December is lurking

It is the end of November. This means a few things. A) I will need to be changing my masthead rather soon. B) Christmas is coming to rob me of all monies saved thus far. C) The end of NaBloPoMo is here and D) I will soon be turning 28.

And that just sucks.

In honor of the ending of November, I am going to take the night off, go to bed early and sleep in late tomorrow.

Until next time...

The Death of a Christmas Tradition

My family is a family of many traditions. Traditions that my mother and my father put in place in order to create a deep rooted sense of family, security and lasting memories.

As of yesterday, tradition is dead in my family. Officially DOA when I walked in the door last night from a long and un-eventful day at work.

For as long as I can remember, we have always bought a real christmas tree for christmas. And not just any live christmas tree, mind you. A lush, gorgeously scented Frasier Fir christmas tree. Each year after thanksgiving, my family would pile into the minivan or SUV and drive to one of two primo christmas tree lots to pick out our tree for the year. We would often stand out in the freezing cold (with the exception of one wacked out year when it was actually around 70 degrees - and unicorns were dancing through the backyard whilst singing show tunes from 'The Wizard of Oz') and walk through row upon row of deeply scented christmas trees in order to find just the perfect one. Not too fat and not too skinny. Certainly not too sparse or too short. It must be the right height for our living room. It was acceptable however to buy one with a nasty patch, as long as it could be hidden discreetly in the corner.

My mother and I would then walk up to look at the wreaths and pay for the tree while my dad and brothers made sure the tree was packaged up and trimmed to our specifications. It would then be tied to the roof of the car and driven home where it would sit in a bucket of water for a day or two to ensure no needles were lost in the process. Of course being a family of five with many opinionated and stubborn individuals, there were a select few years when I remember tensions were running high, and I especially remember the year that my mother told my father he didn't know his arse from a hole in the ground.

Funniest. Phrase. EVER.

When decorating day would arrive, my mom would be sure to set up a mini family party complete with egg nog (of the non-spiked variety) cookies and other treats. She would then turn on the christmas CD and we would all decorate the tree from our boxes of ornaments. It was great to see the 'Baby's 1st Christmas' ornaments from both 1980 and 1981 for myself. You see, I was born at the butt end of December 1980 and my parents had been CERTAIN I would be born before christmas that year. I however had different plans and celebrated my first christmas 5 days shy of my first birthday. How many of you can say THAT?

As we grew older, we grew less and less enthused about tree decorating. By the last couple of years my mom would have to guilt trip us into decorating the tree, or even make it a mandatory chore for my brothers and I. We would then balk at this and my mom would get mad and then someone would begrudgingly decorate the stupid tree. And then complain of how they were missing "The Office" or some silly crap like that.

So I suppose I shouldn't have been too surprised when I came home from work late last night to find an intruder sitting in a box on the family room floor.

An artificial, pre-lit, 7ft tall FAKE AS FAKE CAN BE Frasier Fir tree.

As soon as I saw it I looked accusingly at my dad and said "Christmas is dead. You both have just killed it."

My mom then went on to say that it is our turn (us kids that is) to be buying the christmas trees for our own homes and that she wants grandkids. Like, today. Or else. Because she isn't getting any younger. And my ovaries are going to fall out soon, so "Carrie Anne you had better use those suckers to the best of your ability".

I'm beginning to see that maybe this whole fake christmas tree thing was just a sick ruse to get one of us to use our God given talents to produce grandkids.

Maybe christmas isn't dead after all, but just in a vegetative state for the time being.

Makes me, like, so happy!

Today was the day that I had to pack my boys up and send them on their way down south to Texas where the weather was sunny and warm with a chance of spontaneous rainbows and possible light shower of Skittles falling from the sky.

I know that they aren't going to miss me nearly as much as I will miss them. Especially after our conversation on the way to the airport.

Munchkin was in the backseat practising his whistle (he loves the 'cat calling' whistle, and I am just waiting for him to do this just as a buxom blonde walks by) and after remarking on his whistle, decided to fill us in on how he learned to do such a thing.

