goooooo Tigers!

Allow me to gush for a minute, if you will, about the world's greatest 14-year-old...
(and it's not even his birthday)

My nephew is 14. Since he was able to talk, he's been saying "football". He has always dreamed of playing in the NFL. Luckily enough for him, he ended up being really, really good at the game. Seriously, he has recruiters with their eyes on him already. He is entering his freshman year in high school this fall and after last week at football camp he has qualified for first string on the varsity team. The boy, he rocks.

Of course, he is fourteen years old, so he's a royal pain to his mother and stepdad, but he will still sit on the phone with his boring old auntie for an hour. He is sweet and kind to his cousins. He's lovely and I rejoice that I get to share his life with him.

We just got a package from his momma in the mail yesterday and she included some of his team tee shirts for us. So, just in case you were wondering, here's what we're going to look like every SundaySundaySunday during football season:

total. chick. post. does this post make my butt look big?

I think that by now all 5 of you can guess what my favorite four-letter word is. You know, it's that one, the BAD one, the one I pretend like I'd never say but I actually kinda say it all the time. I can't help's a great word. It's fun to say, it's fun to do!

Now, my least favorite four-letter word, that's a whole other story. There are a few that made it to the top of the list. Snow, WAY up there. Shit was a contender for the top spot, only because I am again knee-deep in someone else's poop for the next for years (that one's just for you, Retropolitan. I know how you loves you some poop talk...). Move, oh move, I do hate you so. You are evil and bad and I wish you would just go away. Move is almost the worst one. But not quite as bad as the "D" word.

Not Damn, you sissy. Does damn even count anymore? No, I'm talking about Diet. Ughth, I can't even believe I just said it. I think I need to go wash my mouth out with soap. Hold on a minute....



Ok. Here's the thing. I just had a baby and I gained 60 pounds with her. I have absolutely no problem telling you this because I gained 105 with B (yes folks, that's ahundredandfive pounds) and 80 with T, so I feel pretty damn good about the little itty bitty 60 L slapped on my ass. But, see, I can't seem to lose any of this damn weight. I walk everywhere (still don't have a car, by the way. It's ETA still says 7/13 on the shippers tracking site.), I eat reasonably healthy foods, I just went 7 weeks alone with three children and moved an entire household to another country. Shouldn't the stress eat away even a little of it?

I've managed to drop half of the weight, but I have been stuck here at around 150 ever since. Maybe that doesn't sound like a terrible lot to you, but I am 5'4" and 150 sounds like quite a lot for me. Especially since it's all from my wide ol' hips to my big fat knees. And my boobs. They're ginormous.

So, here I sit, packin' 30, and my trouble lies in this: I am going to Las Vegas in, like, 7 weeks. It is my first (and likely last) trip there and I am so freakin' excited I could spit. My sister is turning 29 (again) and we are going to stay at the fanciest hotel we could find, sit by the pool all day drinking drinks with rum and umbrellas in them, get tattoos, eat at super nice restaurants, go dancing, go shopping, flirt like thirteen year olds and generally have a helluva time. It will be my first for real vacation ever. EVER. I went to Brooklyn a few years ago, but I stayed with a buddy and it was too cold to go outside. I ain't never done nothin' like this before and I want it to be perfect. And perfect includes a little brown bikini with blue trim. And little brown bikinis with blue trim do not work with 30 extra pounds sitting right here on my belly button.

And so, I will have to go on a d..., oh, I can't say it. It's just too awful. Tell me it will be worth it when I am all slathered with suntan oil and drunk at noon. It will be, won't it?

well isn't that just depressing?

Give me a minute here to wipe off this black eyeliner...and now I'd better turn down that Cure cd...

Ok. Back to normal. Sorry about all that Eeyore-ing. Here are some happy-water-balloon-pool-party-pictures to cheer you up.

this really should feel like a dream come true...

My mother-in-law moved to Africa today. She called this morning at 8 to say her goodbyes to the kids and then she was gone.

