The trains at Bevell's

If you're from "around here", you know about the trains at Bevell's down in Blackstone.  Every year, this guy takes about 1/3 of his hardware store and sets up his train collection, or at least a part of it.  It's unreal.  I don't know how many hours it takes, but it has to be A LOT.  Then he sits around to show everyone how it all runs, to talk to kids about collecting trains, etc.  Too cool.  And if you look just to the right of the conductor, you'll see his "elf" hiding behind a girl.  He has a hat that moves on its own, and he's 400 years old.  VERY convincing!

Luke took his lesson in conducting very seriously!

More from Bevell's

Still at Bevell's!

Perhaps the most interesting display... a POW camp, complete with prisoners!

And here's the tribute to our local Army post.

I'd like to let this end with 2010...

I really hope this doesn't carry over into the new year...

Here I am, day to of pajamas on the couch, wicked sick with some kind of GI bug that's kept me married to the toilet and a trash can.  I know, I'm a beauty.  Some days I don't know how I stand all this fabulousness.   I'm bringing sexy back to my bathrobe.  I slept for 26 of 28 hours yesterday (minus incremental sprints to the bathroom), which has helped.  This morning I've kept down Gatorade and a blueberry muffin.  I might just make it after all, but I don't think you need to worry about me rowdying up Times Square, or Carytown for that matter.

Now I'll get to work on some Christmas posts for you people!

Merry Christmas!

No, really.  Merry Christmas.

My Gram is still in the hospital, but she's buoyed (as is my sweet Mama) by the strength of having my Uncle Scott hold one hand, my Uncle Tim hold the other, and the sound of familiar voices and laughter.  It makes me feel better to know that even without being able to go home for Christmas, a very important piece of home has been able to come to her.

Things have gotten very exciting in this house, what with Santa coming and all.  The Force has been on constant "Elf Watch".  God bless the truckers that put antlers and Santa hats on their rigs.  We've got him convinced that they're elves and Santa's helpers hauling presents and watching for kids that are naughty and nice.  Yes, he may need therapy when he grows up, but better for this than some of the other stuff we'll inevitably screw up and do to him.  It's been so much fun this year.  We had some snow last week, which (of course), sent me running to Tractor Supply Store to get The Force a sled.  It looks like a penguin.  He's now a master sledder and when he gets to the bottom, will jump up and yell, "I am IL PENGUINO!" at the top of his lungs.  I may or may not have taught him that.

To all of you I wish a merry and bright Christmas.  May the new year ring in peacefully and bring us more love than our hearts can handle.  Safe travels to any of you hitting the roads, rails, or sky.

Don't read this unless you want to be depressed... or maybe inspired to hold your loved ones closer

But you probably shouldn't read this in case it's the first.

My sweet Grammy is dying.  She's in the hospital tonight fighting a fever and dehydration after taking the last type of chemotherapy that gave her any hope of staving off her cancer any longer.  They are trying to stabilize her so she can go home with Ma and Pa King and the help of Hospice.  While the chemo itself made her very, very sick, that's probably not what landed her in the hospital.  Her immune system is weak, and she's had multiple problems over the last several months that have bounced her in and out of the hospital and kept her mostly the house guest of my parents because she couldn't stay alone in her own home.

It's been very hard for her.  It must be a terrible thing to know you're going home to die.  When I was home to visit her two weekends ago she said to me, "I just thought I would have more time."

We don't know how much time is left, but I can say with certainty that we all did, Gram.  We all did.

Thanksgiving and... NASCAR?

Ummmm, yeah, NASCAR.  

The Force was a little more than obsessed with stealing Mr. Joe and Miss Sally from me.  Good grief!  I thought I was only going to have to compete with my siblings for their love (a race which clearly I'm winning) and now I have to compete with The Force (a race in which I stand NO chance).

While Ma King played with all kinds of Batman toys and got schooled in all things superhero, Pa King taught The Force about "real life Lightning McQueen".  By the end of his 10 minute tutorial, The Force was telling me how the pace car was already off the track, that Jimmy Johnson could win the whole points race without actually winning, and that there were only 80 laps left, which meant there was a good chance there would be a big crash.

