There is some strange phenomenon that causes EVERYTHING I OWN to break ALL AT ONCE and also EVERYTHING THAT COULD GO WRONG to, you know, GO WRONG. I’m sure that this happens to everyone, but I don’t want to talk about what happens to everyone else. I want to talk about what happens to me. No, wait. I want to WHINE (and maybe bitch) about this happening to me.

Yesterday? Cleatus’s check engine light came on. (In his car. Cleatus doesn’t have an engine, so far as I know.) The car is under warranty so it wasn’t that big of a deal, but STILL. It’s a little worrying, you know? We took the car to the auto store to let them run their magic wand over it and tell us what was wrong with it (What? They don’t use a magic wand? Huh.) and FUNNY STORY! The light was on because Cleatus didn’t tighten the gas cap. No need for me to panic about the engine exploding! (So, yeah, I suppose that worked out okay. IT WAS STILL A PAIN IN THE ASS.)

Then yesterday afternoon I did YET ANOTHER price check on the plane ticket that I asked Cleatus to order ONE MOTHERFUCKING MONTH AGO (but I’m not BITTER or anything) and SURPRISE! We (and by “we” I mean HE! HIM! HIS FAULT!) waited so long that the ticket price has increased by over two hundred dollars! Of course it has! OF COURSE! Yes! I love spending ELEVENTY-FIVE MILLION DOLLARS ON A STUPID PLANE TICKET.

He still hasn’t ordered the ticket. We’re waiting for the prices to RISE EVEN HIGHER. Because we are MADE OUT OF MONEY, DIDN’T YOU HEAR?

(But, I’m not bitter.)

Today I went shopping, because I NEEDED THE SHOPPY and guess what? Go ahead and guess. The check engine light in my van came on! HA! OF COURSE IT DID! I can just hear God now. “Huh. I could have SWORN that I fucked up their car. Oh, that’s right! The car is under warranty and the van isn’t! I decided to let them off the hook with the car and FUCK WITH THE VAN.” I haven’t been to the auto store yet for the magic wand treatment because I. JUST. DON’T. WANT. TO. KNOW.

And now, for the icing on the cake, MY GOD DAMN MOTHER HUMPING WASHING MACHINE just stopped working. ZOMGWTFBBQ!!!1!

So, here I sit, waiting for my laptop to spontaneously combust. It’s only a matter of time you know.

UPDATE: Plane tickets are now over twice what they were the first time I told him to book it. He is now driving 2200 miles (round trip) instead of flying. (AND, NO, I’M STILL NOT BITTER.) (Oh, who am I kidding? I am VERY bitter. BITTER BARBIE. That is me.)

For some reason (probably because I am crazy) whenever I think to myself “where did the time go?” that stupid cowboy song gets stuck in my head. I don’t know who sings it and I only know that one annoying line about the missing cowboys. I hate that! So irritating!

This post has nothing to do with cowboys. Or time really. I’m not even sure how that came up. Let’s just move on.

You all know Mrs. Schmitty right? Well, she’s been busy. You see, one night a couple of weeks ago we were emailing about our plans to GO TO BLOGHER NEXT YEAR, GOD DAMN IT, YOU CAN’T STOP US, WE WILL BE THERE NO MATTER WHAT and one of us mentioned how we need to lose weight before we go. And then? We talked about how awesome it would be to get a big online support group for all of us who want to lose a little weight. Then I went to bed and I don’t know what the hell happened, but Mrs. Schmitty turned into this BLOGGING MACHINE and put together Our BlubHer Overhaul. It was both of our ideas, but I really can’t take much credit for it. Mrs. Schmitty did the work. I like having friends that do all the work for me. It’s nice.

Anyway, what I’m getting at here is this: Our BlubHer Overhaul is a support group of sorts. It’s a place for fat chicks to blog about becoming NOT fat. (I’m doing a really good job of selling this, aren’t I? Mrs. Schmitty is going to be so proud of me.) If you are looking to lose weight, then why not join us? We are planning to be in our extra super skinny jeans by BlogHer 2009, but that’s just OUR goal. If you aren’t going to BlogHer or you have a much more important event to attend at a different date, you can still join. We’ll be blogging about our struggles, successes, goals and really cute super skinny jeans that we come across and plan on wearing one day. I’m pretty sure that most of my posts will read like this: “There was a chocolate brownie. I licked it, but I did not chew or swallow it. I did good, right?” If you think that something like this would help motivate you to lose that extra blubber (blubher) then check out how to become a participant. You could also go read Mrs. Schmitty’s much more elegantly written post about Our BlubHer Overhaul (she won’t even call you fat like I did). She tends to explain things better than I do.

