30 August, 2004
M came home early today and that cuts into my computer time. So now I am forced to run errands and clean the house and prepare dinner and stuff. None of which I prefer over spouting opinions here.
Somehow I have to figure out how to fit an extra $800 for a new fridge into our already stretched budget. That's the downside. The upside is that when we took Grandmonster to see the fridge we're gonna buy (which I had already spent weeks researching and price comparing and consumer report reading about so she didn't get all scrappy and think she gets to pick the new fridge out herself) she got snarky with me and I said "Watch it Old Woman. You will fit in this freezer." The salesman was much amused. Grandmonster laughed, he laughed, I mentally sized her up to see how many times I'd have to fold her to fit in there and still have room for both Ben and Jerry.
Hopefully I'll be on here later to relegate you with stories of me getting to see my wifey (who is more spectabulous than you can possibly imagine and she is mine, all mine!!!) and Cindy (who I love more than is legal in the state of Vermont so it's a good thing I live here)unexpectedly on Saturday. This made the fact that the other #3's were partying hardy without me much easier to take.
And I should be on later this afternoon since M is off to sign a few more things so we can be considered for the loan we need to fix our basement. Send him some "BIG MONEY, NO WHAMMIES" juju so I can start getting estimates.
Now I am off to vacuum. Pray that it goes quickly and without incident. I hate to vacuum.
Posted at 6:35 PM
27 August, 2004
But it turned out to be a depressing post so I think it might be the Blog Gods telling me to lighten the fuck up. So now it time for something completely different.
Let's talk about Prince, shall we? Not Charles, not William (although that boy makes me want to be 21 all over again. daaaaammn), the one and only true Prince. As in Prince Rodgers Nelson, the coolest Jehovah's Witness in the history of human civilazation. The Prince who performed stage humping before *NSYNC had the packages to do it. I love Prince.
The teensy tiny purple one has a gift. Yeah, he can write some songs that will endure forever, but that's not his BIG gift. This man who stands about 4' nothing and weighs a buck 15 soaking wet and looks better in heels than I ever will has the power to stand on a stage in front of thousands of people and with one stroke of his guitar can instantly make every breathing female in the vicinity wet. This makes the men in the audience happy since there is only one Prince and he is married and all these salivating women have to dispense their frustration somewhere. I have no idea how he does it because if asked not one of these women would describe a 4 foot nothing heel wearing flat ironed hair sporting skinny man with uber groomed eyebrows as their sexual ideal. I know I wouldn't. But that man is sexy. No question about it. I would do him.
Purple Rain is playing on VH1 right now and M is snickering at my antics (there is heavy breathing involved and I actually tracked down my glasses so as not to miss a minute of a movie I have seen eleventeen thousand times and actually own) and I can't explain the reaction. His movie(s) turns me on. His music makes me all tingly in my happy place. I love him.
Not like I love the good Reverend Al Green, who will always and forever be my number one guy. They both are responsible for the majority of the conceptions in their respective decades. However, while Reverend Al brings to mind candles and bear skin rugs and slow deep kisses with feeling, Prince brings to mind candle wax and blouse ripping and being pinned against the wall because the bed is too fucking far away. See the difference?
That is definately a legacy to be proud of. Both are essential to the mix cd that you put in the stereo when you wanna/need to get laid. This is why M can always tell you exactly where the Prince cd's are no matter how many times they have been moved.
All right, have a good weekend. The 3's are getting together without me to see the Village People and get shitfaced drunk and I am jealous. But I hope they have a FANTASTIC time and remember to give me at least one drunk phone call. I'm gonna enjoy one of last 2 wekends left at the pool this season.
Posted at 6:26 PM
And let me preface this by saying that I am one of those awful people who buys clothes for her dogs. But I am not one of those awful people who actually make their dogs wear the clothes. I buy them because they entertain the hell out of me and make me laugh in a "clean up in aisle 9" sort of way. Yes, my big beagle, Gus, has a winter coat, however it was not purchased to keep him warm. The 64 pounds of blubber he is carrying keeps him plenty warm. I bought it because when I tried it on him in the store a few years ago it made him look like Bauser from Sha Na Na and I laughed for about 3 days straight. My crazy assed Grandmother Mo, this one is mine not M's, insists that when I bring Gus over to visit in the crispy fall/winter weather that he wear the coat.