Oh boy.

I'm procrastinating.  Oh yeah, baby, big shocker there, right?  It's really what I'm best at.  I'd start a club, but maybe I'll get to it tomorrow.  After getting The Force some breakfast and managing to wash the dishes while Jason did the mad dash to get himself ready for work while getting The Force ready for school (we have him all week), I'm sitting on the sofa in the apartment, watching the cats lounge and thinking, I want the life of my pets.  Well, that life without all the medical drama.  Seriously.  Otis is stretched out to his full length, rolling around on his back, Oz is taking an early morning nap on the cat tree in the window, and Pooh King is the requisite 48 inches from my feet, making sure he doesn't miss my move to the door to leave for work.  He's become quite accustomed to riding around with me for the work day... as Mom points out, it's the life he's been waiting 13+ years for- virtually no separation from me.  (Truth be told, I rather like it, too.)  When I DO leave him with Jason for a while, he kind of looks like I've kicked him in the guts and pouts for quite a while.

The apartment is nearly done.  We're working on trying to find homes for the contents of the last few boxes.  Mom and Dad will be here on Saturday on their way through to Pittsburgh for Thanksgiving, which is code for "Hurry up and get this shit done so they don't have to step over that."  It's looking really nice, though, and I'm pleased with how it's coming along.  As much as having the memory of the fire makes me gun shy about living with other people around me (whose asshattery could burn my fancy shit up again), I think I might just be an apartment/condo person.  It's just so stinkin' convenient to have someone else do all the work except for housekeeping.  I mean, really, it is.  And after taking care of that monstrocity of a house (in more than just square footage, mind you) it's REALLY nice to be down to a mere 1400 square foot apartment (which is still a really nice size by my standards) with no yard work.  At the very least, I'm going to have to have a lawn boy to go back to a yard, so start lining up.

Oh, peeps, after a long week or so of internet trouble, I'm happy to report I'm back!  And back with a new internet company.  So kiss it, Embarq/Centurylink.  Well, you can kiss it as soon as I can actually get in touch with you.

Donald really knows how to move and shake it!

The moving.  Oh, the moving!  And it's not over yet.  Nope, not really.  We're still unpacking all the decorative stuff in the apartment.  And, well, there's still stuff at the house.

We've got to go get a storage unit for all the stuff that still won't fit in the apartment.  Yep, even after the kick-ass, no-holds-barred, get-rid-of-it-all-and-float-away yard-sale, we've got "stuff".  It's the plight of the apartment-dweller.  Apartment-dwellers and hoarders are the reason mini-storage unit complexes  exist.  We may have belonged in one category before the yard sale, but now we're legitimately in the other.  If you don't have an attic, basement, or garage, and you want to keep your kid's artwork, pictures from your own childhood, a comic collection, holiday decorations, and a Christmas tree, you're going to need a storage unit.

Damn it.  So long as we're OUT of that house by Sunday.

We have the internetz back!  Whoo hoo!

Now I have to go unpack some shit.  You know, 'cause these boxes don't live up to my definition of fancy.

Well, of course it happened...

So, what do you think the difference is between this picture...

A)

and this picture?

B)

If you said that in picture A, Otis had piss up to his eyeballs, and in B, Otis had a catheter shoved in his peeps, you'd be correct! He developed the fated "urethral blockage" some time on Monday, and by last night it was quite clear that Otis was having some issues. I called the emergency vet and she told me that since it was so early in the timing of the blockage he could wait until this morning (which I'm sure he actually did NOT appreciate). So this morning I toted him in to get the news he did indeed have a "considerably substantial and very dense plug". He's got a kitty catheter, and will have his bladder lavaged for 2 days to try to break down the crystals and see if he can avoid having a peep-ectomy. Poor Otis. Lying there in the collar of shame, he didn't realize he could pick his head up and eat out of the food bowls. After a few minutes of hand-feeding he realized the collar of shame still allowed him to eat and his inner fat-cat was all about dinner!


Poor Otis, somebody kicked him in the penith.