Us fat chicks hafta stick together, right?

• I’ve finished reading the Twilight series. Edward Cullen is HOT. Last night Cleatus climbed in to bed with me after brushing his teeth and put his icy cold hand (cold from the water, not because he is actually a vampire) on my belly and I turned to him and kissed him and called him Edward and then we did it. He wouldn’t call me Bella though and that kind of killed the mood. He’s such a loser.
• Cindy-Lu had her visitation day at pre-school yesterday. I’m trying to feel a little sad that my baby is growing up and going to pre-school, but instead I’m excited for her. She’s going to love pre-school.
• I’m going to the mall today to get Cindy-Lu a couple new outfits for school. I got a coupon for Gymboree in the mail and I. CAN’T. WAIT. I only allow myself to go in Gymboree when 1. I’m feeling extraordinarily strong and know that I will not allow myself to spend $30 on a single cotton t-shirt, 2. I have a coupon, or 3. I’m rather desperate for a little SHOPPY and I just can’t help myself. Number 3 gets me in to a bit of trouble every now and then, but THE CLOTHES, THEY ARE CUTE. Today is a mixture of 2 and 3, so I’m hoping to make it out of there with enough money left to feed us for the rest of the week. Happily the week ends in 2 days and we have lots of peanut butter in the house.
• School. It starts Monday. Yes, I know…Monday is Labor Day, but I hate starting on a Tuesday and I didn’t want to start this week and I can’t push it back another week, so Labor Day it is. Homeschooling. So flexible.

Why is it that when I force some little random piece of CRAP out to post here only because it feels like it’s been too long and I can just hear you all silently judging me for my lack of ENTERTAINMENT, BRING ME SOME ENTERTAINMENT (I am entertaining, yes? No? Damn.) you LAUGH AT ME and you TELL ME I AM FUNNY. In my mind, right before hitting the publish button on one of those CRAP posts, I can hear you all whining and complaining that your feed readers are already FULL, GOD DAMN IT, and you do not need me adding to them with useless nonsense that ISN’T EVEN HUMOROUS, but then the comments start rolling in and I think DON’T THESE PEOPLE HAVE CABLE? THEY SHOULD REALLY JUST BUCK UP AND PAY THE UNREASONABLE PRICES, BECAUSE IF THIS IS ENTERTAINING THEM, THEIR LIVES MUST SUCK.

I guess what I’m trying to say is this: You people are weird. And, also, thanks.

The posts that I think suck the most are the ones the internets seem to enjoy the most. For example, this post is one of my most viewed. HAVE YOU PEOPLE READ IT? It consists of one long run-on sentence! There are even a couple of words MISSING from the post because I typed it in such a hurry. (I am weird about editing posts. Once it’s published, IT’S PUBLISHED. Anyone else that way?) That post has been stumbled from here to there and I JUST DON’T GET IT.

Then there are the posts that I think you will enjoy and sometimes? Not so much. Of course, I did totally call the two posts about my vagina being all kinds of popular, but that was an easy one. OF COURSE YOU WANT TO READ ABOUT MY VAGINA. WHO WOULDN’T?

Speaking of vaginas, I’ve been reading the Twilight books. I’m just now starting book 3 (I started reading less than 24 hours ago. Already on book 3. I am not even kidding you. OBSESSED.) (Also, spoiler alert.) and I have to say IF THE HUMAN GIRL AND THE VAMPIRE BOY DO NOT DO IT SOON I AM GOING TO BE PISSED. I feel like such a pervert, but MY GOD, will they just FUCK already? Please? Can’t they just do it for me?

Also, I’m in the market for a vampire boyfriend. Anybody got a hook up? Oh, and on that note, if it were, say, my time of the month and I just happened to meet a vampire with which to become acquainted (I mean acquainted in the naughtiest possible way) do you think it would be exceedingly bad that I were on the rag or EXCEEDINGLY GOOD? I can’t decide, but I’m leaning towards good. Exceedingly so.

