsicle stand. I spent the next 5 days either sweating or chattering my teeth. I did not get out of bed for much and I had to be reminded that it might be a good idea to shower. Thanks mom.

Eric and I eventually made our peace and we have put away our claws. I realized he was not a pansy and he got to tell me that he was glad that I got sick. All in all, everything worked out in the end.

Between working my A off and dealing with an over dramatic clown, I managed to find the time to login to facebook yesterday. I made my usual rounds checking status updates and shoutin out to my peeps when I came across a comment on my wall that stopped me in my tracks.

A friend of mine wrote to tell me that one of my ex boyfriends would be getting out of jail soon. This apparently inspired a certain skeleton in my closet to mouth off that "this was a step up from what other men in my past may be up to these days". I of course gave her the stink eye through my computer screen.

At first I thought her comment was tacky and useless. But then I looked at the facts. Unfortunately this little trip down memory lane would end up being more true than it was an attack on my ridiculously big ego. Lets look at the line up shall we...

1) Eric (1st relationship) He now goes by Erica.
2) Josh (High school boyfriend) The jailbird in question.
3) James (brief lapse in judgement) Prison- robbery and possession
4) Andy (Husband) 2 DWI's, Habitual Liar, Completely Retarded.
5) Brett Michaels (Most recent relationship) Smoked his mom.

I immediately forgave her.

In high school I was voted "Most likely to date someone with a prison record" by my journalism class. Seems more and more fitting every time I think about it. Mind you, this is not my entire dating laundry list. I have managed to find a handful of incredibly charming and responsible men that I keep in touch with to this day.

I think by now I have kissed enough frogs, I am ready for a prince. Hell at this point, I would settle for a law abiding citizen.

Is it possible to have writers block when you are not a writer? It happened to dawn on me today that I have not been a faithful blogger in the past few weeks. I usually have at least one interesting little tid bit that I feel the need to share with the world, but lately nothing. Nodda. Zilch.

Before I started this post I tried to think of something noteworthy that happened to me recently. I could not come up with a single thing. What could this mean? What in the helicopter have I been doing to keep myself busy? Have I become this boring run of the mill person with nothing to make fun of? This simply cannot be possible..... I will have to put my thinking cap on and come up with something soon.

Stay Tuned.

Meet Ethan! He was born on 7/2/2009. Jennifer (my best friend) and Chris are the new proud parents of this handsome boy!!!!!

Needless to say I have been dreading this past weekend like a wart on your vag. I would have rather slipped into a coma for 72 hours than gone through my first fathers day without my Dad. Obviously this was not possible. With my brother thousands of miles away, I decided to take this opportunity to hibernate with my pug inside the comforts of my fabulous new apartment.

I had a weekend planned of pj's, take out, and a trip to blockbuster. After the week I had, it was in my best interest to stay away from the general public... mostly for their own safety. However there was one small hole in my plan, I had agreed much earlier in the week to go out with Brett Michaels on Friday night. Though I had absolutely no desire to be in any public venue where I would run the risk of seeing anyone with their father or even just happy people in general. I knew it would be good for me to get out of the house for at least one night.

I drove out to Saginaw to pick up my date for what was to be an evening I will always remember. As I was waiting in my car for Brett to come out, I thought to myself that no matter what, I really did want this evening to be fun. I needed laughter and I needed uncomplicated. As Brett walked up to my car I felt the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up. No matter what I have said about this man or the sheer fact that he smoked his mom, he still does things to me. I wish I could explain or better yet even describe it. He is just sexy. Even in his horrible clothing and his terminator sunglasses... I just want to jump him. Moving on.

We get to dinner and we immediately begin our playful banter. One of our favorite past times is to horribly embarrass the other person in public. We also have this thing where we thumb wrestle and/or play tic tac toe at the table while we are waiting on our food. As we are sitting there, we start going over show times when Brett informs me that he has to be home by 1:00am. I ask Cinderella why he suddenly has a curfew at the ripe old age of 31. Brett then tells me he has to be home by 1:00 am not because he will turn into a pumpkin but because he is sporting a new court ordered ankle monitoring device. I ask you... What the french?

Brett has had some trouble with drinking in the past. He may have one or two or even three DWI's under this belt. This much I knew. However, the powers that be recently decided that he could no longer be trusted and gifted him with this beautiful new bling for his ankle. Again... What the french? Am I really sitting here? Is this really happening? I sat there in silence for what felt like forever. After that, all I could do was laugh. I mean really... what is a girl to say when their boyfriend may have been on an episode of cops?