"I learned how to whistle one day while I was in the bathroom. I sat on the potty and taught myself how. I was, like, so happy!"

And, like, so am I.

If you can't cook, don't.

It's thanksgiving and once again I am mooching off of the cooking of another. I have never in my 27 years made a thanksgiving meal, let alone roasted an actual turkey. I plan on keeping that tradition alive as that is my favorite tradition. Eating what others have bestowed upon me.

In the honor of mooching, I have decided to provide you a link to one of my favorite blogs. Happy Thanksgiving!

From Passive Aggressive Notes

It all started with a little cat puke

Ok. I'm 11 minutes late with my post for Tuesday. I figure I can have some leeway however seeing as how I did in fact post twice on one day. I promise. Just look through my blog list. Also I was very busy today. Busier than my normal Tuesday which consists of sleeping until I can not sleep anymore, then waking up in order to loll through my normal routine, decide against wearing make-up because it would take too much effort, not even make any sort of attempt with my impossibly straight hair and then throw on clothes that make me feel least fat. Sigh.

Today was different. Today, my boys were in town and we had things to do! Things to see! Chick-fil-a to be eaten! Here is a play by play of my very awesome Tuesday :

1 - Wake up and suddenly realize I forgot to make the return home flight reservations for Mr. Hot Pilot and Munchkin.

2 - Decide to wake up Mr. Hot Pilot and inform him of this fact.

3 - Hide my face as Mr. Hot Pilot freaks out.

4 - Finally wake up and get myself ready in order to be met with a pile of cat puke outside of my door.

5 - Clean aforementioned cat puke.

6 - Cuddle with cat who puked because the puke cat is actually really awesome. P.S - don't let anyone know I actually said I like a cat. I will deny it to my grave.

7 - Get on the road Jack!

8 - Ate at Chick-fil-a. Had their peppermint chocolate chip milkshake. Am lactose intolerant. WAS TOTALLY WORTH IT.

9 - Head to Baltimore to show off the Maryland Science Center to my boys.

10 - Listened as Munchkin complained that his legs hurt/were tired. Told him I had no idea he was such an old fogie and mentioned an early bedtime perhaps? Strangely Munchkin agreed.

11 - Headed to work to pick up stickers I left behind. Munchkin was offered candy. Munchkin refused. Again, very strange.

12 - Arrived home with a suddenly lethargic and hot Munchkin. Munchkin wanted nothing to do with Ms. Terry's meatballs or the loving licks of our puppy Pepper.

13 - Munchkin had a fever of 101.4.

14 - Gave Munchkin Tylenol, Munchkin fell asleep in bed and Mr. Hot Pilot and I went out in search of Motrin.

15 - Bought aforementioned Motrin, then headed to Old Navy where I tried on a weird hat. Then headed over to Kohls where Mr. Hot Pilot took more pictures of me in weird hats and we bought Mr. Hot Pilot some snazzy jeans. The junk in his trunk looks good.

16 - Came home and suddenly Munchkin was better! And saying "Hi Mr. George! I'm playing and drinking apple juice now!"

17 - Munchkin was right as rain. Fever gone. Miraculous little Munchkin.

18 - Munchkin goes to bed for real this time.

19 - Mr. Hot Pilot and I watch this really stupid movie about a bunch of teens who stumble upon ancient ruins in Mexico - that contain people eating plants. Both wonder why they didn't just torch the place and head back to the beach.

20 - Bedtime. Gotta get up in the a.m to head to Staten Island to visit relatives of Mr. Hot Pilot.

G'night!

In search of answers

Today instead of the normal crap that I might normally post, I have decided to use my blog as a vessel of sorts to try and bring to light an absolutely horrific crime that occurred here in Maryland over the past weekend.

Working where I work we often see very tragic stories unfold whether it be domestic violence, assault, gang violence or motor vehicle crashes. I work in research so our only chance to actually get to know a patient is if they happen to be enrolled in one of our many studies. Because of the nature of my work, I see each and every case that comes through the double doors to ascertain whether or not someone could potentially fit into one of our studies and help others later down the road.