So you know how I recently acquired a furry little kitty and I was just so in love and AW, SQUISHY LITTLE KITTY. Yes, well. WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING? Lily (the kitty) is driving me fucking nuts.

When I eat she jumps on my face and tries to climb inside my mouth to get at the food.

When I sit on the couch she wraps herself around my neck and digs her head into my hair and tries to eat it.

If I leave my bedroom door open at night she comes in and LAYS ON MY FACE. Have you ever woken up to find a big furball staring you in the eyes? It is creepy. Also, hairy.

When she poops she immediately comes to me and walks her butt somewhere near my nose and then I gag and scream and WIPE YOUR FUCKING ASS, YOU STUPID CAT. What does she think the roll of toilet paper sitting next to her litter box is for, anyway?

When I am on my laptop she lies on her back under my arms and chews on my elbow.

The children who named her, MY CHILDREN, can not remember her fucking name. “Where’s Lela?” “Mom! Lulu is bugging me!” Her name is Lily. REMEMBER IT, FUCKER.

Jesus. Stupid cats. What was I thinking? Just now I had to yell “No means no! Get your butt out of my face!” Does she listen though? No. She just climbs back up where she wants to be.

It’s a good damn thing she’s so cute. And that she lets me rock her like a little baby and sing her lullabies. And sometimes when I’m sitting on the couch she climbs up on my chest and leans back on me, resting her little head between my boobs and she purrs as looks up at me. And she curls up next to the kids and loves on them. And she pisses Cleatus off to no end.

I guess I’ll keep her.

1. My husband losing his debit card. It will take over a week to get a new one, which means that I will be using cash. I hate cash. Cash is, like, so 2003. Or something.

2. Me forgetting to turn the grill off (seriously, how do you forget that? IT’S FIRE.) and burning through a BRAND FUCKING NEW propane tank. And in case you haven’t heard, that shit ain’t cheap.

3. My husband backing his car into my van and scratching the shit out of both. Yes. Really.

4. Driving allllll the way to the mall in another city to purchase stupid effing makeup and then buying the wrong effing color.

5. My daughter’s attitude.

6. My attitude.

7. Driving 10 miles, realizing that Cleatus took my debit card AND credit card out of my purse since he lost his, turning around to go get them and then driving alllll the way back to the mall to get my make up exchanged.

8. Being in such a pissy mood I couldn’t even find one cute thing to buy at Target. Not one!

9. Finally fixing some spacing issues in my side bar only to realize that it only looked right in Firefox. I wish all you IE users would SWITCH already. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WAITING FOR?

10. Cleatus’s car not starting because of some issue with the security system and him backing in to my van and blah blah blah it’s working now. Finally.

I did, however, have a good time Saturday on my brother-in-law’s boat. Cleatus and Eeyore went tubing and Cindy-Lu worried about fishies eating her daddy and then she took a nap while I took pictures and enjoyed the sun. Fun!

My favorite picture from the day:

You can see more pictures here.

Now that it’s Monday and that shiteous weekend is over I’m expecting lots of rainbows and sunshine and all around happiness.

I’m going to ask you a couple of questions and I want you to answer me honestly. The only rule is that your answer must be “raspberry.” And don’t forget to answer honestly! I can take it! Ready?

What is your favorite fruit?

What is the one most perfect food in the world?

What kind of pie could you absolutely not live without?

What color lipstick are you wearing?

Well, isn’t that STRANGE? I answered raspberry to all the above questions, too! We must be soul mates or something! (I’m not actually wearing any lipstick. But, if I was, the name would definitely be “Raspberry.” I swear!)

What’s that? You love raspberries, but you don’t know how to make raspberry pie? You poor, poor thing! Let me show you the way.

You’re going to start out with a quart of fresh raspberries OR if you are like me and your grocery store is being a complete jerk you’ll just have to use frozen. Frozen raspberries aren’t quite as good as fresh, but they’ll do. I promise. If you do use frozen, you’ll need between two and three 12oz. bags.

Let the frozen berries thaw for a bit and then dump on about 1 to 1 1/4 cups of sugar, depending on the tartness of your berries. Add in 8 teaspoons of cornstarch, 2 tablespoons of quick cooking tapioca, and between 4 and 6 tablespoons of water, depending on how wet your berries are.