Since Gus had a winter outfit and Mo is quite fond of Ruby (who she calls Ruby Tuesday- pronounced in Southern it is Tooosdeee) I knew it was only a matter of time till I was sent to the Pet Supermarket to buy her a winter outfit. Today I found it. She does not have a coat, but a knit hat and scarf. They are pink with green stripes and she tolerates them so well that I had no choice but to get them. Plus she looks like she stepped right out of an Old Navy commercial and it cracks my fat ass up. Sue me.
I can't help it that my dogs are so cute that they need winter garb. It's annoying, yes. I get that. But it is also damn funny and damn funny trumps annoying any day.
But this particular PetSmart has an adoption center. I know, I know. I just got Ruby a few months ago but this little beagle girl was so beautiful and so sad and just wanted to snuggle and I fell straight in love. So much so that M had to drag me away with promises that when we finally finish the basement we can come get her. Whatever, she will so be gone by then, but it at least got me to stop pressing my nose against the glass front of her kennel. When we got home I told him that the only thing that would make me feel even a little better is if we changed her name (they give all the adoptees these really lame monikers, I guess so they don't feel bad when they get adopted.). Yes, I know we don't actually have her and they will still call her Sparky at the shelter, but at least I can think of her with a good name. So henceforth she will be called Duchess. This was M's suggestion, believe it or not. It does suit her though.
M should know better than to let me get within 100 yards of adoptable beagles. Now I am all in a rush to hire contrators and stuff to finish the basement so we can get another. See, I have baby fever and I can't have one of those so the only acceptable treatment is more dogs. we're running out of dog space here so he better hope that Extreme Makeover:Home Edition picks us to remodel or THE Virgin, Miss Mary herownself, fixes me so I can have a human baby.
Geez, this has gone from dorky-funny to depressing in 2 easy payments, huh? I might have to break out Gus's winter coat to boost the seratonin levels.
Posted at 6:08 PM
In reading all my normal blogs for the day I have found out new information about 2 people I know. I'll start with the shorter similarity list since I am in a rush to find Ruby's collar before the vet's office. It is actually more surprising a well since he is a conservative and me having any similarities at all with one of "those people" is extremely rare, and actually liking one is downright miraculous. So, in the glorious tradition of bipartisonship I felt I should share them.
1. Believe it or not, I am a Redskins fan. Don't ask me about particulars because I don't know any. I just want them to win everything and that is all one needs to know about fandom.
2. I can quote The Princess Bride line for line. My favorite line? So glad you asked. "Anybody want a peanut?" This works on many levels.
3. I had Spinal Meningitis twice when I was 12. I got it, survived it, then got it again. All without ever leaving the hospital. That's your University of Kentucky Hospital education dollar at work.
4. Both times the docs told my parents that I would not survive and if I did I would no longer be able to walk. They were wrong. And stupid.
5. I was in a coma for over 72 hours.
6. I went to college 108 miles from home. Far enough away to live my life as I wanted and close enough to be able to drive home and pilfer groceries from my parents' pantry when they left town.
7. I had a cat when I was growing up.
8. One day I left for school and my mother took the cat "to the shelter" while I was gone. My grandfather went "to the shelter" when I was 16. I still miss him.
9. My mom was diagnosed with cancer a few years ago. She is not planning a trip "to the shelter" anytime soon.
10. I spent a summer semester in Europe in college. (okay, it isn't Asia but it is a different continent.)
okay, more later unless I have to kill the husband for losing Ruby's collar.
Posted at 12:12 PM
25 August, 2004
Country music. Pretty much all of it. Very rarely there is a song that sneaks into my brain in a good moment and my music brain says, "okay, this doesn't suck.". More about that later. First I must tell you why I harbor such ill will towards all things country and/or western. I live with an idiot. Not the normal idiot a married woman lives with. This is an idiot of the in-law kind, and she's a whopper. M's grandmother lives with us and she lives only to make me crazy a lot sooner than I would normally be crazy in this junk drawer of a house. She is a compulsive collector. It has taken M 3 years of marrige to cure himself of his own collecting habit (here's a hint, when the forclosure guy comes to appraise the house because they are autioning it off in 2 days because you haven't made the mortgage payments, but you have a kick ass classic Star Wars action figure collection that you have recently added $200 worth of doubles in case your 1985 series gets stolen, it is time to rethink priorities. I'm just saying.) and finally, without any nagging on my part, all of his own volition (and I cannot tell you how the tears of happy sprung up when he told me he'd done it) he sells his entire collection to pay the back mortgage AND bail the checking account out of the red. *sniffsniff* Our boy is finally growing up! I have one of the good ones that not only has an amazing heart, but knows what kinda good he has got it with me. And I make sure he knows I know. (now if only i can get him to sit quietly with his cup of shut the fuck up while i am on the phone with #3 GA division. he loves her and secretly wishes she'd call to talk to him just once. whatever, he can back the fuck up because she is mine.)