My hair

Not too bad for when you got your hair did by yourself... with the help of your husband and the world's ugliest hair cap!

In the news...

Pooh King is continuing to slowly improve!  His joints are creaky (which has prompted a call to the vet to see if this is expected, if my expectations are realistic, or if he needs more meds) but he is getting up and down on his own and is walking longer distances more frequently each day.  I've discovered Pop-K is most comfortable on 2 Ultram every 6-8 hours... he even jogged about 10 feet yesterday (though that's strongly discouraged at this point) and Jason had to hustle to get him out of the woods because he'd taken him out without the leash, assuming he wouldn't hobble away from his side.  Ha ha!!!  He showed that boy!  Otis seems to be doing great other than NOT wanting to eat his very expensive food.  Fat bastard.  That shit costs a lot of duckets and he'd rather not eat what they promised would make him even fatter.  But, no peeing on the floor is good.

The story below (you know, The Force's Baby Brother?) was topped off by The Force bringing out a stopwatch to see how long getting his baby brother was going to take.  Our 'custody week' with him ended last night when we had to take him back at 7pm.  As we crawled into bed much later, I stepped on something on the floor next to my side of the bed.  I reached down and picked up the stopwatch.  Apparently, we had 15 hours and 40 minutes to get the job done.  That kid's all about speed.  We've got some other stuff to worry about before we go throwing a baby brother into the mix!

Oh boy.

The Force:  T, do you have a baby in your belly yet?

Me: (turns off vacuum) WHAT?

The Force:  Do you have a baby in your belly yet?

Me:  Ummm, no.  Why?

The Force:  Because I want you to have a baby brother for me. 

Me:  You would like that?  A baby brother?

The Force:  Yep.  I want a baby brother.  And Daddy's going to have a baby sister for me.

Me:  He is?  You want a baby brother AND a baby sister?  Both?

The Force:  Yes.  I want both.

Me:  Do you think you could handle that?  I mean, that's a lot of work for you.  You'd have to teach them, like, everything.  You know, how to walk, talk, play soccer...

The Force:  Well, I'm the best at soccer, so that's not a problem.  I can do it.

Me:  Okay, well, then what would you call your baby brother?

The Force:  The Force's Little Buddy.

Me:  And your little sister?  What is her name going to be?

The Force:  The Force's Little Sister.  (Rolls eyes like I'm a moron or something.)

Today after playing down in his room for a while, The Force came up the stairs with one of his winter hats from about 2 years ago on.  He'd dug it out of the bottom of a drawer.  He was in full "The Force's Little Buddy" mode, including telling me that The Force had told him he could play with certain things, but to be careful because he could be pinched if he wasn't careful. 

I can't wait to see Jason produce a little sister!

Oh no.

In twenty minutes, someone will point out that no matter how broke I am, this was a bad idea.  That person is likely to be me.

When it rains, Otis pisses on the floor...

So, for a while we've been having a bit of a urination problem.  Not me or Jason... not even Luke.  Well, I'm not even sure now WHO it was, really.

At first I thought it was Pooh.  I mean, given his advanced age, a little incontinence if I took too long to get home and let him out isn't really that unexpected, right?  So I steam cleaned the rug without complaining.  I mean, it's really my fault for not getting home faster or having the pet-sitter come to take him for a walk.  The basement has always had a "funk" that I attributed to its musty-damp-needs-a-dehumidifier smell.  But it got more intense.  Jason thought it was the litter box.  There was a spot on the mat that's under the litter box.  I changed the type of litter.  I bought a deoderizer.  We cleaned it religiously.  I kept steam-cleaning random urine spots.  But it didn't smell like cat urine.  Didn't ever have that pungent, rank cat urine smell.  You know how it smells when cats mark their territory.  You only have to smell it once and you know that smell.  It never smelled like that.

One day Jason and I moved my funky daisy wool rug, and found the source of the funk.  Big fat urine stain.  Oh, Pooh King!  I blamed it squarely on him.  Cleaned the rug, cleaned the carpet.  Cleaned and cleaned and cleaned.  Kept the rug on the porch so I could clean it from the backside. 