Now go ahead and stir it all up.

Okay, now grab a spoon and dig in! Eat them all! Every last one! Then cry for a bit, go fix your mascara, and head to the store to buy more berries. We’re making a pie, dang it!

If you are one of those LAZY people you can go right ahead and use a store bought pie crust. Go ahead. I won’t judge you. If you are SERIOUS about your pie, then use your favorite double crust recipe. I’ll just wait right here until you get done whipping that up.

Oh, and remember how I said I wouldn’t judge you for using a store bought crust? Yes, well. Please don’t judge me either. Pillsbury makes a better pie crust than me and that’s just the way it is. Let it go, okay?

Dump your berry mixture into the pie shell and, oh, did I forget to mention that you should preheat your oven to 425 degrees? Yes, well. We better do that now.

Before you put your top crust on, be sure to add some butter. Everything is better with butter right? I was feeling all diet-y and didn’t use the 4 tablespoons the recipe calls for. I used about 2-3 tablespoons, but whatever. You can’t tell the difference in the pie and I made up for those missing calories by eating butter straight out of the dish later.

Don’t be like me and cut your little slits totally off center. It just ruins the whole pie baking experience. Also? Don’t feel bad if the edges of your crust aren’t very pretty. Mine aren’t either.

Cover the edges of the pie crust with foil (or you can use one of these if you have one. I don’t. I hope to one day have the extra $4.00 required to purchase one.) and pop it into your oven. Bake for 15 minutes at 425 degrees and then turn your oven down to 350 degrees and bake for another 45 minutes.

Let your pie cool for, well, a real long time. If you cut into it when it’s warm it’ll be all runny and thin and then you won’t be able to take pretty pictures of the finished product. Trust me. I know.

This is about 3 hours after coming out of the oven and spending an hour or so in the fridge. It’s perfect. Cold and thick and yummy and full of that raspberry goodness.

Now go make some raspberry pie! And that’s an order.

Raspberry Pie

• 1 quart fresh raspberries OR 28 ounces frozen raspberries
• 1 1/4 cups white sugar
• 8 teaspoons cornstarch
• 2 tablespoons quick cooking tapioca
• 4-6 tablespoons water
• 4 tablespoons butter
• 9 inch double pie crust

Preheat oven to 425 degrees.

Mix together the raspberries, sugar, cornstarch, tapioca and water. Let sit while you prepare the pie crust.

Pour raspberries into pie crust and add 4 pats of butter, about 1 tablespoon each.

Put on top crust and crimp edges. Cut slits in the crust to allow steam to escape.

Bake at 425 degrees for 15 minutes. Reduce heat to 350 degrees and bake for another 45 mintues.

Cool, cut and enjoy!

I’m not much of a haiku-er. I read Leslie’s haiku every day and I read a lot of haiku every Haiku Friday and my mom even bought me a little book with haiku about picking your nose and using your head for a bowling ball and I can’t even remember what all because my son stole it from me. I don’t, however, write very much haiku. Or any, if we’re being honest. That’s all about to change my friends. Leslie is having another Haiku Buckaroo contest and THIS TIME I’m on the ball enough to enter. In fact, I misread the contest date and panicked last Friday when I thought I had missed the deadline. Thankfully Leslie emailed me to tell me to quit freaking out because I still had time. I like Leslie. She’s smart.

Without further ado, I present my haiku:

Midnight Madden sale.

My husband was first in line.

He is such a dork.

****

Bathroom wall needs art.

Too bad my nail hit a pipe.

Don’t tell Cleatus.

****

Cleatus whines because

Sex is not often enough.

Is my blinker fixed?

****

History Channel.

Why does my son love it so?

Eeyore switched at birth?

****

And finally the reason why I don’t haiku:

Angsty poems fill pages

Of a notebook now forgotten.

High school ruined me.

That’s right. I used up all of my poetic abilities in high school writing crap like (OH DEAR GOD, I CAN NOT BELIEVE I AM PUTTING THIS ON THE INTERNET) this:

“Hidden tears, unspoken fears,

Memores of her, it’s all a blur.

You love her, but she won’t.

You love me, but you don’t.

