See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil

Things that have been greatly alarming in the past week:

My neighbors having passionate fights in their underpants.

The talking heads on Fox News.

Blogger vs. Troll Wars.

It's been quite a week. Thanks a trillion to all you lovely people who contacted me about my last post. I promise, I'm doing much better, and we can now return to our regularly scheduled silliness. Y'all are rock stars, and I love ya more than my luggage.

Today's Actual Conversation: Happy Mother's Day!

And she wonders why I blog about her.

Happy Mother's Day, mama. Thank you for this conversation.
Scene: Kitchen. Dad is "making breakfast", which translates to destroying the kitchen like a whirling dervish, using every single pan, plate, and utensil, and almost setting the kitchen ablaze. Mom and I look on in horror. Over the din of crashing flatware, this conversation arises.

Mom: We're supposed to use...chee-a-bata? Cee-a-a bata bread?
Me: Ciabatta.
Mom: C-eye-a-bata? Cia-Obama?
Me: (head in hands) Ciabatta.
Mom: Cymbalta?
Me: That's an antidepressant. Ciabatta. It's Italian.
Mom: Chewy-bacca?
Me: That's a Wookie. CIABATTA. CIABATTA. CIABATTA.
Mom: (triumphant) It's like Star Wars bread!
Me: Mom, why don't you sit down before you hurt yourself.

You have GOT to be kidding me.

Michelle Duggar is pregnant AGAIN.

For the three people who don't know, Michelle and her extremely fertile husband already have seventeen children. SEVENTEEN. They're also Krazy Kookoo Khristians, who wear garb not unlike the (also terrifyingly fertile) polygamy sect that has so recently been inundating the news.

Now, I love kids, don't get me wrong, and people can go and do all the wackadoodle things they want, but COME ON, LADY. I've had the delightful pleasure of seeing the numerous TLC specials on the Duggars and their "parenting" "methods." Basically, the older children raise the younger ones, leaving plenty of time for Michelle and her husband (Lord help me) Jim Bob to read the bible and boink their brains out for Jesus. They have a huge compound in the sticks somewhere that they (read: the kids) built themselves, and if they are finally outed as having an arsenal of automatic weapons covered in needlepointed prayer doilies, well, you can just knock me down with a feather.

These kids don't have a life. They're homeschooled, they only interact with each other; hell, even their "church" is in their house. Someone's going to snap. Hopefully, all of them will. I'd love to see them all grow up and form an 18 member death metal group, entitled "Fuck You, Mom and Dad."

As someone more witty and astute than I once said: "It's a vagina, not a clown car." Close your legs, Michelle, before your whole reproductive tract falls the hell out. GAH.

My big girl blog!

Well, here it is. A real blog. Oh, I've dabbled. A livejournal here, a myspace there. But then I realized that I am not, in fact, fourteen years old, and should get on this whole really real bloggy thing.

I am very sick of the word "blog."

I'll be importing a bunch of my old stuff, but should get up to date fairly soon. Until then, hang tight, my naughty little monkeys. Mama'll be back soon.

Best Movie Poster Ever

Best. Movie Poster. Ever.

Now, everyone knows I am a comic book nerd. I'm one of those people that will hiss "It's a GRAPHIC NOVEL" through gritted teeth. I was very popular in high school.

Now, I'm an X-Men girl all the way, but I do love me some Batman, especially in the Arkham Asylum vein. And I loved "Batman Begins" and not only because I want to do very, very, very dirty things with Christian Bale.

(but that's a factor too.)

Now! "The Dark Knight" is almost upon us. And as sorrowful as I am that this was Heath Ledger's last film before his untimely death, I will soldier on through that and continue to be wicked excited about seeing this movie. This movie poster only makes my little fangirl heart soar all the higher. Witness!



Awesome, right??? I mean, I was excited simply because this was a Joker That Was Not Jack Nicholson, but...zowie. If I was a college freshman again, this poster would totally be on my dorm room wall.

PS: Heath's Joker makeup looks not unlike what I look like in the early stages of washing the makeup off my face at night. Because I am bringing sexy back. Call me, boys!

A Plea to the Masses

A Plea To The Masses!

(I have accidentally erased this THREE TIMES, and yet I persist. This is the magnitude of my plea.)

Internet denizons! I call upon you to answer my plea! A plea based in SCIENCE, chock full of SCIENCE, exploding with SCIENCE so that wee bits of SCIENCE get all over you and that will make you feel very special and smart, and then you can go out and play, for you have done your good deed for the day.

What is this SCIENTIFIC plea? It's very easy. A monkey could do it. In fact, I WISH a monkey could do it, for that would be awesome, and we know that monkeys are very important to SCIENCE.

