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less than invincible

Once upon a time, I would respond to illness with
"well, time to get to bed earlier"
"I haven't been eating particularly healthy food"
"shouldn't have had so mucy vodka in my diet Sprite last night"
"perhaps second hand smoke is catching up with me"

So when I find myself feeling really crummy and I have been getting plenty of sleep, I have maintained a diet of healthy food, I haven't had any alcohol, and I haven't so much as been near cigarettes for over a week, I get frustrated.

My body is having a fit at getting enough sleep, processing healthy food with no alcohol, and enduring no smoke? What the hell?

I'm not going to respond by staying up all night eating White Castle hamburgers and Cheetos, drinking rum with Diet Coke, and smoking cigars, but at my most fuzzy-brained moments, it seems like a decent plan.

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how to tick off sports fans

Mr. Hubby wasn't feeling fantastic yesterday, so he invited Mr. Lee to a basketball game with me. I had planed on going alone (and perhaps trying to sell the extra ticket), so I could get there extra early to enjoy listening to the pep band and really get into the game.

As we approached the arena, Mr. Lee exclaimed - "Now what kind of ball game is it?" And once we sat down, he looked at the clock and said "There's only two quarters, right? And uh . . . . which guys are ours?".

A dude who looked mildy related to the greenish pigish creatures who guarded Jabba the Hut kept turning to glance at us, with ever increasing levels of irritation.

I thought the pigish dude was going to hop backwards to our seats when Mr. Lee (have I mentioned lately that he's a fantastic pain in the ass nihilist??) said "Wow! It seems that all sports fans are big dorks - it makes sense really, that they want to identify with winners . . . ."

SO. Note to self:
As much fun as it is to sneak tiny bottles of rum into basketball games so you can spike your $4 diet coke in the bathroom, SOME PEOPLE can't hold tiny amounts of hard liquor and behave themselves in that physiological state in a sports arena environment, and could possibly cause trouble.

. . . .

As punishment for his insolance, I had Mr. Lee go grocery shopping with me for two hours - since we went to Super WalMart, he fit in just fine. ;)

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the down side of platonic friendships

Mr. Lee and I are not genetically related, and yet he is very much like a brother to me. I have no authority over him, he has no authority over me, and yet, we get frustrated when the other is making what we perceive to be a potentially stooooopid move.

We have an open schmack-talk policy, we rarely hold back our opinions around each other, much to the entertainment of anyone in earshot.

My general policy about our obvious gender difference is: "I don't care what you do with your wiener, don't tell me about it, I don't wanna know"
I'm positive the same goes for Mr. Lee vs my hoo-ha.

In fact, he's refused to go out with me while I was wearing a short-ish sundress in the middle of a heat wave.
(Covering eyes and grimacing)"Where the hell are your pants! Put something on!"

Another example?
It took us seven years to go to a swimming pool together.
The dialoge? "Nice spider veins!" "Really? Who shaves your back hair?"

etc. etc. Then we go on to poke fun at Mr. Hubby for acting like he's roughly six years old and uber-caffienated.

I hope I've portrayed this clearly - we are dead set against recognizing obvious differences between us, beyond mild "Boys are stupid" or "Girls are so fussy" comments.

Anyway. In the midst of my fingers-in-ears LaLaLaLa-I-can't-hear-you, when Mr. Lee offers up information about what he's up to when he's not at work or hanging out with meeeeeee, I actually do end up forming opinions - and it's a pain when they don't match up with his opinions. In short, a gal has to be a hell of a catch to be good enough for my Mr. Lee.

One day, I'm going to make a daughter-in-law absofuckinlutely miserable.

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in-home sales parties

I attended a fun rubber-stamp sales party last night at a friend's house. It reminded me of kindergarten, a group of women around a large kitchen table, art supplies strewn around, laughter, apple cider, cheese and crackers, etc.

Perhaps I should say the first two-thirds of the party was fun. When we were done playing with crafy supplies and snacking, the questions began:

Is anyone interested in hosting a party of their own?
No, and I can't explain my current clean-freak streak or how I'd have to take a day or two off of work to prepare my house for company 'cause I'll be damned if a newcomer to my home gets the impression that I'm not tidy . . .

Are you interested in purchasing the big catalog for ten dollars?
As much as this would be facinating toilet-top material, why would I pay for something urging me to spend more money?Besides, I think most of the stuff is overpriced and 50% of it is about as interesting as putting a costume on a concrete goose in an effort to seem witty or something.

Are you ready to place your order this evening?
Ummmm, as much fun as I'm having, and I really would get a kick out of owning $200 worth of stampie-crafty-schtuff, I've just returned from a fantastic trip that set back my "no credit card bills by New Years" goal, and I've been trying to save up some fun-money for a $40 kitty-cat ragdoll I know is going to be at a craft show this weekend . . . maybe I could talk myself into thinking that I'd save money on holiday/greeting/birthday cards, but I usually buy el-cheap-o cards in the first place and modify them myself . . . oh no, I seem to be the only person not buying anything, hope she doesn't think I'm a jerk for using up her supplies, what if the hostess regrets inviting me 'cause all I did was play with crafts, eat her food, make her children hyper, and then not contribute to her "hostess benefits".

My actual answer to the questions? I blushed, looked at my hands and shook my head no - which really isn't like me at all. My job as papershuffler extraordinaire has given me a knack for giving people negative news in sympathetic yet cheerful manner.

I was the first person to leave the party, the sales lady was too busy processing orders to notice me sneaking out, and I mumbled some sort of husband/house/dog excuse before hugging the kids goodbye and fleeing the house.

And now the hostess of the party is waiting 'till the end of the work day today for my order.

I'm not sure what I'm going to do/say.

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na na na na hey hey hey goodbye

So Saddam has been sentenced to death?
Anyone surprised?

I oddly feel a bit disturbed by the whole thing.

Enough political schmack, I'm glad the elections are over, I was going to wig out if I got one more negative finger-pointing piece of mail - I ended up voting for a person another party was trying to portray as evil incarnate.

In any case, happy Elvis Wednesday to ya, I hope to rear my ugly head and visit some other blogs sooooooooon.

Mr. Hubby invented a new nasty kitchen smell while I was gone, so I spent the evening cleaning like an OCD manic machine. I swear, I thought he must have dropped an entire pizza behind the stove or something. Naaaaaaaaaaaaaasty.

Boy version of "clean" house is SO MUCH DIFFERENT than girl version of clean house - but that's an entry in itself, and I've gotta return to the cubicle (yes, Madame D - OF DOOOOOOOM) and slay stacks of paperwork. At least it doesn't smell like a port-o-potty on a hot day . . .

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