Look me in the eyes,

Tell me beautiful lies.

Walk away, pretend your fine.

You won’t hear me say I’m losing my mind.

Hold my hand, do you understand?

Did you feel my love when our hands touched?

Her love for you is dead, it’s come to an end.

Yet it’s over for me and you, your love for her is true.”

That was a poem I wrote about Cleatus when I thought he was still in love with his ex-girlfriend. The next day I wrote a poem about how he was in love with my best friend. And the next day? I wrote a poem about how we were destined to be together FOREVER. PUKE! Puke puke puke.

Ah, teenage hormones. How I miss those days.

I started this blog with the intention of it being a place full of happiness. And love. And rainbows and puppies and sunshine. Two minutes later I remembered that I was married to Cleatus and that there were going to be times that I would need to spew HATRED and RAGE all over the internet to keep from murdering him. Like today.

Cleatus is a very busy guy. He works ALL THE TIME. Which is nice, because OVERTIME! But also not so nice, because NO TIME TO DO THE THINGS I TELL HIM TO DO! Things like replacing my left front blinker that went out FOUR MOTHERHUMPING MONTHS AGO.

I told Cleatus that the blinker was out and he promised to get right on it. A few weeks went by and I reminded him again. Lather, rinse, repeat for about two months. I finally reminded him that we would be leaving for vacation and driving over one thousand miles and MAYBE, JUST MAYBE he could get that blinker fixed before we left. He promised me that he would get it done. He was out in the driveway at about 9pm the night before we left trying to replace the blinker, but he couldn’t get it to work. By that time it was too late to ask someone for help or to go to the auto store for a different part or whatever it is that he needed to do to get my damn blinker blinking. We went on vacation with no left blinker.

About a month ago not only was my blinker STILL not working, but that same headlight also stopped working. I begged, I pleaded, I cried, I whined, and most of all I YELLED. He still wasn’t anywhere closer to getting my van fixed.

But then I had an epiphany. If I wanted Cleatus to fix something that was inconveniencing ME then I needed to flip it around so that it was instead inconveniencing HIM. I don’t know why it took eight years of marriage, four months of left turns with no signal, and two months of being a padiddle, but I had finally figured it out.

This past Saturday Cleatus was working nights, from 6pm until 6am. I was going to my parents’ house to celebrate my brother’s birthday and probably wouldn’t get home until dark. I woke Cleatus up around 3pm and told him that I was going to take HIS car to my parents’ and that he was going to take MY van to work since he wouldn’t be driving around after dark and I would. Genius, no?

Fast forward two hours and I was at my parents’ house and glanced at the clock. It was nearly 5pm and I reminded myself to call Cleatus and make sure he was getting out of bed to get to work. (Yes, I am his mother. I also wipe his butt for him.) It reminded me of my brilliant plan and so I mentioned to my family that OH HEY, I’M SO SMART! CLEATUS HAS TO DRIVE THE LOSER CRUISER TO WORK TONIGHT! BET HE FIXES MY HEADLIGHT WITHIN A WEEK! Everyone agreed that I am an evil genius and we went about doing whatever we were doing.

At 5pm I picked up the phone and called Cleatus. The conversation went like this:

Me: Good morning! You awake?

Him: Yep! I’m at the auto parts store!

Me, loudly so the whole room can hear: OH, YOU’RE AT THE AUTO STORE?

Him: Yeah, I’m trying to find the part to fix your headlight.

Me: REAAAAAAALY?

Him: What’s so funny? Why is everyone laughing?

Me: Oh, um, the kids are being silly.

That fucker woke up early (SOMETHING HE NEVER EVER EVER DOES) and to fix my van all because he had to drive it to work ONE GOD DAMNED NIGHT. I’m sure that ten minute drive to work would have been HORRIBLE without a left blinker or headlight. And I should know! After all, I’d driven that way FOR FOUR MONTHS!

I laughed and laughed, because I totally called it. I knew he would get on the ball if I turned this into his problem instead of mine, but YOU KNOW WHAT? I’m pissed. I’m trying not to be pissed. BUT I CAN’T HELP IT.