I want YOU, my interwebby chums, to answer me this:

WHAT IS THE MOST EMBARRASSING SONG ON YOUR IPOD?

What's that, you say? You don't HAVE embarrassing songs on your iPod? I see how you are. Full of LIES. All you do is LIE every moment of the day, and everyone knows that lying makes the baby Jeebus cry, and I hope you are very pleased with yourself. Because EVERYONE has at least one song that they downloaded in the middle of the night in complete secrecy, perhaps under the influence of chemical refreshment, that you SWORE no one would ever ever know about, you will take that song that you secretly love but would ruin your reputation FOREVER to your GRAVE rather than confess it.

I want you to tell me what that song is. And the reason I want to know is that, obviously, it will make me feel better about myself.

(and SCIENCE.)

So before you are all "Pshaw! I only have rare bootlegs from 1974 of bands so obscure, so cool, so UNDERGROUND that you could not even listen to them, because the awesomeness would make your head EXPLODE because you are a pathetic little person with no musical taste at all." Remember that every time you lie, a fairy falls down dead. Splat. And also, lying is not very scientific.

Confess! It will do your heart good. Let that weight off your shoulders! And most importantly, it will make me feel better about myself. And that, of course, is the most vital thing.

Do it now. Do it for science. Do it for you. But mostly, do it for my ego.

PS: and for the loveagod, if you don't have an iPod, don't use that as an excuse. Reference your CDs, your tapes, your vinyl, your 8-tracks, your pan flute. Whatever. There are no loopholes in SCIENCE.

Today's Actual Conversation: Well Played, Mom

Bless her, sometimes she plays along. And the results? COMEDY!

Mom: Can you believe the process it takes to get a freaking box of Sudafed? I had to show my driver's licence!

Me: *withering stare*

Mom: What?

Me: You know, Mom, the cops are only going to give you so many chances.

Mom: What are you talking about?

Me: I've told you a thousand times to move it. Someday you're going to get sloppy and blow up the whole damn house.

Mom: I have no idea what you are talking about.

Me: Stop the denial, Mom. Everyone knows. And using your own product? I can't condone that. You've got a real problem. And I can't bail you out this time.

Mom: Are you running a fever?

Me: Let's focus on you, Mom. I'm only going to say this one more time. Move the meth lab. Seriously. Move it today.

Mom: *small, wounded voice* But...that's how I make my money!

So You've Decided To Go To Rehab!

Rehab: A Primer

(Or, Damn, How the Hell Did I Get Here?!?)

So you’ve decided to go to rehab! How exciting! Or perhaps you didn’t have a choice. Perhaps you’re running from the cops, or maybe the FBI! Maybe you ended up in a coma after drinking a gallon of vodka! Not that I know anything about that! No matter! Herein is a convienient "how to" to help you along your jolly, sober way.

Learn new phrases: "What’s your drug of choice" and "how’d you get here?" will replace "Nice to meet you." We want to know your bizness, newbie. And be assured, EVERYONE will know your life story before you are even unpacked. We will also begin to place bets on such possibilites as: When you will get kicked out, when you will jump the fence, when you will get caught sucking face with a junkie with several missing teeth. We are bored. And we are shameless gossips. (see below.)

Learn exciting new things!: A drunk? You’ll learn the ways of the junkie. Junkie? You’ll learn how to hide vodka bottles in new and crafty ways. Crack fiend? Pharmecutical enthusiast? No matter. You will learn the ways of your fellow addicts in such detail you will be able to write a thesis on drugs you have never taken. Learning is fun!

You will be bored.: Oh lord, will you be bored. BORED. And forget weekends. You will be SO FREAKING BORED. Things, pathetic things, will begin to be paragons of excitement. Such things include: Lifetime movies, having a new pack of cigarettes, eating the food your roommate left when she went to the halfway house, going to the grocery store, going to Walgreens, (don’t get too excited, these are the only places you will go, and only once a week.) Going to Winn Dixie! Hot damn! I CAN’T WAIT. This is your life now. Live it, love it. Or jump the fence. Whatever.

You will thrive on the only vices you have left: Cigarettes, coffee, and gossip. It’s the breakfast of champions!

Speaking of gossip: Rehab is a lot like junior high. Male or female, you will gossip like wee schoolgirls, with great vigor and excitement. Some girl came to group in hoochie shorts? Scandal! Some chick threw a punch at her roommate? Awesome! Some idiot put his fist through the soda machine? I need to take pictures! And forget it if someone throws a tantrum, packs their shit, and starts tossing their bags over the fence, and scales the gate. Light a cigarette, place bets on if they are just a drama queen or if "holy shit, she’s really going to do it this time!" Make popcorn. This is way better than Lifetime movies.

