What Up?

With me?  Funny you should ask, but big fat nothing, thanks for asking!

Not that I'm complaining; sometimes a lack of news is not a bad thing; it just means that there's no drama going on which makes for a very boring blog but no offense, faithful readers, I'll take it.  I'm dead tired of drama.

SO!  While the entire world was fascinated by Baby Cambridge, I myself was fascinated by another story about another British baby...aka Liam Gallagher's love child.

See, you don't know me like that yet, but I used to love, love LOVE Liam Gallagher.  I mean, he was my hero of Britpop, and not just because we shared the same birthday (Sept 21 in case you're interested in sending gifts) but also because I found him sexy as shit.

Dude did not age well:

But hey, who am I to say, I certainly have not aged as gracefully as I would have wished, but at least I don't have illegitimate children all over the world. And how happy am I now that I didn't accept his proposal of marriage that he made to me...in my mind...

Moving on, not a lot to report, really.  Life is continuing; oh, I did make a long overdue appointment with a gynecologist and let me just say: I do believe your gynecologist is the most important person in your life, because my last appointment (which was, let's say...many years ago) was so traumatic I have avoided the experience ever since.  However, this time, I trusted the judgement of my mother and my sister and went to their recommended doc, and although I would not say that the experience was pleasant, it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been.  He was congenial, quick, and efficient.

Even though...after the fact both my mother and sister confided in me stories about this man's infidelity with some of his interns; I mean, really?  I could have gone my entire life without having this information; why, for the love of God, why would you tell me that my gynecologist was a philanderer?  Allegedly.

Regardless, he is an excellent doctor and made me feel not at all self conscious and even switched up my meds a little bit when I let him know that the Wellbutrin wasn't quite working for me.  In fact, even though I was no longer crying in the shower before work every day, I found that I was very angry and aggressive.

So, we're back to Zoloft, and I'll keep you posted on how that's going.  So far, so good, but it's early days.  The Nooge and The Rottenator are relieved that I no longer want to kill them...on a daily basis.  It's been downgraded to once a week...tops.

Mood Ring(tone) of the Day...(ick, Liam we are SO over):

So Cheating...

First off, go here to see where I'm stealing this idea from; I do so love his blog.

Anywho, here we go:

1. What's something people might ask you for help with?

Answer: grocery shopping:  I have mad skills when it comes to food shopping on a budget; give me a price limit and I will give you a week's worth of food to feed any sized family.  Recognize.

2. What's something you might ask someone else for help with?

Math...and math...did I mention math?  Throw in a spot of algebra while you're at it; I could do with a refresher in that, too.

3.  Did your family take summer vacations when you were a child? If so, where did you go? If you're a parent, did/do you plan summer vacations with your own family? Did/do they resemble those you took as a child?

Edisto Beach, SC.  It's basically the only beach I know, and the only one I want to vacation at...although I hear the Gulf Shores of AL are lovely and I would like to vacation there at some point in the near future to see what their beaches are like.

4.   Pool-lake-ocean...which one is most appealing to you on a hot summer day?

Ocean...see #3

5.  Have you ever justified using the expression, 'you gotta be cruel to be kind'?  Was it really necessary or were you rationalising?

No, never.  I tend to err on the side of caution; I can never bear to hurt anyone's feelings.  What's the point of giving someone a bad day?  

6.  The Journal of Psychology recently mentioned the results of a survey identifying the ten most hated foods as-liver, lima beans, mayonnaise, mushrooms, eggs, okra, beets, brussel sprouts, tuna, and gelatine.  Of those foods, how many do you actually hate? Anything you'd add to the list?  

How could you possibly hate mayonnaise? If I had anything to add to the list it would be sweet or bread and butter pickles...they are an abomination.  Everyone knows that pickles should be dill or sour.

7. What's your favourite book or movie set in a beach or lake town?

Prince of Tides or Conrack.  I have watched both numerous times and I make no apologies.  Both are awesome.

My Mood Ring(tone) of the Day:

 I miss being in the UK...

Born In The Wrong Country...

I am British at heart.  Always have been. I don't know where I get it from, really, probably from my dad, but I have always been drawn to the culture across the pond, as it were.

My Dad was an Anglophile as well.  I was first introduced to Dr. Who via PBS when I was a mere babe.

Tom Baker was my first Doctor.

Though David Tennant is my favorite.

Benny Hill was my first introduction to British comedy (although I still don't get the appeal; too slapstick for me, but so are the Three Stooges, which my Dad also loved, so there you go.  Male humor at it's worst).

But then came MTV...and the Young Ones...