But back to the Grandmonster. She is obsessed. With a few things, all of which I happen to have a great hatred for, including but not limited to; Dale Earnhardt Sr., TG Shepperd, Neil Diamond, Englebert Humperdink, Dale Earnhardt Jr., TG Shepperd (worth mentioning a few times. the man actually knows her by sight and name and sends her a personal christmas card and wonders aloud where she is when he doesn't see her at a show within 200 miles of here. i'm not even slightly kidding.), bird feeders, any country music cd ever made (and no, she doesn't actually listen to anything other than TG or the radio. she just wants to have them.), excessively ugly picture frames (to put pictures of TG, TG and herself, herself sitting on TG's lap, and Dale Sr.), and everything her late husband ever touched in his lifetime.
Now the last one would be understandable under reasonable circumstances, HOWEVER, she has the loooooooooooooong dead bouquets from his funeral displayed in the kitchen, dining room, and her bedroom. These were not meant to be dried flower arrangements. And did I mention that he passed away in 1985? Or that the arrangements have never been dusted or treated because if you touch them the leaves and petals and layers of the deadly grime of passing generations fall off and crumble into sediment resembling the dust left whenever Buffy slays a vampire on that tv show? And did I mention that our basement (which runs the entire length of the house and used to be finished) is only accessible on a 9 inch wide path that I made a few years ago to reach the laundry room? Since the basement leaks and all the shit she has compiled in there is in cardboard boxes there is a layer of mold and rotting cardboard and Ebola a full 3/4 inch think (yes i measured) on top of the carpet (except where it has eaten through the carpet. yes it has.) the entire length of our house that M and I now have to pay to have removed to have the basement leakproofed and rebuilt from foundation up. This is to the tune of $13,000. It would have been less but she refused to move any of the things in the basement for fear that someone might throw something away she would need, like the cardboard Santa cutout she never took out of the box that has the reciept dated 1964 still attached. So now we have to hire a Hz-Mat team to get rid of all that shit. I tried but I think I got leprosy being down there too long.
The collections have started to overflow into M's and my own living space, much to my pissedoffedness. This lends itself to daily fights that go a little something like this,
3: can we get rid of this?
it: no, i brought that gong all the way back from japan in 1423 and it is one of a kind. i got it from gengis khan himself.
3: so what do we use it for/why do we need it?
it: i look at it every day. i love it. my husband took a piss on it once in 1492 when colombus brought it to me.
3: funny, it has been wedged behind this pile of broken lamps and toasters since i have lived here.
it: well it likes to be there. it told me that in 1969, right after it got back from woodstock.
3: well it just fell on your grandson's head and he told me that it needs to go away before he gets back from the ER.
it: well we can't throw it away.
3: that's fine. i don't want you to have to throw anything that means as much to you as this chinese gong with the "made in taiwan" sticker on it so you should find the appropriate place of honor for it, bearing in mind that it will no longer go in here.
*3 walks off whispering to the voices in her head that there are no bubble baths in prison*
I am cursed with the good Southern Lady thing that prevents me from calling her an old bat and leaving nursing home brochures on the kitchen table.
But back to my original point. This is the number one reason I abhore (and that is not a word i use lightly) country music. Grandmonster has 3, count 'em 3, usually a good number 3, radios in every room of this house that she presides over. Upon her rising from her slumber each morning she systematically turns each and every radio on in each and every room. Here's the kicker, each one is on a different country station. When she runs out of country stations she puts in a TG Shepperd cd and hits play/repeat. I am pummelled with country music every time I sprint to the bathroom. All genres, classic, contemporary, bluegrass, classic, TG, classic, and the motherfuckers who thought it'd be a great idea to have an "all george jones, all the time" channel. Those fuckers are on my list. I will do research to find out who they are and kill them nice and slow while they are ducktaped to a chair in my kitchen (otherwise known as the ugliest room in the whole of civilized mankind except for Cher's bedroom and that classification of ugly is for a completely different reason) and feeding them uppers so they can be awake to enjoy the tearing of their flesh, strip by strip.