Group therapy: Sharing is Caring!: You will learn many things in group. You will learn that you are NOT the baddest dude on the block. There will always be someone who did more drugs, drank more booze, got arrested more times, flatlined more times, stole more, whored out more, did everything and anything more than you did. Settle down, tiger. This ain’t a contest.

You will forget things such as date and time.: You live in a bubble. Calendars are only used to count the days you have been there/days until you leave.

You will, hopefully, start to get it: In all seriousness, you will. And if you don’t, just hope you live long enough to try again.

You will eventually leave.: Rehab ain’t forever, even when it seems like it. A weird thing will happen when you leave. You’ll miss it, kind of. You’ll insist people write and call you on the outside. Hugs will be given and recieved. Yes, even that rat-faced guy with the sketchy teeth. You’ll worry about the people who have to leave when their insurance runs out when everyone knows they’ll be shooting up within 20 minutes of leaving. You’ll get used to the outside world again. Hopefully you’ll work hard and learn to take care of yourself again. You deserve it.

Actual Conversation: I Live In A Sitcom

Steve Sr: DARNELL!!!

Me: Actually, my name is Danielle. You've only known me for almost 16 years, and I only LIVE with you, in your freaking HOUSE, so I can understand where there is some confusion. But yeah, DANIELLE. That is my name. It's not new.

Steve Sr: WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO THIS MACHINE?!?!?!

Me: Gosh, I dunno. Maybe I spent several hours fixing all the crap you did to your computer during the five minutes you spent on said computer, as I do EVERY DAY, due to the fact that I have been saying for OVER A YEAR that you are KRYPTONITE to electronics, your computer is a piece of crap, and I'm actually not here right now. Please leave a message. PLEASE.

Steve Sr: DARNELL!!! WHY IS THIS NOT WORKING!?!?!?! *click click click clickclickclickclick!!!!!!!!!!!*

Me: Frantic clicking does not help.

Steve Sr: CLICKCLICKCLICKCLICK!!!!!

Me: Please, Death. Take me now. And for the record, my name is DANIELLE. *I now huddle under the blanket, for I AM NOT HERE RIGHT NOW. *SOB* LEAVE A MESSAGE AND SEND TECH SUPPORT*

Steve Sr: DARNELL! DAMMIT!!!

Me: *cowering under blanket* Not here not here not here. *weeps*

Today’s actual conversation; cats and dogs edition!

Me: *walk walk walk. Minding my own business. Walk walk-SQUISH*

Me: Wah! Dog poo! GODDAMMIT!!

Steve Sr: Ha hahahahahahhaa.

Me: This is NOT FUNNY. You and your damn dogs. GODDAMMIT!!!!

Steve Sr: Hahahahahaa. I do it every day. They should really go on the paper, yeah?

Me: YES. They should go on the damn paper. And you should get carpets that don't mask the poo so I end up stepping on it in bare feet. DAMMIT.

Steve Sr: You should think about wearing shoes more often.

Me: Grrrrrrrr.

*new scene: Upstairs, with two obese cats*

Me: *minding my own business, watching crap TV*

Lulu (obese cat 1) *lick lick lick lick*

Me: Why are you licking my head?

Lulu: *lick lick lick*

Me: Getting a little damp here, idiot. Where the hell is your brother?

*CRASH*

Me: Oh shit.

Scene: My water glass is on the floor. Water everywhere. Stewart, the other obese cat, who has very little in the brain department, is surveying his destruction. He is very very proud of his accomplishments.

Me: You little bastard! What did you do?!?!?!

Stewart: *clueless grin and pathetic meow* STEWIE MADE MESS, MAMA! YAY!

Me: Goldfish. Why didn't I get goldfish?

Welcome to today’s installment of Actual Conversation Theater

People have asked me if my Actual Conversation with my mom was real, to which I replied "Oh lordy, yes, please send Valium" but then I started thinking about my dad, and our "conversations." To be completely fair, I adore my dad, and my daddoo and I have fantastic conversations face to face, but on the phone? Let's just say that both of my parents have...issues...with talking on the phone. For very different reasons. Example!