And Billy Idol...

And Sting and the Police...

And then...Oasis and Britpop happened...

Oh my God did I love Liam Gallagher.  I mean, yes, Sting was my celebrity crush for many years, but Liam was the shiz-zit.

By the time I happened upon Liam, I was a professional celebrity stalker and one of the proudest moments of my life was tracking him down in NYC at his favorite hangout, the Irish Pub, and approaching him whilst he was singing along with his own music on the jukebox.  I told him how awesome he was and gave him an uncrumpled American dollar so he could play more of his own songs just to watch him enjoy himself.

He was very sweet and Mancunian mumbly. I was very Southern and nervous so unfortunately, it did not work out for us. Such is life.

I think Britpop is the music that will always define my life.  I think we all have those moments in time that we hold onto; probably when we were in our "prime"; for me, it was the early to mid 20s.  When I still had hopes and dreams and thought I was going to be something special.

Not a middle-aged woman working in payroll.

Whatever.  Life is full of twists and turns and I wonder how many of us turn out the way we think we would.  I guess I will never be the celebrated writer-slash-amazeballs-chef living in New York City married to a British rockstar, but still...maybe in the next life time.

Meanwhile, I shall leave you with my four most favorite British Ring(tones) Of the Day...my only regret is that I never saw all four out of four live in concert.

Jarvis Cocker, you owe me one.

I Should Not Be Allowed To Have Free Time

'Nuff said.

And another thing...

I first started this blog over a year ago; 02/12/12. And I've kept it up for over a year...albeit just slightly.

Still and all, well done me.

Down the Rabbit Hole

Damn.  I really thought I was going to pass through this cold and flu system untouched, but I'm beginning to fear not.

Hopefully it's because my period is about to start, and possibly because I had to slice up a particularly strong-smelling onion for dinner, but I am sniffly, my eyes are burning, and I feel feverish.  And I've been dizzy all day which, as my mama always said, could be fluid in my head.  From the ick.

I have been downing Airborne and Zicam like a mofo but I think these pussy-assed homeopathic remedies have failed me.

Tonight I'm going hardcore: Nyquil, Advil night, Mucinex, gin, tonics, you name it, I'm downing it, and hoping to spend tomorrow in a coma drooling on myself in my comfy bed.  Hopefully alone.

No news to report, oh, other than almost losing the Nooge to the bowels of the house.  We were cleaning out the airfilters the other day, and we live in an older house, so the vents are basically just holes in the walls or floors covered by grates onto which thin filters are fitted, supposedly to keep out dust and other toxins, but I scarcely believe it because the three of us still walk around sneezing our heads off constantly.  Probably due to the lead pipes or asbestos, god knows.

Anyway, so the Rottenator and I had left our dining room for a split second, me to grab the dustbuster because I have become fanatical in my cleaning, and the Rottenator to...god knows, just wander off because God forbid he was having to do something that didn't involve the couch or video games, and when I returned to the dining room I was met by the vision of two orange furry feet and a big ass tail poking out of the hole.

That's right.  A headless cat.  A headless half-cat.  I did as any good mother would do when her baby was in danger: froze, panicked, and starting screaming hysterically for the Rottenator.

"He's in the floor!  Our baby is crawling underneath the house!"

The Rottenator responded as any good father would: "Well, get him!".  Actually, he was quite effective during this CATastrophe (ha!  yeah, I know, but I had to go there).  He bounded into the room, and in one quick scoop, grabbed two feet and a tail, and pulled the baby free.

The only thing I could have done to be a worse mother would have been to stop and take pictures, but that I did not do (again, not so quick with the action or the thinking in a time of crisis am I), so these images are as close I could find that would accurately describe the scene.

You get the idea.

But, crisis averted, and the Nooge is okay...for now...until he pisses me off.

My mood is not much better; tried to watch a movie with the Rottenator and he just "didn't get it".  Never does.  But he's trying.  Which makes me feel worse.

Definitely time for bed.

My Mood Ring(tone) of the Day:

I chose the video with the lyrics.  I find them quite apropos.

30 Days of Thanks...in one post or less

Tis the season...

1. My family
2. My job
3. Money
4. Normalcy
5. The Internet
6. Cable
7. Top Chef
8. Brit Pop
9. Razors
10. Makeup
11. Hair Color
12. Bras
13. Insight
14. My Brain...most days
15. The Rottenator...some days
16. E-cigs
17. Buffy
18. New York City & London
19. Cell phones
20. Diet Cherry Pepsi
21. Electricity
22. Freedom of religion, or the freedom not to have any religion at all
23. My country
24. Cars, and the ability to drive them
25. Forgiveness
26. Christmas
27. Snow
28. The ability to appreciate beauty in almost anything
29. Inner peace
30. Spell Check

Keeper

So, this morning, I couldn't find my cell phone (because I often have to store it in awkward, forgettable places in order to keep it from the Nooge's destructive grasp while getting ready for work, natch) and I grabbed the Rottenator's phone in order to call my own.