Then there were random urine spots downstairs after Pooh King got sick.  Some of the spots were tiny, some were pretty big.  NO WAY he could have made it down the stairs without having been found in a pile at the bottom.  And he definitely could not have made it back up.  Had to be a cat.  This was Tuesday night.  3 urine spots.  I blamed Oz.  Had to be girl cat behaving badly.  I wondered if I should take her to the vet and have her checked for a UTI.

Then yesterday morning, as I was getting breakfast ready, Otis was sitting on the rubberized "Welcome" mat that is now inside the door to keep Pooh from slipping on the tile.  I thought he was trying to Jedi-mind-trick me into giving him my breakfast... he was staring soooo intently at me and my bagel.  Then I realized a puddle of urine was growing around him.  He wasn't squatted to pee, it was just coming out of him as he sat on the floor.  "OTIS!!!"  I ran over and put my hands on either side of him, and he moaned that low, deep cat waller that only cats can do when they're in pain or are going to puke, then took a few steps, flipped onto his back and started licking his little weenis like it was killing him.  Okay, Otis's turn to go to the vet!

The good doctor checked Otis out, and with one squeeze of the bladder got Otis to piss all over the exam table.  (And apparently that's quite a feat since cats are notoriously difficult to MAKE pee.  They can usually hold it no matter what you do to them... we should all be so lucky.)  The diagnosis?  Feline cystitis.  The urine was analyzed and found to be full of mineral crystals and blood.  Poor Otis has been making crystals in his bladder (but not in his kidneys) and peeing them out just like razor blades, much to the dismay of his little weenis's urethra.  Thankfully, no stones or blockages.  So it's special food for Otis to help break down the crystals and distilled water ONLY as the likely culprit is the well water here.  That means all the pets have distilled water.  Pooh is on massive doses of steroids.  Do you know how much water that dog drinks?  Holy shitballs, Batman.

Poor Otis.  Pissing on the floor was probably tantamount to throwing himself under the bus.  I mean really, he knew he was either going to the vet, or I was going to kill him, and he was fine with either one.  Oz remains smug in all her glory as the supreme dumpster cat who does NOT piss on the floor.  And Pooh has hit his stride as a 'roid eater.  He continues to get stronger every day, is gradually transitioning back to his normal food, and is even eating scooby snacks again!  Whoo hoo!

POP-K makes the rebound!

Pooh got sick on Sunday the 5th.  Started out by not eating breakfast, then got lethargic, stopped drinking water, and by 6:30pm started to stagger around.  I started calling the vet from our office that was on-call but couldn't get in touch with her right away.  Finally got into the office around 8:30.  He had a positive "snap test" for Lyme's exposure, a fever of 105.5 and was dehydrated.  Took him home that night on the antibiotics for Lyme's and w/fluids, but wound up back the next morning with him having bounced back a little then spiraled down quickly.  He made no improvement with treatment, couldn't break the fever, and on Thursday morning as I was headed in the vet called to tell me he was getting worse and they had exhausted what they could do.  I had the choice to take him to an internal medicine specialist to see if they had anything else to offer, or I needed to put him down.  All the joints in his legs had started to swell and he couldn't get up on his own and could barely walk.  I drove him to NC to the specialist knowing that they might find something that could be treated, might find something that would make me end it for him, or might find nothing and would leave me in the same position of ending it.  I spent the whole 2.5 hour drive with him riding shotgun, head in my lap, telling him what a good dog he's always been and how grateful I am to have spent every minute with him, even when he's been naughty.  The vets were so great.  They laid on the floor to examine him because he hurt too much to lift him onto the table.  When the vet pushed on his swelled ankle joint, he didn't growl or whine, he just drew his leg back and looked at her with the saddest eyes, as if to say, "Please don't do that again, it hurts."  They could tell right away what a good dog he is and how much pain he was in.  Thankfully they quickly found that he didn't have Lyme's but had Rocky Mtn Spotted Fever, and that it had triggered "auto-immune mediated neutropenic polyarthralgia".  Basically, he had rheumatic fever in his joints.  Once they started treating him with steroids he started to stabilize, then slowly started getting better.  The fever broke on day 6, and he started eating again on day 9.  He started walking unassisted on day 10, and could get up on his own and being far less unsteady yesterday.  He's still pretty bony from going so long without eating and with the fever eating him up, but his personality is back, and he's back to being my good dog.  :)

You can buy my left kidney on e-Bay to help pay the vet bills.