I am not sure if I always over react or he always under reacts in these situations, but I found myself again sitting next to him in complete shock. Did my little mom smoker really just tell me that he is wearing a flippin ankle monitor? As always, Brett tries to simplify the problem. He tells me that it is no big deal because he only has to wear it for three months. THREE MONTHS? When did I sign up for this and how do I cross my name off of the list.

I wish I could tell you that I took Brett home after dinner. I didn't. We still went to the movies, I still laughed my butt off, and I still let him hold my hand in the theatre. I spent the rest of the weekend as planned. I held myself hostage in my apartment only coming out for food or to walk the dog. I watched the 103 movies I rented at blockbuster, I cried like a five year old, and I hit ignore on my cellphone more times than I can count.

As many of you know, this week has been especially tough. With fathers day rapidly approaching I have been quite the bitter bear. I would really like to find a random person to stab right in the eye.

Between my tearful eyes and total lack of regard for others on Tuesday, it turned out to be a complete douche of day. Oddly enough, all I wanted in life that day was a chocolate chip cookie. I cannot explain it. A) I do not like chocolate B) I rarely crave sweets. It was all I could talk about at work and I made sure everyone in my path new about it. I wanted a big fresh baked chocolate chip cookie and I wanted it delivered to my desk. Obviously this did not happen.

I ended up completely losing it when I got home from work. I was ridiculous mess and as always I reached out to the one person in my life that always understands and never judges me, my mom. I called her in tears and regurgitated everything that had been running circles in my head. She listened and offered to come over to be with me. Minutes later mom showed up at my door in her PJ's. In her hand was a giant fresh baked chocolate chip cookie.

I had not mentioned to my mom during our phone conversation or at any other point that day that I had been craving a chocolate chip cookie. A drug rep had brought in lunch for her office that day. She originally brought the cookie home for herself. On her way out of the door that night she remembered the cookie and brought it with her. Somehow she knew that I might need it.

It was a perfect day in Chicago. 75, sunny, and a cold beer in hand. The boat rocked gently as we laughed and enjoyed the warm summer sun. It was the kind of day that you dream about while sitting in your office. You picture the blue waters of Lake Michigan, the pristine white boat glistening in the sun, your friends laughing and telling stories of the night before, and the incredible backdrop of the city just outside of your reach. Then a boat named Controlled Chaos rolled in.

If I had to guess I would say that there was at least 20-25 people on this boat. It had speakers the size of a small Asian man and it sounded like it was a floating MTV beach house. Everyone was dancing and jumping to the beat of what could only be described as "Now that is what I call ecstasy volume 2". The women were rocking their "boat dance" as they worked the poles and the men pumping their chests to the repetitive beat. I could safely bet that the only sober person on that boat was the eight year old that was jumping off of the back of it.

Then came the bubbles and the siren. It was like a floating gay bar within a matter of minutes. Every time the DJ blew the ridiculous siren, each of the dancing retards (now pronounced ritards) went ape shit. Everyone on our boat was of course fascinated with this floating clown show. It was like a car crash... we could not take our eyes off of it.

To our horror we saw another boat approaching. The second boat was just as full of people high on everything but life. As they passed us, we realized that their music was even worse and I didn't think this was even possible. After several attempts, the boats were finally able to hook up despite the impaired mental capabilities of each passenger. The two boats then combined into one floating ecstasy trip. At that point, the laughing from our boat got much louder.

One boater in particular seemed to grab our attention. She had long brown hair that was pulled into braided pig tails that hung at her side. She was wearing a gold bikini top and a white wrap. She was shaking her groove thang like it was about to fall off. She moved to her own beat and really did dance like nobody was watching. She had a drink in hand and raised her glass about every thirty seconds without missing a beat. It was obvious that this was not her first boat party. She had been perfecting her boat dance for some time now. She was a rock star, well at least in her head.

We left before the floating STD or as it is better known to the club kids in Chicago... "Controlled Chaos". With the kind of party that was going on above deck, I can only imagine the DNA that was being shared below deck.

I leave for Chi-Town today. I am beyond ready for a mini vaca. I'm going to let my hair down and party like it is 1999.

This weekend will be the first of many that I will spend with my brother. We have become so close since Dad died and I can honestly say that I don't know what I would do without him! I am also looking forward to meeting my nephew for the 1st time. Mr. Jameson. You could bottle and sell the sheer amount of adorable that is in this picture! I am sure that he will love me as much as I already love him!