I still remember my first week on the job and getting the opportunity to assist with administering chest compressions on a patient who was in arrest. I remember looking into their eyes and not seeing life. I remember looking at their arms all bruised and hooked up to I.V's. I also remember when they passed away and how deeply it affected me.

I came to learn to try and distance myself somewhat from the cases as some of them were just too tragic to comprehend. In just a few months I understood that hardened edge that many that have worked in the trauma resuscitation unit have come to adopt as their coping mechanism. It wasn't until Saturday that I was jarred back into reality and truly felt a sense of sorrow and a sense of wanting to be able to comprehend something so horrific and tragic as what happened to this young girl:

"Baltimore County police yesterday said they do not know why an unknown man walked up behind a woman in line at a Catonsville liquor store and slit her throat in a fatal attack Saturday afternoon.

The victim was identified as Aysha Dawn Ring, 24, of the first block of Chadnor Court, which is in a town house development west of Security Square Mall.

About 4 p.m., Ring was waiting at the cash register inside Charing Cross Liquors, in the 5200 block of Baltimore National Pike, when a man approached her from behind, police said.

The man grabbed her and cut her neck with an edged instrument, possibly a knife, and then turned and fled from the store, police said."
(See entire story here, thanks to the Baltimore Sun who sent me their link)

To see this happen to such a young person is gut wrenching. To know that there are people out there who love her and at that moment most likely had no idea what had just happened to her was heart wrenching. To think that this act could be completely random is thouroughly bone chilling and horrifying.

I am hoping that someone will come forward with information. Any information. I am hoping that those of you living in Maryland might be able to pass this along to friends and family members in hopes of finding SOMEONE who knows who did this. Any information is useful information.

If you know ANYTHING, please call county police at 410-307-2020.

The only mouse I like...

My boys are finally here, so I feel as though I have every right in the world to take a day off.

Instead of words, I will leave you with what I believe will be my newest obsession/collection and will certainly pass this info along to Mr. Hot Pilot for christmas options.

Head on over to The House of Mouse to check out the entire collection. Here are a few of my faves :

Heating things up

So tomorrow is the day that my boys will be flying up to the cold, arctic heart of Maryland. I must say that I feel badly, yanking them out of their 70 degree bliss down in the decrepit desert that is Del Rio, Texas to bring them up to a place where just standing outside for a few minutes will freeze your noobies off.

I reminded and reminded Mr. Hot Pilot to pack their heavy jackets, but for some reason I get the feeling that we will be making an emergency pit stop at the local Old Navy to outfit Munchkin in something heavier than "spring weight" cotton.

Oh and did I mention that Mr. Hot Pilot (and Munchkin too) is Puerto Rican (and a super hot one at that!) and hails from Tampa? And that he will turn the heat on IN THE SUMMERTIME if he deems it necessary? Yeah, he is going to die at my house.

I currently live with my parents (because I am a) too cheap too lonely to live alone; b) cheap loving my address; c) a raging freeloader not down with the economy and d) waiting patiently for a ring on my left hand not moving out until I marry Mr. Hot Pilot) who like to keep the temperature at a chilly 68 degrees.

Mr. Hot Pilot will attempt to physically harm me (and by harm I mean TURN THE HEAT ON IN THE SUMMER) if I dare accidentally, possibly, maybe fall into the thermostat on his wall and potentially hit a button that might or might not have lowered the temperature to 74 degrees. Yeah, its kind of like that. So needless to say, I had better drag up some blankets, quilts and an extra space heater for my boys, lest I find icicles hanging from their nose hairs in the morning.

I am, afterall, a fabulous hostess!

That Pun Was TOTALLY Intended

The war is back on between Mr. Hot Pilot and I. We are constantly going back and forth about who's town/state is crazier and I believe I have totally found a story that will pickle your beets when you read it.