Pooh doesn't have Lyme's Disease, AND HE DOESN'T HAVE CANCER, he has Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever.

Nice.

I'm now feeding him baby food via syringe, and hoping that his appetite will come back while on massive doses of steroids.

Hoping.

Anyone have great suggestions on how to make a dog eat again?  Poor Old Pooh King, or POP-K as h++-+e's known far and wide these days, is slowly looking somewhat better.  He's drinking well and his eyes are clear, but he's still running a low-grade fever and he's not eating.  Not even bacon.

So help me, my peeps.  Help me food-bribe my dog.

We're back from the internal medicine specialist in Greensboro, NC.  Oh, that's right, we've been on a road trip.  On Thursday morning it was clear that Poor Old Pooh King (his newest nickname is POP-K) was not improving and was going to die if nothing changed.  So I decided to have him checked by a specialist to see if anything else could be done. 

After a thorough history and exam by the internal med resident, the specialist came in and had her suspicion of an "autoimmune mediated polyarthralgia of rheumatic nature" triggered by either the Lyme's Disease, or possibly metastatic cancer (no freakin' wonder it's 4 extra years of vet school, huh?) in about 5 minutes.  28 hours later, we were on our way home on high doses of steroids, still on the antibiotics, and with pain meds.  The prognosis is still uncertain, but we're fighting.

Hope?

Sleeping on the cool floor, using his bed as a pillow, fever "down" to 103.8, breathing easier, dreaming, and starting to chase dragons again.  3 antibiotics, an anti-emetic, an antacid, fluids, and some other stuff on board.

Oh, and he licked a little bit of ice cream, too.

Day 4

Drank H2O and wagged.  Small improvement.

Gimme a P...

Please keep your fingers crossed and your tails wagging.  Pooh King has been hospitalized since Monday morning (after a trip to the vet on an emergency basis Sunday night) and is fighting the good fight, but is not making much headway.  He's got Lyme's Disease (fucking ticks) and has sported a fever of 104.5 or better since Sunday.  It's not looking good for our hero, but we're hoping for a 4th quarter rally. 

My heart is broken so wide open I can't even see the edges of its millions of pieces anymore.  He's been my constant partner for 13.5 years, and I just don't know what to do without his happy, wagging, bread-stealing, treat-begging, cat-putting-up-with, toilet-blocking, car-ride-wanting, can't-be-more-than-10-feet-away-from-me-being self.  Please come home to be my bad dog again.  Please.

So, on the top of the list of things I never thought would happen?

• Moving back into an apartment.

Buuuuuut, guess what's about to happen?  Yep, you've got it.  Moving day is going to be Oct. 16... we hope.  Different complex than the last one, and a newly renovated unit to boot, which will be sweet since I won't have to worry about anyone else's funk or bedbugs. 

The long and the short of it is that this house, while pretty to look at, is too big, too labor-intensive, and is sucking the money, time and energy right out of us.  We're never going to get ahead if we stay, and we'd have to move next year anyway as the landlord had a 2 year cap on the house as a rental.  I know he really thought we would buy the house ('cause he's crazy and thinks I crap money), but it wouldn't suit us if he dropped the price by $100k... which would be a more reasonable price for the house than what it was listed at when he pulled it off the market for me to move into.  

So, who wants to come help us lift some heavy stuff?

I have a new motto...

You need to look into someone before you can see through them, you need to look at someone before you can look down on them, and you need to feel you're beneath someone before you can look up to them.

Now, don't go copying that, ya' hear?  Okay, you can USE it, but no stealing, m'kay?  I thought it up all by myself.  I'm sure I heard something that influenced it, but in driving the few hundred miles I've put in for work already this week, I found my brain pondering the sentiment, and recent life events, over, and over, and over.