Holy motherfucking shit, I am all alone.


Now I don't want you think that we are BFF's or anything, because god knows we're not. She's kind of a terrible mother, she's a self-righteous hypocrite, a kook to bat and she's still pretty convinced that I went and got myself all knocked up just to trap her poor, innocent, virginal son. As a matter of fact, she was fairly keen on me at one point. She used to have tea with me and she even came into my bar a few times...until our first little surprise came along.

But, she is quite the gramma. She takes these kids to the museums, to the aquariums, to the library, to church, all over. She has exposed my boys to so much. She knit each child a breathtakingly beautiful blanket while they were a'brewin in my tum, even though the arthritis has left a toothbrush and a tampon at her place and seems to be staying for a while. She mails them each a card on every holiday. Even St. Patrick's Day. She's nice to them, she truly loves them, and now she's gone and left them. I don't know what they will do.

For as long as we have had children, she has always lived within walking distance of us. For a few years she was literally out the back door, through the alley and across the street. This, of course, sucked for me in ways you could never fully comprehend. But every other Saturday, without fail (almost) she took those kids for a sleep over. Usually I would go to work, but I was staying at home for a while and had 2 Saturday nights a month to myself. Ahhhh. If I needed to run to the store and the boys were napping, she'd come over. If I couldn't get to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription, she'd shoot by on her way home from work to get it for me. Towards the end she would take the kids for me when I reached my breaking point so I could take a walk, get some coffee and recoup. I could never count on her for more than an hour or two, but sometimes an hour or two is all a girl needs. With 3 kids, and hour or two alone is pure heaven.

My point here is, since I have had kids, she's really been the only help I've ever had. My husband, great at the bringing home of the bacon, not so great at the cooking of the bacon or the feeding of it to anyone. And, yes, I'm in Canada and yes, it would be mighty hard for her to come watch the kids for an evening for me way up here, but now that she's on another continent, I just feel abandoned. I am on my own for the next two years.

And that, my friends, is a mighty long time.

A long time ago, many dress sizes ago, I was a bartender at Bennigan's (which is where I met J, by the way). I had a pair of guys who came to my bar fairly regularly. One was a named Mike and I was pretty sure he was trying VERY hard to get down my pants*. I never really caught the other guy's name, he just sat there drinking his double crown and cokes and seemed happy to be his buddy's wingman.

A few years ago my sister in law was working the lunch shift at the bar in the hotel she had a job at**. A man who had been coming to her bar all week, and had been nice to her the whole week, came in on her birthday and announced that he had a birthday gift for her, but she had to go outside to get it. They walked outside and she stood in front of a blue Jaguar parked in the lot, waiting to see what her gift was from this stranger. Turns out, it was the Jag. He had already put it in her name. He gave it to her and then he left. Right then. Left town. For good. Didn't even try to makeout with her or anything. When she hunted him down to return it, she realized she kind of liked him.

They have been married for a few years now.

I met him over Christmas a few years back. We knew each other, we both knew we knew each other, but we couldn't for the life of us figure out where we had met. I was pretty sure I hadn't slept with this guy***, and after an hour or so of trying to figure it out, we both gave up. We went to dinner and when he ordered his double crown and coke it hit me like a ton of bricks. Wingman****.

My sister in law married a guy I used to wait on at the bar where I met her brother. How flippin' weird is that.

Anyway, it's Billy's birthday today. Happy birthday Bill. I love you. Thanks for marrying my sister. And being and awesome brother in law. And being a great uncle to my kids. And being the only father my nephew has ever known. And double thanks for doing it on your birthday. I have a lot of dates to juggle in my head and consolidation is always appreciated.

*He did not succeed. Just in case you were wondering.
**We all work in bars. You should come to a party at our house. We pour grrrreat drinks.
***This makes me sound like a scanky whore. I am not a scanky whore.
****If I pour you a drink once, I will until my dying day remember what you drink. I may not remember your name, but I will know your poison.