Now Mr. Hot Pilot does not actually hail from Nebraska, however he spent his not so good years in Omaha while stationed there and I believe we should count all of the places we have lived in our war of weirdness. (I have lived in Maryland and Pensacola, Florida. He has lived in Florida and every other backwards city that side of the Mississippi.) I should also note that Mr. Hot Pilot still owns a house in Omaha, which has now been on the market for about 18 months. Why? Because who in their right mind would want to live in Omaha? (Commence the not-so-happy Pro-Omaha comments....now.)

Today's bit of weirdness includes butt humor. So if you can't handle a good butt humor story or were brought up to respect the finer things in life, then you are boring and might want to direct your attention here. Otherwise, the story goes a bit like this:

So there is some 35 year old guy in Nebraska who has found that normal, everyday, run-of-the-mill graffiti is just not his thing. He wants to express himself in a more elaborate way, experiment with a different medium. That medium is his booty and some lotion/vaseline. He then skips around town to local churches, stores and the occasional school to press his bunky cheeks up on the window for some poor sap to come across the next day and clean up.

(Read the rest of the story here.)

CharmCityChica = 2; Mr. Hot Pilot = 3 The war continues...

The Skies Are Alive With Rainbows and Fairies

Could it be? Is it really true? Have The Airlines heard my plea over ridiculous airfare? Have they read my rant and lowered their prices to accomodate the butts of not only Munchkin but Mr. Hot Pilot on their flight?

Highly doubtful. Ok, entirely ridiculously doubtful.

But for some reason, the clouds opened up, the birds flew back up from the south and started singing show tunes, a rainbow landing at The Hippo's doorstep swept across the sky, the fat man across the street put on a damn shirt and the diamonds encrusted on 50 Cent's chompers aligned. Air Tran dropped their crazy prices by about $180 bucks and my boys will now be joining my family and I for thanksgiving dinner.

Thank goodness for automatic emails sent directly to my inbox from every airline in the Eastern United States. One small victory for this girl.

Oh, and by the way?



Eat this, and You. Will. Die.

The Airline of Impending Doom

When one is in a long distance relationship, there are often times that really make you want to stand out on your back deck and scream to the high heavens about just how much the suckage is getting to you. If I knew I wouldn't be dragged away in a dingy straight jacket, that is just what I would be doing right now.

Mr. Hot Pilot and I have been working at this long distance thing for over a year and a half now. To be perfectly honest I have to admit that I am the luckiest girl on the planet to be with such a kind, sweet, intelligent, oh-so patient wonderful man who will occasionally let me vomit my emotional blatherings all over him. And then tell me how much he loves me.

My latest emotional upheaval was due to this little group called The Airlines. And they took a big massive poop on my day yesterday. You see, I often will travel every other week down to that dust bowl called Del Rio, Texas to visit my boys. My workweek begins on a Friday and ends on a Sunday (and yes I actually work 40 hours in those 3 days) so my only days to travel to and fro are on Monday and Thursday.

Thanksgiving week should have been one of those weeks when I would be packing my bags to be with my boys for some much needed bonding time. Unfortunately since I would be flying back home to Maryland on Thanksgiving day and since neither of my brothers would be able to make it to Thanksgiving at my parents house, I figured that I would just stay put in Maryland to kill two birds with one stone. So Mr. Hot Pilot began looking to see if it were possible to fly up with Munchkin to spend the holiday with my family and I and made the mistake of mentioning it to me.

I got overly excited.

I found what seemed to be the deal of a lifetime on Air Tran.com, where they were advertising $89 one way travel from San Antonio to Baltimore. I about wet my pants with glee. The site seemed to be giving me some troubles and I was unable to buy two tickets at once (I would pay their way up here and they would pay their way back) so when I went back to buy the second ticket at that shining $89 price, the monkey poop hit the fan. I was only able to find a ticket for $388. "This can't be right, there has to be some sort of mistake".

No mistake. After calling Air Tran TWICE about this I learned that I had not only bought the last ticket at that price (even though they were STILL advertising it!) but now I would not be able to return my ticket or change it unless I wanted to pony up a $75 fee. On an $89 ticket.