*ring ring*
Me: Hi! Dad?
Dad: MmmmHmm.
Me: How are you?
Dad: Mmm? Fine.
Empty Conversation Space: (.......)
Me: So! Dad! What's going on?
Dad: Nothing.
Empty Conversation Space: (.........)
Me: So...Um...How's work? Your students cool this semester?
Dad: Hmm. Pains in the ass.
Me: Great! Uh...And everything else? Anything?
Dad: Mmm? Fine.
Empty Conversation Space: Jeeeeeezus Keeeeee-rist. Make the pain stop.
Me: OH! Oh! Got it! The dog! How's the dog?
Dad: Pain in the ass.
Me: Oh. Okay. So...anything else?
Dad: Nope.
Empty Conversation Space: Thank God.
Me: Oooookay! Um...Talk to you later?
Dad: Yep.
Empty Conversation Space: GET ON WITH IT ALREADY! YOU'RE KILLING ME! HANG UP THE DAMN PHONE!
Me: Well, I was just calling to say that my hair is on fire and lizards are raining from the sky. Nothing important.
Dad: Mmmhmm. That's nice. I'll tell your mother you called. Loveyabye. *CLICK*
Me: Nice? Talking to you? Hello? Um...Okay. Bye! Love you! Hello? Oh, forget it.

Yet another clue as to my dorkiness (as if you needed one)

Me: Well, I've given it a lot of thought, and I'm leaning towards a diagnosis of histrionic personality disorder and/or bipolar I with psychotic features, with a possible dual diagnosis of substance abuse that is exacerbated by post-partum depression and/or psychosis. I don't have the exact DSM-IV codes as of yet, but I'd be happy to get them for you if it is necessary for charts and such.

The World: Dude. It's Britney Spears. Is that fancy talk for "batshit crazy?"

Me: *sigh* Yes. Yes it is. You know, I spent a LOT of money to go to grad school and learn those fancy words, dammit.

The World: You need a hobby, girl.

Me: So...you're saying you don't need those codes?

Today's Actual Conversation

( I assure you that my mother was dead sober during this conversation, and that her phone talents are like this on any given day. She's cool like that.)

Me: Hi! Mom?
Mom: HELLO?!??!!? HOLD ON!!!!
Me: Um, okay.
(incomprehensible yelling)
Me: Mom? Hello? Are you okay? I only need a min-
Mom: THERE'S A COP. I CAN'T BE ON THE CELL. CAN YOU HEAR ME????
Me: Why are you...why is there...please stop yelling, I can call you later-
Mom: NO! I CAN TALK! I'VE GOT THE PHONE ON THE PASSENGER SEAT!
Me: Wow. Fantastic. Mom, why don't I just call you ba-
Mom: CAN YOU BELIEVE THEY'RE BUILDING A DRUGSTORE NEXT TO ANOTHER DRUGSTORE!?!? I'M GOING TO THE DRUGSTORE! YOU KNOW, THE FIRST ONE!
Me: Mom? I'm gonna call you back. Try not to crash the car or get arrested or anythin-
Mom: I'M FINE! WHAT DO YOU NEED?!!??!
Me: Just wanted to know when you are-
Mom: DID YOU EAT TODAY?!?!?!
Me: Yes, mom, I ate today. Just wanted to know when you and Dad are-
Mom: WHAT DID YOU EAT? CARBOHYDRATES? THEY HELP YOUR REFLUX, YOU KNOW!
Me: Mom, I ate. I ate carbohydrates. I ate both cats and half the population of Savannah. I just wanted to know-
Mom: I WORRY WHEN YOU DON'T EAT
Me: Mom, please, I swear to every deity ever imagined that I ate. I just wanted to know when you and Dad were-
Mom: OH, THE COP IS GONE!
Me: Fabulous. Does that mean less yelling?
Mom: What? What are you talking about? What do you need?
Me: My eardrums thank you.
Mom: What are you talking about? Did you eat today? Was it healthy?
Me: *slamming face repeatedly against wall*
Mom: HELLO?
Me: OHMYGOD, I JUSTWANTEDTOKNOWWHENYOUANDDADARECOMINGBACKFROMVACATIONAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!
Mom: There's no need to shout.

Thoughts on babies

Back right after the dinosaurs, I started reading blogs. Through a scroll-and-click process lost to history, I came upon a woman who was trying to get pregnant. She was hilarious and her blog was fantastic, and I've been reading it for years. Through her blog, I started reading other womens' blogs - all of them about trying to get and STAY pregnant. I read with tears streaming down my cheeks through miscarriage and miscarriage and still more miscarriages like I actually knew these women. I had nothing in common with the process (those who know me know that my sex life? HA! Let's move on, shall we?) but my heart ached every time there was bad news, and I have learned far more than I should know about problems with pregnancies. I got to the point wherein when one of the bloggers, or someone I knew in real life would announce that she was pregnant, I followed the process with all fingers crossed (makes it hard to type) and the same internal dialogue I have had whenever I see or hear an airplane since 9/11. "Stay up. Stay safe. Please, please, please."

That said, I am over the moon to report that Olivia Grace came into the world perfectly healthy and safe on November 1. She and her mom are great, and Olivia looks just like her mama and her Uncle Stevil. I can't wait to meet her.