As one is wont to do...

And as I searched through his contact list to find my own #, I found that this was the picture he was using in place of the little Android bug to indicate it was me, his perfect precious princess, (as he often refers to me...in my imagination) calling:

*sigh* I guess I'll keep him.

Now, I just need to find a reason to keep the feral barn cat that masquerades as my catten.

And incidentally, I need to post another pic of my hair.  I got it cut and thanks to a hairdresser with curly hair and a knack for talking people into purchasing products, I've gotten SOOO many compliments on it.

I just have to wait until I have the energy to dye it so my gray roots aren't showing so much.

Work is still exhausting.  If you knew me, you'd be stunned, terrified, dare I say, to know that I just may be controlling your paycheck.  Muahahhaha! (insert diabolical laugh here).

Because, this pretty much sums up my numerical skills:

All for now; here's to a weekend of bbq, the Barnyard, and bleeding like a stuck pig.

TMI?  Okay, sorry, should have left out the bbq part.

My Mood  Ring(tone) of the Day:

But before I get to that, open letter to Pandora:

Seriously?  I create a station where the "root" groups are Suede, Blur, Pulp, Oasis, Radiohead, Coldplay, Mumford and Sons, and the Sex Pistols, and suddenly you're throwing Train, Nirvana and Daughtry at me? What the what?!??!  There needs to be a little more pattern to your randomness, please.

Money Can't Buy...what, exactly?

Whoever said "Money can't buy happiness" was obviously an obnoxiously rich depressed fuck or some hairy arm-pitted hippy, because, lemme tell you, having a little bit of scratch does make the world better.

No, the Rottenator and I are not rolling in it yet, but our financial situation is more stable than it has ever been in the entire time we've been together, and although we still have our quibbles and squabbles, our relationship is better too.

Because you know what?  Money can buy a reliable car, dinners at mid-scales buffets, a little peace of mind, and lots of cat treats and e-cig accessories.

Which leads to less stress.  And less stress = less violently angry Rottenator which makes the world a more enjoyable place.

The way to a man's heart truly is through his stomach...and his love of football.

Which why this jersey:

And tickets to this game this weekend:

are probably the best purchases of my life.

Other than this:

In other me related news, I had a great time at my sister's house this weekend, babysitting her chirren:

who are just the most hilarious and beautiful children in the word.  It was my sister's birthday, so I purchased these for her (she's a Gamecock and Bill Murray fan, obvs):

In fact, I don't believe I would be exaggerating if I were to say that Bill Murray needs to hire extra security.

Just sayin'.

So anyhoo, things are still going well.  New trainer at work, hurrah!  Which makes it a lot better.  Speaking of that, I think that the US of A needs to rethink it's work schedule.  Or at least my company does, because 4 days on/3 days off leaves me much more motivated.  In fact, even after a weekend away from home, I still managed to do laundry, clean the house, go to the grocery store, and post some mail.  Having a free day during the normal "work week" should be a routine...for me, of course, not for everyone else, because then I wouldn't be able to get my shit done, which would defeat the purpose.


To recap:

New car...

New washer and dryer...

New accessories for the car...

Life is pretty darn okay right now.  Only two things would  make it complete...

New Rottenator and new Nooge?  Say what!??!

I kid...kinda...

My Mood Ring(tone) of the Day:

Magnetic Personality - the video edition

Thanks to the Bloggess, I was introduced to the music of this chick who wrote this exquisite song.

Amanda Palmer is fucking brilliant. The above video led me to this one:

which I love for obvious reasons (Owaysis Roolz!)

Her style reminded me of this band:

And this band:

And this song:

And it made me miss my old/young self even more.

The current state of my fitness plan...

*sigh* Oh, well.  Tomorrow is another day.

In the meantime, I am enjoying the closing of the Olympic ceremonies.  Rule Britannia!  It was like the soundtrack of my formative years was playing.  My Anglophilia was reborn.

So was my love of one Liam Gallagher.

God how I did and do love that man.

Vast improvement on the hair front.  Would have a pic tonight but as I sit here with a Biore strip across my nose I feel that now is not the appropriate time.