I was screwed.

By the time Mr. Hot Pilot and I did the math and tried to find a better plan, we decided in the end that it all was just way too much money, mostly due to that $388 blinger. We were able to find $89 one way travel back from Baltimore to San Antonio for $89 (bless you Delta Airlines) but that $388 just really dinged the whole deal. So now not only will I be spending Thanksgiving week in a nearly empty house (save for Thanksgiving day of course) but my boys will be left without any apple pie or snuggle time.

Oh yeah, and now I get to cat sit. Sweet.

Those kids at school — they tease you, Kenny. Because they['ve] never tasted hell. Today, we turn the tables!

I'm going to go out on a limb and admit something to you. I was a weird kid in high school. I know, I know I seem to be the epitome of normalcy and class nowadays but it is true. I was a weird kid and all of my friends fed right into the weirdness.

My friends and I have known each other since 1st grade. In high school we suffered together through the brutal torture that is known as marching band, learned how to drive together, hid our first crushes from each other and often wrote wacky stories about all of the kids we went to high school with. Let's just say those stories were our outlet for what we saw to be injustices in our lives. Instead of resorting to the normal ridicule or torment of our fellow classmates, we would often sit down and write a story about them in which we could inflict all sorts of humility and chaos in order to nurse our own personal wounds.

Often our stories focused on a set group of people (ourselves included) although no one was immune to being thrown into the fray. In fact our own parents would often be caught in the middle of our literary outbursts, often to our immense amusement. One example of this was when an email was sent to my dad from my friends regarding his "Star Trek" collection. Here is how this email went (I have included a picture of the original):


"Subj : This is what we sent to Carrie's dad at work

Want to join the Star Trek haters club?

1) Well first, we're gonna sue them for indecent exposure of the pigment (meaning their deranged faces). I mean, I don't want to look at that crap. Come on, this is TV!

2) We're gonna hire a hitman to kill all the main characters including your favorite "Captain Kurt (sic)". We're gonna check his wallet first to retrieve any personal photos of back when he may have been half-normal so we can see where he went wrong with his looks.

3) We will have a part and appear on the show. The ratings will be so bad that the show will sink with the Starship Whatchamacallit.

4) We'll set the roof of the studio where it's taped afire so Star Trek memories will be buried in the soot.

5) We will replace the show's former timeslot to show the movie "Outbreak".

6) We will track down ANY person or persons possessing Star Trek figurines and take the stuff and build a campfire for the boyscouts with it.

7) Finally we will donate the Star Trek official costumes to the homeless so the whole "DOWN WITH STAR TREK" theme will have accomplished something positive.

Write back and tell us if you would like to jump aboard our mission to erase Star Trek out of the hearts and minds of helpless pupils forever!!

Thank You"

My parents never really said anything of the email and nowadays will often remark about how amusing our "little stories" were. Looking back, these were things that brought my friends and I closer and helped us through that awful part of life called "the teenage years". Whatever it takes!

Got run over by a train and all I got was this dumb plastic leg full of cash

Ah yes, Monday. The only good thing about Monday's for me now is that they are like a typical working schmuck's Saturday complete with insane amounts of sleeping in and early afternoon news watching. No matter what time I wake up, I nearly always turn to my blackberry for the latest on what has happened in the world while I slept (for 10 hours). Today was no different. There were two special news stories that I would be a jerk not to share with you.

Man Robs Credit Union, Puts Cash in Prosthetic Leg

"Authorities on Florida's east coast have arrested a man in a wheelchair who they say robbed a credit union on Merritt Island and hid the money in his prosthetic leg.

Brevard County deputies say 45-year-old Christopher Warren Reed was caught Friday afternoon about 10 minutes after they say he robbed Space Coast Credit Union. Reed is a paraplegic who uses a motorized wheelchair.
Investigators say he came into the credit union about 4 p.m., told a teller he was armed with an explosive and demanded money. He left with an undisclosed amount of cash.

