You hate me.  I know you do.

I have a geniune, legitimate reason for being astray.  It’s called ”new job.”  And there be an I.T. department in it.  Who is probably wayyyy worse than a Net Nanny.

So it’s strictly business from here on out.  No browsing the MedHelp site to make sure I’m not dying of a mysterious stomach cramp ailment. No more celebrity gossip.  And sadly, no more storytelling on the blog.  They will catch me doing it and they will no likeee.  And swiftly rebel in a we-ain’t-paying-you-for-that-kind-of-shiznit sort of way.  Me – no job = McDonald’s kids meals for date night for the rest of my life.

Oh, but I guess I didn’t tell you!  I’m not working at the hospital no more.  I was there for about two seconds, then the casino I had interviewed at before gave me a call.  I am now a Buyer and Financial Admin.  Which means I get to purchase all the office supplies I want and they will pay for everything.  Weeee!  But on the flip side, the Admin part means people think I am their own damn sekaterry and want me to create spreadsheets for no dadgum reason.

Being the new girl is a hard job, lemme tell you.  Especially because as soon as I get there, my co-worker gets the maintenance man to install the door buzzer on my side of the cubicle.  That means everytime someone wants in, I have to push the button.  The installer guy asks me where I want the buzzer, and I kind of look at him like he don’t know me very well.  And say, Uhhhh, right by my hand, thanks.  Cuz there be no exercising of any kind at this job either.

However, I am really liking the work.  It’s fun to be busy, and the free lunches are a pretty sweet deal.  Except for the pink hamburgers today.  I’d rather pay for something deep-fried with gravy instead.  At least then I wouldn’t get the cooties.

And mom is working there too.  Which means I am now forced to take a 3 o’clock cookie break cuz she can’t stand all day without some sweets.  Or maybe that is me.  Well. Either way.

So I’m hoping I will be able to update again soon.  I’ll try to anyway.  In the meantime, feel free to send me lots of love and comments.

And p.s.:  My new baby nephew will be born next Friday!  I so excite!!  I think he will be called Liam.  Or Shooter.  Depends on if my brother gets his way.  (Let’s hope not.)

Take care, ya’ll.

Today, for once, I have a break.  I can blog like the good Lord intended.

So here’s what’s been going on:

I quit my job.  I’m still here through the end of this week, but starting Monday I will be working as an account rep for a hospital.  That means I get to talk to insurance companies for hours on the phone.  Which is really the same as talking to airlines.  They are both irritating as hell.

Now if I can re-train myself to call passengers “patients” instead, we are all good.

The bad part about all this is having to switch Autumn to a different school.  She no likeee that one bit.  Cuz according to her, her and her new boyfriend are getting married, as all 14-year-olds are wont to do.

But not only that, her new school is 4 times as big as her current one.  That means no one will know she’s there and she will eat lunch in a bathroom stall or something.  I mean, that’s what I’d do.  Screw making new friends … let them come to me.

On the upside, I will no longer have to clean sweat off tanning beds or take out trash that people peed in.  Yay!  That makes me so very very happy.  Let someone else handle moist money that comes out of mysterious pockets hopefully not in the front of pants.

In other exciting news, nephew Bristol now says Di Di, which means ME in baby language.  Of course, when he says it he points to himself, but that’s probably just his way of saying how much HE loves his Di Di.  And I’ve yet to hear him say Auntie Kate or anything similar, so that’s what she gets for running off to college and being smart.  Score!  I just knew there was a good reason for me to go to junior college and get a degree in Secretary.

Speaking of Bristol, I have babysat him on my own for two Sundays now, and lemme just say this:  I forgot how to be a mommy.  Cuz I’m pretty sure mommies don’t take 1-year-olds into a mall holding blankies, purses, diaper bags and umbrellas with no freaking stroller.  I swear, just try paying for a Happy Meal while your child is running off behind you to explore a room full of strangers.  Not.  Very.  Cool.

So you better believe it when I paid six bucks to rent a car-shaped buggy for about an hour.  If I wasn’t such an honest person, I would have just ran out to the parking lot with that dang thing.  We’s fell in love, yo.

However awesome the stroller idea was, though, I can’t say I did so hot in the kiddie arcade.  Turns out, trying to stick a baby in a carnie ride with Bozo the Clown, then said baby kicks Bozo in the face and kind of screams a li’l bit … well, let’s just say, please don’t blame me for any future emotional scars.