The Rottenator is out of town and though I'm used to being by myself at night, he is usually only five minutes away whereas tonight he is 2.5 hours away so it is a little different.  And the Nooge isn't helping matters; every pop and creak of the house causes him to jump and stare blankly into dark shadows with black eyes which is not the most soothing thing in the world.

So, I'm off to bed while I am still relaxed enough to sleep.  I did get some cleaning done today, as well as my nails, so overall...successful weekend.  We'll just forget about the hot fudge sundae that served as my lunch and roll on.

Sealed With a K.I.S.S.

So...more about my life with a 10 year old's tastebuds.

God knows I love the Rottenator. But God also knows that I love cooking.  Hence the dilemma.

I adore cooking.  I spend hours planning meals, grocery lists, scouring the internet and Pinterest for the best recipes that I lovingly prepare with my own little hands in Bella Cucina for our little family of two (soon to be three, but more on that later).

So imagine my dismay when I proudly present my latest masterpiece and it is met with a tepid response.  Or, even worse, a visible shudder.

My delicate little heart is broken.  Especially because the meals I research are not for me, oh, no, they are intended to delight a certain individual who, despite outward appearances, is a picky eater.

Oh, yes. The Rottenator does not have what I would call a refined palate, but he has a definite list of likes and dislikes.

Likes: chicken, cheese, bbq sauce, bread, with an occasional ground beef or pork chop thrown into the mix, and all-you-can-eat generic buffets.
Dislikes: everything that makes life worth living sour cream, cream cheese, Ranch dressing, mayo, soy sauce, anything healthy.

Therefore, my options are limited, and my creativity is stifled.  And I feel frustrated and stabby instead of appreciated and cherished.

Fine.  I'm making a decision and taking a stand.  If I do continue to feel like cooking after my full-time employment begins, I will implement the following plan: K.I.S.S.  Keep It Simple (for) Stupid.

Yes, I am a little bitter.  That tends to happen when you steal someone's joy.

How I'm feeling today (yes, three videos, one for every letter in PMS):

Smokin' Hot

Okay, so yeah, I'm a smoker, and have been for going on like...20 years.  It seriously is a hard ass thing to quit, lemme tell you, especially when you have no desire to quit whatsoever.  Whew, then it's really rough!

However, I've recently moved into a residence where there's no smoking inside.  I know.  One part of me was like, "there's no way in hell, screw this place!" but then I saw the kitchen, and was all in awe and in love with it and stuff, so the other part of me was like, "dammit!"  At least there's a chair on the porch.

Yes...I have a porch...with a rocking chair.  It's awesome.

So, while I haven't been successful in completely giving up the cancer sticks (there's been stress lately accompanied with thoughts of murder and mayhem) having to go outside has definitely cut down on my formerly one pack a day habit.

Plus, other than the bonus of it being cheaper (are you kidding me with how expensive those things are?  As JJ* would say, "it's riDICulous!) I have to tell you, I really do love living in a house that doesn't smell like smoke.  I love that my clothes don't smell like smoke, I love not opening the door and being accosted by the fumes of tobacco and tar.

Basically, I love not living in a cancer house.  I've always been like that, though.  I smoke, but I don't like smelling like it.  I'm the asshole who reserves a non-smoking room in a hotel and smokes in it because yeah, I'm gonna smoke, mother fucker, I just don't want to stay in a room that smells like someone else's smoke.  Mmmhmm, yep, I think I'm entitled and shit.  Okay, but before you yell at me about that, I'd just like to clarify that I actually do not do that anymore, so don't even start.  Number one, I don't have the bank to stay in any hotels, and number 2, I got busted and thrown out of a hotel once for doing just that, so I learned my lesson.

Which brings me to the point of this post which is, essentially, a simple two step guide on giving up smoking written by a smoker who has not yet given it up, but certainly appears to be heading in that direction, so who better to give unsolicited advice?

Kathleen's Awesome Guide to Awesomely Quit Smoking Those Awesome Cigarettes.

1.  Move into a residence where it is against the rules and is written into your lease that no one is allowed to smoke inside of the house at any time for any reason.

2.  Don't be a rule breaker.

Ta dah!  That's all it takes, and you too will one day be an almost former smoker like me.  Good luck!

Lesson of the day: Being a sloppy smoking drunk may seem cool in your 20s but go ahead and plan on giving that shit up on your 29th birthday because after that, it ain't pretty.  And on that note, I would still like the following song to be played at my funeral (I just don't want that funeral to be like, you know, next week or anything) :

*JJ is Judge Judy, natch, for those of you not in the know or familiar with her awesomeness.