Reed told deputies that two people had threatened him with a gun, told him to commit the robbery and were going to take the money for themselves. He was charged with robbery, grand theft, threatening to use a hoax explosive device and aggravated assault."

The best parts of this story besides the ingenious use of a plastic limb? That there is actually a bank named "Space Coast Credit Union" and that he tried the old "they threatened me knowing about my kick ass leg and so I robbed a bank for them" routine.

Classic.

Now I must ask one question. This man is a paraplegic right? So this means any limbs he might have he can't use right? So why in the world did he need a fake limb? Was it just to fill out his hot new pair of Wranglers or something?

My next story hails from the super-genius state of Alabama.

Alabama Man Survives Being Run Over by Eight Train Cars

Apparently this lovely 61 year old man decided to soak up the Alabama sunshine by laying his body over the train tracks. Because that is just the perfect spot don't you think? Little did he know that real live trains actually run on them there tracks. Who'd of thunk it?

My favorite part of the whole story was this line :

"Its unclear why Romine was lying on the tracks."

Shiny cat, shiny cat!

Yesterday I took a walk to the dirty, rotten food smelling, over-crowded, crack selling lovely Lexington Market in Baltimore City with a couple of co-workers in order to grab some cheap lunch.

I always go to this little chinese food restaurant (gotta go where the bubonic plague won't getcha!) tucked in the back between the pigs feet stand and the sushi that you can buy with your weeks supply of food stamps. I am fairly certain that my bourbon chicken is not actually chicken, but is cat. And I'm ok with that. If that is cat, it is DARN TASTY cat. So while perusing my blogroll this morning, I came across this picture which I just had to share.



If you gotta eat the cat, make sure it is a shiny cat that is bathed in a savory sauce. Enjoy!

No Promises, I'm Feeling Lazy

Saturday is not a day off for me. My entire work week consists of hovering over trauma patients on Friday, Saturday and Sunday with Monday - Thursday either being travel days or days I park my ever expanding booty in front of a computer and work from home for an ungrateful little pharmacy that really should have been punished more as a child and sent to bed early with no dinner instead of only receiving the requisite time out.



In honor of my brain feeling like mush from the rather hectic day (you mean just because someone smashed up their car on the road due to their drinking too many Vodka tonics I ACTUALLY HAVE TO WORK??) I have decided to post a couple of pictures from my latest trip to the wasteland that is Del Rio, Texas. If it weren't for the fact that the hottest Puerto Rican man on the face of the planet lived there along with his cute little sidekick, Munchkin, I would never venture that far south. Ever.




Hope your weekend is fantabulous!

Financial Security is for Losers

So only a few more weeks until it is officially December, the biggest sucker-of-cash month of the entire year. It's not that I have anything against December really - ok maybe I do.

This December will become one of the biggest money and self-esteem guzzlers of my life thus far. You see not so long ago (6 months to be exact) I finally graduated college, a feat 10 years in the making. Of course I had loans I had begun taking out for my education dating back to 2000, but I rarely thought much about them. Instead during all of those years that I lolly-gagged my way through school I would take out the maximum allowable for each semester and view that extra $2000 a semester as "money to live on". And by "money to live on" I mean money to blow on useless crap like clothing that is now sitting somewhere in a Goodwill bin, haircolor and cuts that are long gone, sushi dinners out with friends (including the Saki) and of course there was that really dumb move of paying off a credit card for an ex-boyfriend who claimed it "made more sense" to kill his own debt instead of mine.

Stupidity.

Obviously I was in dire need of a degree not in Health Science and Education but in 'How to spot a sketchy character in 2 minutes or less'. (In his defense, I was able to get my money back from that ex-loser boyfriend after months of nagging.)

What am I left with besides a brand spankin' new Bachelor of Science degree that is proudly hung on my bedroom wall? I am left with a student loan debt of around $50,000. Before you lose yourself in a state of shock and awe, I must remind you that there are plenty of folks out there in a much worse off situation than myself. For instance I always make myself feel better about the whole situation by eating a bowl of chocolate peanut butter ice cream and ruminating over the fact that my brother went to a college costing $31,000 per YEAR.