You know what else is REALLY ANNOYING? I reminded him LAST NIGHT that he needed to get the oil changed in HIS car and DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE DID THIS MORNING? He got the fucking oil changed. LESS THAN 24 HOURS LATER. My van could go over by nine million miles and he wouldn’t care, but HIS CAR? Oh no. Must change the oil! I suppose it is good that he got it done, but OH MY GOD I WILL KILL HIM.

And no, the blinker/headlight is still not working. Something about sockets and water and FUCK IF I KNOW. I’m moving the car seats and crumbs from my van to his car until it’s fixed. That’ll learn him.

I feel like I should post SOMETHING already, but I just don’t know what.

I could tell you about how the Long John Silver’s commercial for their new flatbread sandwiches makes me shudder in disgust. I don’t really know why, but those things are WRONG. I guess I just prefer my greasy deep fried chicken planks to be smothered in ketchup and eaten with a fork. I don’t need them dressed up with lettuce and bacon and some weird red sauce. Also? Where would they put the crunchies?

I could also tell you about how neurotic I am. Every time I get in my bed I have to pull all the blankets and pillows off and put them in a special place on the floor. How do I determine the special spot on my floor? I look around and ask myself these questions: Do you see any bugs? Could bugs be hiding anywhere nearby just waiting to crawl in my blankets? If the answer to both questions is no, then I’ve found my special spot. Then I grab my pillows (three of them, because I am a PRETTY PRETTY PRINCESS) and shake them out and then peer worriedly into the dark pillow cases to make sure I don’t see anything moving. I then shake the hell out of the sheet before I put it on the bed, and finally I shake the comforter and lay it over the sheet. And then I usually do one last (quick!) check under the sheet just to be sure some sneaky little fucker didn’t crawl in there while I was busy with the comforter. I don’t just do this before bed. I do this before I get BACK in to bed after a quick midnight pee. I do this after getting out of bed and going into my children’s bedroom to yell at them to QUIT THE FUCKING ARGUING ABOUT WHO GETS TO SLEEP ON THE TOP BUNK AND WHO HAS TO SLEEP ON THE BOTTOM BUNK OR YOU WILL BOTH BE SLEEPING IN THE GOD DAMNED STREET. (We recently got the kids bunk beds and they are now sharing a room! It’s going GREAT!) I do the bug check after I get up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water. Our bedroom isn’t even infested with bugs or anything. Its just that there COULD BE a bug in my bed and THAT WOULD BE BAD. I think the earwigs traumatized me last year. Oh, and Cleatus LOVES it when he is sleeping peacefully and I bark “BUG CHECK!” and start flinging the blankets around and jerking his pillow out from under his (big and heavy) head. I have also been known to stop Cleatus in the middle of sex and urgently whisper “We forgot to do a bug check!” It takes all the willpower I have not to push him off of me and shake out the pillows and blankets.

Another thing I could tell you about is the cereal I bought at the grocery store today. Barbie cereal. Cindy-Lu snatched it off a shelf and, in an awe-struck voice, whispered “Princess cereal!” There was no way I could turn her down after that, so I didn’t even look at the price tag because I knew it was probably twice the price of the generic “Flaked Corn and Sugar!” box that I usually buy the poor kids. I then had to let Eeyore pick out a box as well, and I bet I spent ten dollars on cereal today. I also bet that I will be going back in a few days to buy more. Those kids eat a lot of cereal.

I could also tell you that when I eat raw celery my ankles always start itching like mad.

Or I could tell you how cotton balls make me want to DIE. I can not touch them. And I most certainly can not LISTEN to them. I can’t even open new Tylenol bottles for fear of a wad of cotton lurking under the cap.

If you wanted I could tell you about the slightly embarassing thing I do when I kill bugs. Normally I would just yell “CLEATUS! BUG! IT’S A BIG ONE!” (I say it’s big even when it’s not, because I think that will make him move a little faster. It usually doesn’t work.), but Cleatus works a lot so sometimes I am forced to kill the little bastards myself. I noticed recently that whenever I squish one I do this weird grunt thing and jab my index finger in it’s general direction like WHO’S THE BOSS NOW, BITCH? I’m pretty sure that, subconsciously, I’m doing that so that if any other bugs are lurking nearby they know not to mess with me. I’m sure it works, too.

But, like I said, I don’t really know WHAT to post about, so I’ll just call it quits for today and maybe something exciting will happen tomorrow.