I know that the next few days will be full of laughter and also tears. I am ready. I cant wait to run up to Eric and Jamie in the airport and give them a big hug!

I could not get rid of Brett Michaels fast enough this side of three months ago. The man was on my last nerve and I wanted to break his knee Kung Fu Panda style. I stopped taking his calls and tried to move on. Unfortunately, this was not as easy as I first thought. As much as I wanted to strangle this man, I started to miss him after a while.

Brett was a big part of my life for the better part of a year. He was there when no one else could be. He made me laugh and he never, not even once, put up with my shit. (I so need that) I missed the things he brought to my life. Also known as the things I easily forgot once he started to annoy me. Things like him giving me a hard time or sending me a stupid text message during the day. I missed his dumb laugh, his retarded jokes, his constant cleaning of my kitchen, the sound of his voice, the way he eats, how he let Jersee sleep on his neck at night, his genuine desire to make my home better in anyway he could, the way he scratched my back, how well he got along with my family, his southern manners, the way he held my hand every time we where in the car, his ridiculous nick names for me, and mostly... his friendship. Above anything else, Brett and I were friends and I missed my friend.

He spent all last weekend with me. He was so much happier and thankfully back to his old self again. He was fun to be around and he managed to keep me laughing from the time he came over until the time he left. Brett is uncomplicated and I so appreciate that about him. There is no stress about where this is going or when can he see me again. We are both incredibly independent people and I need that right now.

I am not expecting the "fairy tale" when it comes to Brett. Its this simple, I will let him make me happy until he doesn't anymore.

Tonight is my last night in Plano. Break out the Boons Farm.... I am finally out of there. I am going to waive my hands in the air and I am going to waive them like I just don't care.

I have never been more ready to leave an apartment. Every time I wake up in that tiny shoe box I am reminded of the night I got a call from the hospital about my Dad. It's like a dark cloud lives over the roof of my apartment and I cannot seem to escape it. That place is haunted with memories of terrifying pain and such incredible loss that I pity the person that moves in after me. On top of that I half expect to see Brett Michaels playing guitar hero in his pajamas every time I open the front door. I am ready for a new environment. I am ready for change. Not Obama kinda change... but change none the less.

Shortly after my Dad passed away I made the genius move to purchase a sign to go in my living room that read "There is no place like home". As soon as Brett Michaels was done hanging it I wanted to throw them both out of the window. That apartment was never home. Too much happened. I am looking forward to making a home for myself again. Maybe if I click my little red stilettos together a couple of times, I will wake up tomorrow and be right where I want to be.

RIP Chris Daughtry.



Your time has ended. You have been voted off of the island. Your tribe has spoken. Walk the proverbial plank.

It all went to shit when his WIFE text me over the weekend. Yeah I said wife. Needless to say she was just a little bit bitter. I immediately broke up with both of them. I am not that girl and you know what... I never thought he was that guy. But apparently my judgement is considerably off lately anyway. It was an easy decision in the end and I have no regrets.

Thank you and good night. ;)

Yeah.... not sure how these things happen to me but they do. So I was showing an apartment yesterday to the sweetest little old lady. When I say little, I mean she was TINY. She may have weighed 100 lbs soaking wet. She was very sweet and went on and on and on and on. Usually this would annoy me to no end, however I happen to have a special place in my heart for the elderly. Anyway, she managed to tell me her entire life story from her son dying in Iraq to how she continues to loose and gain weight. We were pretty much BFF by the end of the tour.

This is where it starts to go down hill fast. She is looking at the closet space in the bedroom and begins to tell me about the amount of clothes that she has accumulated. She starts to tell me about how she has recently gained 20lbs. I look at her skeleton of a body and proclaim that I could not even imagine what she looked like 20lbs lighter. She then tells me that at 20lbs lighter she had absolutely no breasts and that all she had were nipples on her chest which made her look like a boy.

She said nipple at least 3 more times during our tour. Every time the word came out of her mouth I had to try to stop myself from picturing her sad shriveled little nips. This is a task I was sadly unable to accomplish.

Do you ever want to just block out the outside world for a good week or so? I swear every few months I want to scream "SHUT UP" at the top of my lungs and crawl into hole and hibernate for as long as possible. The thoughts in my head during that time are loud enough that I simply do not need the outside distraction. I want to throw my email into the bog of eternal stench and put my phone on silent for at least 7 days.

Its not that I dont want or need people, its just that sometimes I need to internalize things for a little while and gain some prospective. I am not shutting you out... I am shutting me in. I refuse to stay in this padded room for long because at the end of the day I am a people person and I desperately need my family and my friends.