Because chocolate peanut butter makes everything better.

This fabulous chunk of educational debt will begin withdrawing funds from my miniscule bank account on December 7th. As in next month. As in instead of saving up for christmas, I will be saving up to keep Mario and Luigi from Citibank from hacking away at my kneecaps. Oh yeah, and I turn 28 at the end of the month. Hoo-frickin-ray.

I have decided to really take hold of my financial standing while I am able to and before it really gets away from me and rides off into the sunset on a train called Financial Disaster.

I had started listening to Dave Ramsey on AM radio while driving the 3 hours from San Antonio to Del Rio because otherwise all there was to listen to was Mexican talk radio. No choice really, I was a captive audience. But I really like the guy and he really has some sound financial advice. And he is hard hitting, which is what a numbskull like myself needs. A little financial violence never hurt anyone. (Unless you are being taken out Soprano style for failing to pay your gambling debt - then you are just dumb)

So I decided to go ahead and sign on to his Total Money Makeover Plan and set up a budget and a means to pay off my student loan debt ASAP. In all reality I am not that bad off. I don't have to pay rent or utilities, my car is nearly paid for, I only have one credit card to pay off and after earning my degree I got a job earning $10,000 more per year than I had been. But for some reason or another Target would call to me and I would make my way over to buy useless crap that I didn't need. Like these dog costumes for the christmas holiday.


(Oh don't give me that 'aww, poor little innocent doggies' crap. Trust me. They love this stuff. Plus, they got a bone for their modelling efforts.) So hopefully I will be able to report back to you in a month that I have finally reigned in the useless spending and have set myself on the path of financial security. We shall see.

The forerunner of yellow light history

Remember back a bit when I mentioned the story of little Ana Christina who decided it would be lots of fun to draw my Munchkin peeing on the ground? Well, little miss psycho pants has struck again.

My days are never at a loss for hilarious awesomeness whenever I am down here with my Munchkin and Mr. Hot Pilot. Fart jokes, skunk smell, and other sorts of bathroom humor abound. Monday when Mr. Hot Pilot and I went to get our Munchkin from school, he produced yet another stapled together book with hand-drawn pictures done by all of his classmates. This time instead of a picture of Munckin peeing on the ground, there was a picture of Munchkin looking rather cheerful holding the leash to our cat Twinkle, standing right near the house. But this was no ordinary house you see. Miss Psycho Pants decided to draw a bomb on the house.

Believe me when I say that I laughed, but it was a nervous "holy crap, this kid is nuts!" laugh. Apparently neither Munchkin nor the teacher caught this little terrorist gesture or I believe this girl would be headed down red light lane with no hope of another green light for years to come.

The only piece of advice I could offer my dear, sweet, skunk smell loving Munchkin is this. (You see his daddy, my Hot Pilot was married to Munchkin's mother for some time - Munchkins not-exactly-sane, often delusional, verbally abusive, needs to be locked in a mental institution for a very long time very mentally unstable mother.)

"If you ever find yourself attracted to this girl down the line and want to marry her? Don't."

Touch my Subway, you die

Yesterday I flew back down to Texas to visit with my Munchkin and Hot Pilot. It is always an interesting adventure seeing who will be travelling with you, and watching all of the other travellers who are in the same painful predicament that you are. I only say that travel is painful since usually I have to wake up about 3 hours BEFORE the crack of dawn. On this trip I did the same thing only to find that when I got to the airport they hadn't posted what gate I needed to go to, nor did any of the Air Tran gates have any information other than "Stand By" written on them. Sweet.

I finally sat down and turned to my blackberry for assistance. I found that my gate was D3 and proceeded to a gate that looked like a war torn country complete with wires sticking out of walls haphazardly and a few baby-faced military men. Indeed this was my gate. I then finally boarded the plane only to find that my window seat just so happened to be the only seat on the entire plane WITHOUT A WINDOW.