I quite like my brain most days... aneurysms and all.  (Though at one point I was tempted to add "so suck it, bitches.")

Let my turtle go!!!

Once upon a time there was a baby turtle.  He was found crossing the street into our yard.  Now, we know this is not the best place for a baby turtle, since there are things such as Pooh Kings, lawn mowers, and young superheroes.

So we looked at him, watched him a little, then helped him on his way.

One can't help but notice that he seemed to be flying...

Then down into the grass he went, and...

 off toward the lake he moseyed.

 And that's how we LET MY TURTLE GO!!!

Challenge!

A new generation learns the epic game, "HEY COW!!!"

I am so NOT used to the new look of my old blog, that I just looked at it half-way down the page and thought, "Geeze, whose blog is this?  She reads a lot of the same stuff I do."

I'm bizarre sometimes.

Now, here are some more wedding pictures from Sam Edwards Photography.  Like you were done with this?  HA!

My gorgeous flowers that I did "myself"... with the help of Goose, Wacky, Student!, Sam, my Seester, and Amy...  but hey, I came up with the idea and ordered them myself!

It didn't rain on my parade, thanks to some help from Uncle Tony... about 60 seconds before he was 90 proof!

Ma and Pa King kicked some serious ass (no offense, Elaine and Wrenn) in the "We've Been Married Longer Than You" Dance-Game, which Jason and I lost in less than 45 seconds...

Our "official" photographers, SisB and Heather!  Not to worry, SisB eats like a champ, she really IS just naturally thin (the bitch) and nobody from the King Family Circus had to force food or drink down her gullet.  It was as much fun as I imagined it would be to have those two around in real life, which was more fun than one could possibly imagine.  Yeah, sit around and think about that for a while...

Yeah, baby!

Ahhhh, this is MUCH better!  Apple Crisp Julie changed hers, and so did Sis B, so I had to change mine.  I figured out how to fix a couple of things, then change the layout again... and again... and again... and now I like it quite a lot, actually.

Last night, PB... whose real name is Jason.  My husband's name is Jason, so there.  We went to see a band play at a local restaurant.  They were really good and we had a great time.  On the way home, we passed one of FarmVegas's finest with a car pulled over, clearly giving the driver a field sobriety test.  It was not pretty.  The driver looked as though she could have used a flux capacitor to get from a street corner in 1984 to FarmVegas last night.  As we rolled passed, Jason says, "Damn, that looks like a REAL episode of COPS!"  And it did.  It really, really did.

Okay, I've redone the blog a bit... What do you think?  But I don't know how to get rid of that little box that tells me that a picture or video is gone.  I don't even know what photobucket is.  Never used it.  Help!

I want to be a weather man.  Not really, but really... it's the only job where you can be wrong most of the time and stay employed.  Last week the weatherman called for unbelievable heat and drought with no end in sight.  It's been in the upper 80s to low 90s with rain just about every day since.  NOW it's going back into the 100s. 

On the day of our wedding, it was to be in the upper 80s with a 30% chance of rain.  I spent the early morning at the wedding site with Goose, Wacky, Student!, and the Best Man getting flowers ready.  My Seester and The Trucker, Amy and her husband showed  up a while later to lend a hand.  It was freakin' HOT and not a cloud in the sky.  So sunny I was getting sunburned in the shade.  (You know, 'cause I'm albino and all.)  At 10:45, my Seester, Amy and I left to get our nails did, then it was back to the hotel for my hair-do, makeup and to get in the dress. 

I was about to dive into the dress at 3:15 when Joanna, the wedding site coordinator called to tell me they were putting the rain sides up on the pavilion.  Whaaaa??? 
Her:  Well, we just thought it would be a good idea since there's a chance we might get a little rain.
Me:  I guess.  I mean, don't you think that's a little over-cautious?  The chance of rain is only 30%.
Her:  Welllllllllll, it just looks like we might get a little shower.
Me:  Really?  Well, if you think it's necessary...
Her:  Ummmmmmmmmmmmmm, they're calling for a little storm. 
Me:  Oh.
Her:  Uh, Tiffany, when was the last time you were outside?
Me:  About noon.
Her:  Can you see out a window?
Me:  Yeah, just a second... Holy shitballs, Batman.  (Trees are bending sideways.  Sky is BLACK and SWIRLING.  ALL HELL IS ABOUT TO BREAK LOOSE.)
Her:  So, what do you want to do?
Me:  Put those rain sides up!  We can't get married on the dock during a monsoon!  I'll call PB and tell him.  We're getting married on the dance floor, I guess.