Things have gotten a little fuzzy lately. Time seems to be running in circles around me and I cant seem to make sense of it all. For instance I looked up one day and it was May... The last time I remember looking at a calendar it was flippin March.

I found out recently that I will be moving once again, I really should invest in my own moving van at this point. By the end of the month I will be back in the LC. I am looking forward to being closer to my family and it also helps that my new pad will be pimptastic. Did I really just say that? Ladies and gentleman, let the packing begin.

Brett Michaels has recently started calling again, the first couple of times I did not answer the phone. I remember the first time that I had heard his ring tone in a while, my head turned to the side like my pug does when she hears a funny noise. I finally answered on the 5th or 6th call I am not sure which. We talked for 20 minutes or so. He is doing well, still living the dream out in Saginaw and trying to get his life back in order. He wants to be friends... I guess I don't see any harm in that? He wouldn't be the first person I would call if my little hut was on fire, but I think more so he meant that he needed a good friend, and that I can handle.

My friend B Dub and I were recently at The Cheese Cake Factory for lunch when we noticed an interesting item on the menu. B Dub, always being the fun one, first notices this ridiculous monstrosity and brings it to my attention.

They actually have a dish called "Weight Management Grilled Chicken". Seriously? I mean seriously?? Who orders that? I can just imagine sitting there and looking up at the waiter with a strait face and ordering the Weight Management Chicken?? Come on now, they could not come up with a better name than that? I immediately picture a sad little chicken breast laying on a plain white plate looking awfully defeated and possibly even ran over. The menu describes it as "Lightly Pounded Chicken Breast Charbroiled and Topped with a Tomato and Arugula Salad. Garnished with Steamed White Rice and Asparagus." After reading their description the chicken I am picturing in my head now has a face and is wearing a black suit. He is laying next to 4 pieces of white rice and he is holding a sad little piece of asparagus in his hand.

The best part ... They trademarked the name! Needless to say B Dub and I ordered something else off of the menu.

You would think with as much time as I have had on my hands this weekend I would have blogged more by now, but I think the pain meds pretty much keep me on the couch in a slight daze, which is okay by me.

So I am a complete clown. We all know this. I fell...... yes again. I fall all of the time, I can trip over absolutely nothing and be completely sober.This takes some skill. In fact when I first got my WII Fit and took a balance test the stupid thing actually asked me if I run into walls or something to that effect. How rude! I fell down the stairs walking my dog on this particular occasion.

Big shout out to Chris my BFF's husband. Had he not been able to come over to my apt Wednesday morning and drag my ass down the stairs I might still be laying in the floor of my apartment. It was like that episode of Sex in the City where Aidan came to get Miranda out of the bathroom. Except I wasnt naked. Thank GOD.

So the moral of the story is that I have fractured my ankle and I am staying with my mom for god knows how long until I can get my butt up and down the stairs again. I can't complain about mom's house though. She has been an absoulte angel! I dont know what I would do without her! Jersee and I are being waited on like we are at five star resort!

Well kids I did it. After an incredibly draining week in Hot Springs I needed something to take my mind off of the thousand thoughts that were racing through my head. I welcomed any distraction. I chose to go on a date. Yes I know that renting Twilight for the 15th time would have been a less risky choice, but I had a good feeling about this one.

I had been texting back and forth with a boy we will call "Chris Daughtry" (as always for the protection of his identity) that I met on POF. There was definitely a connection from the start, but you know how it goes with internet dating, you usually have better odds in a casino. I was hopeful but not expecting anything other than coffee with a stranger that would at the very least give me something to blog about other than the horrible week I had just a few days before.

So I kept my word and met him for coffee on Friday afternoon. Without question it was definitely a "Good Friday". I made sure that I would arrive before him so that I could do the ultimate girl thing and make my way to the bathroom. Hair check. Make-up Check. Yep I was good to go. Then he walked in. I was pleasantly surprised. I was instantly comfortable around him and he somehow managed to take my mind off of everything that was slowly eating away at my heart and soul.

Looking back I dont think we even had any uncomfortable silences, we went through coffee and our backgrounds without skipping a beat. We did the first date donts of talking about past relationships and I think I even brought up politics. OOPS. But when have I ever played by the rules?

I had made "plans afterwords" also known as the get me the hell out of here plans that never really existed. I did this so that we would not have an infinite amount of time on our hands..... you just never know. I had casually mentioned during our conversation over coffee that my wallet was stolen while in Hot Springs. The man actually offered to go over to the mall with me and help me pick out a new wallet. Hello? Huh? What the french?.... did that really just happen? I jumped at his offer.