I had to change planes in Hotlanta where at my gate I was accosted by two toddlers while their mother (who by the way was wearing diaper-butted black capris with palm trees on the thighs and then completed this sexy ensemble with thick chenille socks scrunched down on her cankles and beat up black clogs. Classy.) gave me a smile like "aren't my children just DARLING?". Not so much. When the daughter tried to paw through my purse is when things got ugly. I bum rushed blondie, tackled her to the ground and shoved a copy of the latest Glamour magazine" in her face gave the woman the look of death (you know the one where you cut your eyes and slowly turn away in disgust - learned it from my mom) and she finally got the hint and proceeded to steal another un-suspecting woman's seat.

I finally then boarded the plane heading to San Antonio and was seated next to a rather chatty red-headed woman. About 30 minutes into the flight however while holding her cup of tomato juice (barf) she had a sudden attack of what can only be called narcolepsy and fell asleep, spilling the contents of aforementioned barf smelling tomato juice all over me. We both exited the plane looking like someone had hurled their lunch all over both of us. My boyfriend thought it was just super hot.

Hi honey, I'm home!

Stay away from my danger zone!

Today was travel day. One of many travel days I have gotten to have since meeting Mr. Hot Pilot. I am exhausted and today was one dumb thing after another. Let's just say by the time I got off the plane I looked and smelled like someone threw up on me.

And with that I bid you adieu for the night as I am going to snuggle with my sleepy man and watch Jon and Kate plus Eight before crashing like a soccer mom in an SUV for the night.

More tomorrow...

Beginning of a serious mental decline

I have alzheimers disease. Ok, so I might not have been diagnosed by a professional or anything but I do believe that after looking over the article "The Seven Signs of Alzheimers Disease" that I have found out what my issue is. Here are those seven signs :

1. Asking the same question over and over again.

I am great at this. Don't answer my question with an answer I like? I'll ask you again and again until you cave under the pressure and give me what I want.

2. Repeating the same story, word for word, again and again.

I do tend to do this - alot. Either I talk way more than the average female should (insert joke about female yappage here) and I just forget who I told my HIGH-larious stories to, or I genuinely just haven't paid attention enough to realize that I have told you that story about the time my dad tricked me into drying my face with a poop towel about twelve hundred times. And I will still be just as excited to tell you the twelve hundredth time as I was the first. (And don't be alarmed if I happen to refer to you as "what's his face")

3. Forgetting how to cook, or how to make repairs, or how to play cards — activities that were previously done with ease and regularity.

Ok. I totally have no idea how to repair that squeaky belt under the hood of my car; can't for the life of me prepare creme brulee or play a good hand of Texas hold'em. We all know how I used to leap tall buildings with a single bound with the ease of a Unicorn carrying president-elect Barack Obama for crying out loud. And now what? I can barely fix a decent bowl of cereal for Munchkin in the morning.

4. Losing one's ability to pay bills or balance one's checkbook.

Wait...I forgot if I ever had this ability.

5. Getting lost in familiar surroundings, or misplacing household objects.

It is a daily battle trying to locate my car in the parking garage after a long day at work. So many times have I gotten off the elevator at what I thought was the correct floor, only turn right around and step back on in order to ride the elevator up and down and randomly press my 'PANIC' button and try to follow the weak sounds of my car's alarm. And keys? Or anything else of remote importance? Lets just say the majority of my cardio workouts consist of me running up and down the stairs in a frantic search each morning before leaving for work.

6. Neglecting to bathe, or wearing the same clothes over and over again, while insisting that they have taken a bath or that their clothes are still clean.

Hello, I wear pink scrubs nearly every single day. Look in my closet and you'd think I was a cartoon character.

7. Relying on someone else, such as a spouse, to make decisions or answer questions they previously would have handled themselves.

Not sure if you want Subway or Quiznos? I am SO not the person to ask. When faced with being the one to make a decision I freeze on contact, my mind goes blank and I begin referring to you as "what's his face".

Ahh, the beginning of the end.