And last news of the day, my baby sister turned 19 this past Thursday, and we all had a nice family party at … I’m guessing now, the place du jour … The Cracker Barrel.  Katy was not so keen because you can’t get strip-o-grams at the Cracker Barrel.  Although their chicken ‘n dumplings are to die for.

Times up for today.  I have to do some training with my replacement.  Unfortunately I’m not very good, as I’ve been blogging and surfing the internet for about 5 hours now.  And she’s undoubtedly sitting at her desk staring at a wall or something.

More tomorrow, hopefully.

And it sure ain’t me!

Just wanted to give a quick Happy Birthday to my main squeeze, the love of my life, my best friend forever … BRAD.

He’s 31 today, and that means he really and truly is in his 30s now.  Not that he wasn’t before, but that’s the logic I used when I turned 30.  And who wants to argue with that?

(No One.)

So in celebration of the big day, Brad and I are going to go get free money at the casinos.  Because I’m almost certain that after all the losses we’ve incurred since the $900 win awhile back, we are due for a big sweeps.  And a 42 inch flat screen TV.

I did take him out to dinner last night, though.  And seeing that on my birthday we went to the fancy Shebang restaurant out on the lake, I thought it only appropriate to reciprocate the gesture.  Yes, that’s right …

We went to the Cracker Barrel.

Whaaaa… ??

The Shebang don’t serve no country ham and okra.  That’s not my fault.

Anyway.

He also got a free movie and family-size pack of Reese’s Cups all for himself.  So who loves who best, now, yo?  I’m sure you can feel my gloating all the way across cyberspace.  It’s that big.

So, in summary, Brad — have a wonderfully happy birthday filled with all the chocolate, fried okra, and wheel-detailing gift cards you can manage.  And as soon as we win our fortune out at the casino tonight, you can get that TV.

Then spend the rest on me, of course.  Cuz just because it’s your birthday, it doesn’t override the rules.

Love you!

Mama didn’t even know Randy proposed because he asked her to marry him right in the middle of chocolate cake.

And mom was kind of having a sugar-induced black out euphoria sort of thing, and didn’t register anything besides chocolate-y goodness.  And the fact that Randy was down on one knee in front of her, but probably just to retrieve a dropped fork, as who does a proposal during the climax of the meal?

So seriously, how Mama got engaged after that little fiasco is beyond me.

I, on the other hand, would be on my best behavior during a proposal.  Like, I would listen with both ears and everything.  I can’t promise you what my eyes would be doing, as looking for the diamond might be too much of a temptation to control.  But I will know exactly what you said and how you said it, and I’d gladly trade in a piece of chocolate cake for a diamond ring.

However, we may have to negotiate on the mashed potatoes.

So, you know, if there be any proposals in the making by anyone in particular, I’d like him to know I am 100% prepared for anything.  Even if a strip-o-gram is involved.

And my ring size is 7.

Just sayin’.  In case.

I know it’s been awhile since my last post, like almost two weeks. And I know it’s been killing you, checking here everyday (don’t lie, you were) and not seeing anything new. Allow me to make it up to you by giving you a rousing rendition of birthday madness.

As ya’ll know (or should know), it was my 34th birthday on Saturday. Mom, Katy and I went to a cute little bistro for some lunch, where I spent an insane amount of time voodooing people with my eyes, trying to get them to go away so we could have their table. I’ll admit … I don’t do well with patience. Especially when hungry. Cuz I was thisclose to stealing their kettle chips. And I wouldn’t even have felt guilty about it. Better than a karate chop to the throat, I always say.

Especially when you’re 90.

Anyway.

Here’s a photo:

Ya’ll have about two seconds to tell me how fabulous I look without glasses. And that my right eye is NOT bigger than the left and is, in fact, perfectly proportioned on my face.

Later in the day, I force my entire family to waste an entire tank of gas to drive to a fancy restaurant about an hour away. And because I am the birthday girl, nobody argues with that kind of logic. The restaurant is called The Shebang, it is pink, and it is FABULOUS. Part early-1920s ballroom and part late-1800s whorehouse, the restaurant was quite an atmospheric experience.

Here’s me and Brad:

Not a huge fan of this photo, although I kept the fleshy arm down and away from bright lights. Good call on my part, trust me.

Then we took this photo:

That be mama and her adoring children. And of course, since the night was all about ME, I had to have her stand on my side and put her hand on my shoulder. In a “you are my favorite child” gesture sort of way. It is to make up for the computer she never bought me. Although she did get me a kick ass electric typewriter. So who can complain about that?