Damn, that was a rant, huh? I guess I'll have to tell you about the new song I love later. I think it's time for my pill.
Posted at 3:19 PM
17 August, 2004
Today is the first day of the school year here in the land of blue grass. I have been keeping my niece for the past few weeks, since her mom got a new job unexpectedly, and have had a great time keeping her entertained from 7am-5pm. Thank God for naps. Thank God she doesn't mind watching movies while I nap. I have seen the Lindsay Lohan and Hillary Duff filmographies in their entireties, played Monopoly until my competitive streak dwindled out, watched every episode of That's So Raven, and endured hearing the music that plays during the Sims video game until I got ambitious enough to do research to find out how to add your own music to it. I am now the only one in the world who makes their Sims change the station on their jukebox until I Will Survive plays. That's when I make the female Sims get in the go go cage. (in my Sims research I also found a code to give me all the money I need and now every home has a go go cage, light up dancefloor, and robot maids. As it should be.)
I now understand why my parents got so happy around mid-August. I adore my niece. The kid is just like me. She is entirely entertaining and smart and funny and cuter than allowed by law in most states, but she also knows the importance of laying down and not moving. Hence why my last few weeks have been spent trying to teach her that it is okay to get your own drink. The milk jug is not that heavy and I put all the glasses on the bottom shelf the second day she was here. And while you're up, get Aunt Lauren a drink too, huh? The rum is in the cabinet at the left of the stove. Make it a double. Damn, 7am comes earlier every day.
But today she is at school deciding which of the eleventeen boyfriends she will claim as her favorite this year and telling the other girls that cheerleading is passe and takes too much of her time. This year she will concentrate on doing things to achieve her goal of becoming the first fashion designer/artist/pop culture icon under the age of 9 and choosing colors for her new cosmetics line to be released by September so it will be available for Christmas shopping season. That and eating Fruit Roll Ups. Whatever.
The only thing the niece and I differ on is that she is actually excited to go back to school. That didn't happen to me till college. She was bouncing around the room all day yesterday singing "tomorrow is the first day of schoooooo-oooool" over and over. Coincedently, that was also what her mom was singing when she picked her up. The only reason I was minimumly excited about back to school time when I was her age was because of back to school shopping. Coincedently, I still love back to school shopping and I have no kids and am no longer going to school. I still buy the supplies, even though I rarely have need of them. Last week I purchased spiral bound notebooks (I am left handed and can't use spiral bound notebooks, but they were really cute and pink and plaid and had a big "L" on them.), 3 different kinds of pens, mechanical pencils, regular pencils, erasers, stickers, computer paper (my printer has been out of order since about forever but someday it might work and then where will I be with no paper?), a new pencil case, a school box, markers, and a thesaurus. School was never anything to get excited about, but the smell of new pencils, now that is something I can get behind.
But today there are no kids in my house unless you count Grandmonster, which I don't. I'd rather just pretend she isn't here. So I had all these plans to do stuff I haven't had time to do around the house such as; planting the new mums I bought to hide the plastic farm animals on my porch, finally relocate the pile of limbs that I dragged out my my yard after the last big thunderstorm to the wood pile in the back of the yard, frolic about because my mother found a way to hide the Marlboro Man so he can't be seen from the street, sand and stain and polyeurathane the patio funiture to get them read for winter, vacuum the dog hair off the family room rug before I lose an actual dog in it, clean the tub, make more sweet tea, etc. Instead I have decided to do the other list of things I haven't had time to do lately. I'm going to lay in bed, pet the dogs both individually and seperately, eat the last of the croissants with the rest of the homemade blueberry preserves, watch Grosse Pointe Blank, nap, eat the last of the Oatmeal Creme Pies, watch Breakfast At Tiffany's, wish I had a swan-like neck, calculate how many chins I'd have to sell to get a swan-like neck, be jealous because #3 Georgia Division gets to meet Dusty, nap some more, play a rousing game of "My Stereo Is Louder Than Your Stereo" with Grandmonster, look up the average life expectancy of in laws, cry, and think up new and inventive ways to make M go pick up dinner so I don't have to cook.