WTF weatherman?

The bad news?  We didn't get married on the dock.  The good news?  I didn't get sunburned during the wedding, nobody passed out, and nobody fell in.  More good news?  It went from 95 to about 78 in less than 30 minutes.  The rain sides came down about an hour later when it stopped raining and the sun came out.  We still got to take pictures on the dock.  We stayed up and rocked it out until midnight.  There were virtually no bugs at the wedding, and nobody had to smell like Deep Woods Off!

Oh, what a month it's been!!!  PB and I have been married for something like 5 weeks.  He's finished school and is now waiting on the final contract negotiations to be hammered down (tomorrow) for his new job.  It will be great to have the both of us doing what we're meant to do, and doing it from our home!

Speaking of our home...  we're in the process of deciding on whether we'll be staying in our current home or finding another place to lay our heads.  The house we're in is out of our price range to buy, and is on the expensive side for a rental, but if we're careful with the utilities this winter we'll do okay... and honestly, the thought of moving again, just to turn around and move in another year or so (which is our hope... to buy in a year) is enough to make me vomit.  Of course, the tops on renting this house is 2 years, which will be up next November ('11), and I really don't want to be moving during the winter... so, well, we've got to figure something out.

I've just finished a 13 day work week.  Yikes.  It was rough.  Really rough.  But, that's done with, and now we're back on track for everything, so life goes on.  I used to work weeks like that all the time, really, but now they take the piss right out of me.  I'm so freakin' tired at the end of a 12-13 hour day, and when there's no day to sleep until 10, I just can't catch up.

PB's official graduation was yesterday.  Whoo hoo!  We had a great time with his family at the ceremony (and his sister-in-law, nephew, and I totally made fun of people, and will ask the sweet baby Jesus to forgive us), then PB and I went on to his classmate's house for a cookout.  We got to take lots of things that were leftover from the wedding, and broke a jar of sweet pickles (awesome, since I don't even like sweet pickles).  It was really nice to get to meet people I'd only heard about over the past year.  We kept making plans to meet up with his classmates,  but it never worked out.  It was great to actually meet them, and some of his instructors, too.  They were very cool, and it was nice to talk to them outside of school.

I'm still working on thank you cards.

I have learned that a pseudo-"friend" in FarmVegas is telling people how horrible I am for not having invited her to my wedding.  I'll write another post about this soon, no doubt, as there was more than one problem with non-"A-list" friends thinking they've been severely dissed  by not being invited even when I've gone out of my way to explain that I couldn't invite everyone.  Maybe the problem is that everyone thinks they're A-list.  I don't know how to fix that.

Yeah, I kind of feel like that now. 

I still need to return all kinds of wedding stuff to Spellbound, and there's all the thank you cards to write, and well, frankly, we still have to find a place to put some of the things we got.  And then there's the normal rigamarole of work, paying bills (and catching up on a few), mowing the lawn, making dinner, etc.  It's a little overwhelming with the post-wedding settling in and all.  Plus, I'm working out on a regular basis.  I know that's a good thing, but it adds one more thing to the "to do" list.  And now that PB's done with school and is here all the time, there's all this "together" time that wasn't there before.  It's great, but it's a new piece of the dance that takes a little getting used to when you've spent at least 3 nights a week apart.  It's all coming together, though, and it's lovely.  I just want that winter honeymoon in the late summer, I think.  :)

Happy July, y'all.  I wish I had something for you, but my head hurts.  So let's all sit back, and just look at the wonder of nature... then get it on grasshopper style, just like these horny little bastards in my innocent whiskey barrel planter did.

Maybe there was some whiskey left over.

Tired of seeing wedding pictures?