After I FINALLY found a wallet that suited my taste I did the Melissa thing and confessed that there were really no other plans later and asked if he would he like to go grab something to eat. I know someone out there is throwing their hands up in the air and telling me that I am an idiot. But that's okay. I am used to making it up as I go.

We had dinner, we had chemistry, and we had a damn good time.

I realized the other day that I have not been "out" in 3 months. What the French? I sit at home day in and day out. I have rented so many movies in the past few months I may be the only one keeping blockbuster is business. About the only time I put on make up these days is to go to work and sometimes that itself is a clown show at best. Besides the Valium and wine I am now using to sleep at night I need to find myself a better time. This just aint doin it!

I know what this is, this is me using any excuse necessary not to deal with the loss of my father but so be it. I need/want something to make me excited again, something/someone to spark my interest. I need a welcomed distraction damnit.

With Brett Michael's tour finally ending a few weeks ago, I did the smartest thing I could think of and joined plentyoffish.com again this week. (pause for those out there shaking their heads) I am not even sure why? It was not pleaseant the first time around and more than anything it was for shits and giggles for my friends and I to make fun of some of the lets call them "interesting" emails I received on a daily basis.

Within two days I received at least 30-45 emails. Which 99% of them were a complete monstrosity. The moral of this story kids is that I cant sit at home any more. I cannot crawl into a hole and hibernate for the next six months. I have to get out of my fabulously decorated apartment and mingle! We will see how it goes.

Being on my own again is wierd. I hate it. Its not that I don't know how to be single, lord knows most of the time that I prefer it. I am just not good at it anymore. I used to enjoy my time to myself. I could sit around the house and wear something old, something borrowed, and something blue without caring what I looked like. I could eat cookie dough and lay on the couch drinking Dr. Pepper right from the bottle. (Sexy picture I know!) I could sleep until 2 in the afternoon on the weekends without some jackhole telling me that I am waisting the day away. My pug could sleep on my neck and snore right in my ear without someone telling me that it was distracting. This fabulous life that I used to know vanished completely on December 8th.

Now I cant sit alone in a room without picking up the phone to call or text someone and it is usually a person of the opposite sex. I am looking for something or someone to replace the gigantic hole in my heart. I know that, I am not stupid. I think what pisses me off the most is that I have become insecure. What the French? That is so lame! I have NEVER been insecure. I have always been oddly confident! These days I cant stand to be alone and I am rarely sleeping on top of that. I think if that if I had to calculate how much sleep I have had in the past two weeks I would average 4 hours per night. Some nights I do not sleep at all.

I thought after my father passed away that I was handling it as well as to be expected but now when I look back at my rapidly deteriorating behavior over the past 3 months I see that it is only a matter of time before the wind is completely knocked out of my sails.

We all know what guys think with most of the time and I think most of us have come to accept that. I know I have. Girls are different though. I would like to think of myself as the kind of girl that doesn't run completely on her emotions but instead manages to slip in some good judgement from time to time. However in the words of Juno, I really don't know what kind of girl I am.

Well it's official, Brett Michael's tour has Finally ended. ( I know some of you are jumping for joy) I woke up yesterday morning and I just could not look at him anymore.

Things started to go down hill rather quickly over the past couple of weeks. We used to spend almost every day together then it went to just every couple of days. Finally this last time he made the long haul from Saginaw to Plano he was there for less than 24 hours. I could not get him out of my house fast enough!

Looking back to when we first met, it amuses me that the things that I once thought were sexy are now some of his most annoying qualities. On our first date I was so enamored with this man that I could barely sit still. I thought he was sex on a stick and I could not stop staring at him. I remember telling my co workers and friends how nervous I was around him. I was fascinated with his mannerisms and the way he spoke. Even the tiny scar under his left eye sent me to places in my imagination that I had not been before. Cut to a little under a year later and almost everything he does makes me want to high five him in the face!

Don't get me wrong, my relationship with Brett had it's purpose. It was not all bad, he was there for me during a time that no one else could be. I needed 24 hour attention after my father passed away and Brett was there to listen and to help in anyway he could. He packed a bag and moved in with me for most of December and all of January. I will always have a special place in my heart for him because of that.

Brett had a good run and he made for some pretty interesting blogs but in the end I knew that if I did not let him go at that very moment that I would soon grow to hate him and he doesn't deserve that. As I say at the end of any relationship that does not work out, he will make someone very happy one day it just isn't going to be me.