The mums will wait another day. Gimme a ring if you need me. I have a cordless phone so I don't even have to sit up in the bed to answer it. God bless technology.
Posted at 3:16 PM
14 August, 2004
Since #3 Georgia division promptly stole my favorite line from the movie Saved (but it's okay since she straight up told me she was gonna and I love her more than the butterscotch brownies I made) I had to go with my second favorite line as a title. However, let the record show that I am, in fact, kickin' it Jesus style while being down with G.O.D. and hangin' with the original O.G., the capital "L" Lord hisownself, our homeboy J.C. I have added all these lines into the Lauren Lexicon and will use them frequently. Be prepared.
So there are very few things in life I find more appealing than new jammies. For a little background on me, which I know my entire fanbase of 1 wants to have regularly, let it be known that I LIVE in jammies. All the time. In college the professors would only comment on my attire if I wasn't wearing jammies. I got them wearing jammies too and everyone knew it was just because I am a trendsetter. Okay, maybe I made the trendsetter part up. It was art school and when people saw that it was not frowned upon to wear the most comfy thing in their wardrobe to classes they picked up on that quick. As a sidenote to MAC, wherever he is, I am still trying to figure out why the most comfy thing in your wardrobe was a canary yellow zippered jumpsuit with emroidered flower trim and the word "YES" ironed on the back in 3 inch felt. But you let me shave your head once when I told you that the waist length split ends were distracting me from my "vision" so I forgive you. Ya freak.
Damn, I took that tangent about as far as it could go, huh? Anyway, I am also an avid collector of anything with the Eiffel Tower on it. I lived in France for a while and it just brings the cheese factor up to have 300 Eiffel Tower things lying around. I live for cheese. So I was in my favorite boutique (Target) yesterday with my niece and I saw them. The world's most perfect jammies. They consist of a gray tank top and those shortie shorts that you can't wear outside the house unless you are 16 or a porn star or both. Emblazoned on them is a bright red Eiffel Tower with the tagline, "I see London. I see France."
Fucking fabulous! I had to get them immediately. Despite the fact that I have sold my soul to the plumber to get the raw sewage out of my basement and cash flow has gone from limited to reverse, I had to have them. So I do. And hubby, M, couldn't say otherwise. (basically because due to a $7000+ snafu I have taken all forms of money away from him and he gets to know the balance when I am damn good and ready to tell him.)
A delightful side affect to the jammies is my niece has been gong around the house singing "I see London, I see France, I see M's underpants." Which isn't entirely true since she sees more buttcrack than undies. And he isn't even a plumber. Screw him. We were talking about my jammies.
So now I have to have more of these jammies. I need to wear them a lot and often and since laundry day is not a lot and/or often I'm gonna need backup. See, I don't leave the house much. I draw, I clean, I cook, I play on the computer, I watch children. All day. Every day. None of which require outside clothes. Hell, I'd ditch the bra too if I wasn't afraid of lawsuits. People could get hurt. Instead, I wear a bra and jammies and kick it Jesus style in the Papaya Family Compound and Refuge for Homeless In Laws.
Did Jesus actually get to kick people? Because I could be down for that.
Anywho. That's it for today. Just thought you'd wanna know about the jammies. And if this blog goes global and I actually get more than my fanbase of 1 my new fans will know what to send me for suck up gifts. Jammies and Eiffel Tower stuff. Bring it on!
Posted at 5:28 PM
12 August, 2004
I tried hard to resist it, basically because I am a lazy sumbitch and I know it'll take effort to keep this up, but I have been reading all kinds of blogs lately and I have been thinking more along the lines of "it might be good for me" rather than "I could so be eating cookies right now instead of keeping up a blog". So today I am reading the blog of my obscenely adorable friend, #3, and she asked a question and offered a full on kiss on the mouth to the one who knew the answer. I knew the answer, and as I am a sucker for anything resembling making out I tried to post an answer. Damn, no one can post unless they have a blog. Double damn. I want that kiss.
So here I am. A blogger. Whodathunkit? I have always wanted a diary but as soon as I start one I lose interest. So much writing. So much writer's cramp. So much possibility of someone finding it. So I give up. Then a few years later I try again. So my diary input in the last @( of my years is less diary and more a series of bitchy essays spanning decades.
So, no promises. We'll see how this develops.
Posted at 1:33 PM
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