Here is a list for mother to jot down and keep with her at all times. You know, in case she forgets how 72 hours of labor pain was absolutely worth it:

#1 — I keep you perpetually young. That is what happens when your oldest still acts (and looks) like a 16-year-old.

#2 — I extend your life. Cuz that is what laughter does, and no one makes you laugh like I do. NOBODY.

#3 — I understand how you can go in coma-zone during chocolate cake. Trust me, mashed potatoes do me the exact same way.

#4 — I encourage you to be the best Debbie you can be. Didn’t mean to go buy yourself some fake boobies, but that’s okay, too.

#5 — Who else better to take care of you in your old age besides the one who knows you best? I just hope Randy’s up for it.

#6 — Er … I mean, I will take care of you. But just during TV time. Cuz I have a feeling when you are old, you will need me to do the channels, and that means endless reality TV for both of us! And probably lots and lots of plastic surgery shows.

#7 — Fine. I’ll help you during meal time, too. How else will you eat my spinach-stuffed chicken unless I make you?

#8 — And finally, probably the best reason why I am your daughter … cuz it’s funny to walk through the mall and make people think we’re lesbians.

Mama, thanks for giving birth to me 34 years ago. And trust me when I say this: I loved you even when you had brown hair and wore pantyhose with everything. Riding on the back of your bicycle and eating gigantic Hardee’s cookies with you was the time of my life. And going to the same place every year for summer vacation was just fine with me.

Plus, knowing your CB friends called you “Pockets” cracks me up to no end. And that means I’m going to live extra long, now, too.

I think we’ve done well by each other, don’t you?

I know ya’ll been waiting for a good Lasik eye surgery story. It just so happens that I have one. And it begins like this:

Monday morning, mom picks me up for my appointment. I’m a little nervous, but kind of excited too. I’ve been wearing glasses since the 3rd grade, so getting the opportunity to throw them away for good is actually sort of intimidating. Cuz seriously, my glasses have been like an extra body part, and I fully expect to have a phantom pain or two, but more in the form of pushing my invisible glasses up my nose or something. And then checking the room to see who just witnessed me doing that.

Once there, the nurse takes me back to a room full of other Lasik patients. It’s time for pre-op, yo. There be a little scrubbing of the eyelids, the ingestion of a tiny pill called Valium, but which I like to refer to as Heaven. And then the administering of super cool blue sanitary hat and booties. And I swear to you when I say this: “Sexy” is not even a strong enough word for that combination.

Then the nurse does the unthinkable. She takes my effing glasses away and sits me down in front of a TV. For what, pray tell? Certainly not for watching it, because I can’t see a dadgum thing. All I know is that it was the Olympics and someone was riding a bicycle.

Pfft.

Slowly, the Valium starts to take effect. And I spend an extraordinary amount of time folding and refolding my Kleenex. Then, the dude next to me sets his foot rest up and I could swear he was wearing cowboy boots under his blue booties. You can just imagine how hard it was to resist touching them. And asking him why the hell he’d wear cowboy boots on surgery day.

About 30 minutes later, it was my turn to go in. I was surprisingly calm, but I’m pretty sure the Valium had a hand in that. However, I was not prepared for the vibrating blade. I could have sworn I was blinking the hell out of my eyelid, despite being propped open by clamps. And when they tell you to focus on the blinkie light … well, nothing says move your eyeball all around the place quite like “sit still and stare non-stop at the blinkie light.” It truly is a miracle I didn’t come out of there with half a head.

Afterwards, I could see. It was sort of milky and dim, but I could read the clock and see my mom waiting for me outside the window. I go into a room where the doctor checks my corneas with a microscope, and then goes over my post-op kit. I have 3 bottles of drops to administer about a billion times a day, and a pair of really nifty sunglasses. Like real big, dark ones that one might wear on a fishing excursion or playing archery. But the best part was that they were FREE. Cuz nothing says money well spent quite like a sweet pair of shades that Jimmy Huston would shoot you in the ankle for.

Now, this procedure hasn’t been without it’s downs. I mean, I haven’t been able to wear make-up for 5 days. And without my glasses on, I’m just a pale blubbery mess. How Brad has managed to stay in love is beyond me. If I didn’t know how to make a kick-ass saucy pork chop, there may be no hope for me at all.