Well, tough shit!  Go somewhere else then, 'cause I waited a long time to get married, and it was really, really fun, and you can suck it if you think I'm going to stop throwing this shit up here any time soon!  Just kidding... sort of... not really at all.  Yeah, it's a little blurry, but if you were drinking our custom wedding drink, the "Ready or Knot", you'd be a little blurry too!

And now, the part in which I'm a whiny little bitch:

So, here's the poll question of the day...  Do you expect to get a gift from people who were invited but didn't come to the wedding?  How about a card?  What about people who did come to the wedding?  What about people who came to the wedding but didn't have to travel on a plane or stay in a hotel?  I didn't really think much about it until yesterday.

Here's a dirty little secret of mine:  I'm obsessed with Cosmo Radio on Sirius Satellite.  When I took the job doing home health, I invested in satellite radio to keep me from being bored stiff as I drive around God's green acres here in Podunk, Virginia.  I've gone through spurts of listening to different stations.  First country, then 90s on 9, 80s on 8, Love Songs, Morning Mashup, then it was the comedy channels, and now?  Oh baby, now it's all about Cosmo Radio.  Siriusly.  (Get it?  Sirius satellite?  That's a joke!)  I have NEVER listened to any form of talk radio.  EVER.  It makes me slightly nauseated, actually.  But I love Cosmo Radio.  And to top it all off, one of the hosts (Taylor) is getting married in August, and she's hysterical, if not a little Bridezilla-ish, and it freakin' cracks me up!  She does a segment called "The Almost Hitched Bitch"  (which, yes, I stole for a post down below) and another called "Don't do it Gal!".  I mean, this is good, clean radio!  Well, sometimes clean, anyway.  The morning show, Wake Up With Taylor, is hosted by 3 people, Taylor, Victoria, and Kenny.  Hilarious, I tell you, and sometimes very serious.  It's very cool.

So yesterday they were talking about various wedding etiquette things, and what was "proper".  The group was debating whether or not you have to send a gift if you do not attend a wedding to which you were invited.  Victoria, who is regarded as the Miss Manners of the bunch, and Taylor, the soon to be bride, were of differing opinions.  Victoria said you send one no matter what.  Taylor said if you don't go, you don't have to send one.   Now, most of the people invited to our wedding were able to come.  We did get a few gifts from a few people who weren't able to come, but haven't from the others.  I'm actually more surprised that we haven't even received a card from some of the people who weren't able to come.  I didn't really expect a gift, but I guess I did expect some kind of acknowledgement beyond the RSVP with regrets.

Also surprising?  The number of people that came to the wedding and didn't bring a card.  Once again, we didn't expect a gift from everyone.  Really, I just replaced my entire household after the fire, so it's not like we really need more towels or sheets (though we did put sheets on the registry), and we're merging two complete households.  We had written in the invitation that we would have a small registry, but that considering the distance that people would have to travel and expenses they would incur, that having them join our celebration was gift enough, and we meant it!  But I was surprised that a lot of the local people didn't even bring a card.

Admission #1:  I've not sent cards for lots of weddings.  I know that.  LOTS.  I've been IN lots of weddings that I've not brought a gift to because I was freakin' broke and in college or grad school and couldn't afford a dress, shoes, travel and a gift, so unless I was going dressless or shoeless, you weren't getting a gift.  Now that I'm older and wiser, I have the hindsight to know that I should have put stickers on a piece of notebook paper and written "Congratulations" on it.

Admission #2:  I just realized that when I got back into my apartment after the fire, I totally saw Jeff and Megan's wedding gift that I had bought and not sent (after their wedding)!  That means that I am guilty of having also gone to a wedding and not taken a card or gift.  Shitballs, Batman!  Note to self:  Quit being a shithead, go replace that gift ('cause I know I can still get it) and haul me and PB to Greensboro for a hand-delivery.

Thoughts, please.

I feel/felt pretty, oh so pretty...

My newest favoritest picture of me... now if I could only airbrush on lipstick...

Happy Father's Day!

My Hero!

Kiss the Bride!

No, wait, YOU I'LL kiss the bride!

Great googly moogly, we're disgustingly happy!