Pictures are forthcoming. In the meantime, here is one of Katy in her new dorm at Missouri University:

We all drove up to Columbia on Wednesday to move her in. There’s another picture of me and Brad during lunch, but the fleshy arm is on full display in that one, and trust me, you will no likeee.

Alright. I’m off to stare at myself incessantly, pretend I don’t see a wrinkle or signs of the wonky eye. Have a good weekend.

School has started.  Which is a rather normal event, complete with buying Autumn a batch of new clothes that she will decide to hate about 3 weeks later.  You know, the status quo.

But this year is a little different.  Now my baby is in friggin’ HIGH SCHOOL.  And I swear I have no idea how this happened.  Cuz it wasn’t too long ago she was watching That’s So Raven on the Disney Channel.  And I’m pretty sure that was yesterday.

I’m serious, I’m getting dizzy just thinking about it.  Can I really be the mother of a 9th grader?  Cuz I’m pretty sure I was watching That’s So Raven yesterday, too.  And that’s just too young to have big kids.

This year, Autumn decides she is going to be for reals about school.  She is going to study and behave and make good grades, all so she can get into college for free.  She wants to be either an astronaut, architect, pharmacist or hair dresser-slash-fashion designer.  I’m leaning more towards a pharmacist/hair dresser combo cuz that will benefit me the most.  And of course, that’s the only reason to have children, isn’t it?  For the free stuff.  I mean, I’ve gotta get reimbursed somehow.  That unused softball equipment (for her one day softball career) won’t just play itself.

So here’s the traditional first day of school picture.  All ready for a full seven hours of learning and absorbing information, as evident by make-up bag, cell phone, and gigantic vampire novel.

In other words, I’m thinking free pharmaceuticals are eons away.

Poo.

Perhaps she can get by on pretty.  Cuz on that, she’s practically professional.  And ya’ll know how easy it is to get stuff with pretties.  Kind of how I finagled a new tire for the Kia for $35.  I swear … men just get so bamboozled by the googly eyes.

Just ask Brad.

Now that I have officially mastered the gym (cuz ya’ll know I’ve been there at least 5 times since 1974), I have taken on another challenge.  Come Monday morning, I get new eyes.  Eyes without glasses, that is.

This is a huge deal.  I’ve had glasses since the third grade, ya’ll.  That’s like a billion years ago, so you can imagine how blind I am now.  Seriously, if I knock my glasses off the nightstand, I’m screwed.  I have to call in special op forces just to help find them on the carpet 3 feet down.  It’s a dire situation if you ask me.

But I decided to take control of my handicap and dadgum fix it.  So I go to the eye doc today for a pre-screening just to see if I am a good candidate or not.  Cuz apparently not everyone gets the pleasure of spending $3000 on surgery.

First test was one to measure the size of my cornea.  I had to stick my face up to a screen and focus on a red light and not blink for five seconds.  And I swear to you, I can totally not blink for five seconds easy until someone tells me not to blink for five seconds.  Then it’s nigh on impossible.

Turns out, though, my eyes are healthy and happy and ready to go.  Albeit blind as a bat, but who cares about that now?  On Monday morning, I will be a 20/20 goddess and nothing will stop me.  I will be untouchable.  Invincibile.  In short …

Superhuman.

She cooks, she cleans, she walks the treadmill at 1.7 miles per hour …

I mean, how much more superhuman can I be?

Cuz just this past weekend, Brad and I were at the lake sitting down on the dock having some lunch when I told him I may be 33 but I can do anything your average 16 year old can do.

Then I had him help me up off the floor.

Whaaaaa….?  You try getting up from ground zero after eating a huge meal.  That’s practically an Olympic sport right there.

But back to eyes.  So excited about storing away my glasses for good.  Not so excited about the bill that shall linger on for the next five friggin’ years.  However, a small price to pay for freedom.

And donations are always welcome.

So I was just checking out my blog stats, seeing where people are clicking to get to my page, and I come across something very interesting.  Under the “search” items, someone found my blog by typing in “boob slice.”

WTF?  I cannot for the life of me think of one time I’ve used those two words in the same sentence.  Neither on paper, in real life or on blog.  I don’t even know what a boob slice is.

Unless you wanna consider how when I wear a bra that is not too nice and it partitions my boobies into four unequal parts, with the upwards portions hanging out of the cup in a none-too-pleasing manner.

But that’s quadra-boob.  Not boob slice.

So, again, I have no idea.