My Birthday Purse

Okay, so. Last weekend was my birthday. We were travelling so we didn't really do anything.  We celebrated this weekend instead.  We went out to dinner last night then saw The Importance of Being Earnest.  Today TWH took me to get my birthday present.  When he asked me ( all FOUR times) what I wanted for my birthday, I told him "A new Coach Purse".  I had one I'd bought last year that looked like this:

And I managed to cram it FULL of THIS:

So today we went down to the Coach Outlet (because I'm not willing to pay full price) and I picked one out.   It's a good size & has a ton of pockets.

Aaaaaaaannnnnndddd.... I bought a Diaper Bag.  Yep, you read that right. My brand new full of awesome purse turned out to be a fancy, schmancy, diaper bag.  My first clue was THIS:

A CHANGING PAD!!!  There was a changing pad in my new purse!!  That coupled with the weirdly unfashionable shoulder strap you see hanging out of the bag led me to look more closely at my new purse.  See those pockets in the picture above??  They're for BOTTLES!!  There's also a pocket for my cell phone, and other pockets for crap like wipes and a change of clothes.

Did I care??  HELL NO!!  My new purse IS full of awesome!!  It's big & has a shit-ton of pockets for all my stuff.  I LOVE to have an organized purse.  A pocket for everything & everything in it's pocket.

The best part is, I still have extra pockets!!  I can cram more crap into it!!  With my trips to Non-Con & Virginia coming up, that's gonna be a huge bonus!!

I'm gonna rock my diaper purse like a BOSS!! Like. A. Boss!!

And So It Begins (OR My Dowwnward Spiral Into Geezerdom)

Okay, so.  I'm going to be 41 on Sunday.  My eyesight is shit, my joints are starting to ache, and underneath all this color, my hair is mostly white.

And yesterday, I saw my first "Specialist".  I realize I've seen specialists before. My Gynecologist, the doctor who reconstructed my ACL, those are specialists I sought out of necessity.  This is the first specialist I've sought out because of an intermittent problem.  Not something immediate, but maybe becoming a bigger problem.

Yesterday, I saw a Urologist.

Yep, it seems that some of my parts are starting to rebel.  Or, as the nice Doctor put it, "These things happen as you get older. And I hate to tell you, they're only going to get worse."  He was just a little ray of fucking sunshine, that one.  Also, he DIDN'T hate to tell me. He had a big ol' shit eating grin on his face when he said that.

He basically informed me that because I was "Pre-Menopausal" (lying Bastid) I would have more & more difficulties of the UTI kind and that unless I did my exercises that the two, count 'em TWO full-bladder-sneezed-on-my-way-to-the-bathroom incidents that necessitated a wardrobe change would also happen more frequently.  Fan-Freaking-TASTIC!!

THEN he said the thing that I ALMOST could have kicked his ass over: "Yeah, you ladies have it really rough as you get older with all your parts. That's just proof positive to me that God is a Man".  Really Mr. Doctor Man??  No words of comfort, no magical pill, just "Yep, you're screwed, you're gonna get even more screwed (but not in the good, fun way), aaaaaaannnnnnnddddd I'm gonna use this so solidify in my mind that I'm genetically the more superior of the species"

Rotten Braggart Asshole.

I go back to see him in 6 months.

I Am a Bad Example

Okay, so. This weekend we went up to North Mississippi for Miss A's Sixteenth Birthday Party. Of course, there were BOYS there. Oh how I miss the days of Barbie birthday parties where all the little girls came in their little dresses. They were so much easier.
But I digress. Most of the boys there were part of a COUPLE. Fine, whatever. How bad can it be?? Right??
Stop snickering at my ignorance please.
Oh. Dear. Lawd!!  Who told these children it was okay to hang all over each other like a cheap sweater??  Every time we stood in line for something, they were pressed up against one another like they were STUCK THAT WAY!! Jebus. Something had to be done.
I finally go up to the group and announce "Alright. We're about to go all Old School Catholic Dance here. Leave Room for The Holy Ghost."  Of course, they listened and jumped a respectful distance apart....  NOT.
They did what teens do. They argued. Even TB who, as far as I know, doesn't even HAVE a girlfriend yet decided to join the fray.  I, of course, did what every good parent would do. I explained our stand on the issue.  "Look. Hanging all over each other is just TACKY. You look low class. You're together, great. You wanna hold hands, great. You wanna act like someone stuck your privates together with glue. Not. Great."  Then I decided to give them a visual. "How would it be if I ran over to Dad and was all (insert squinchy faced air grabby bump & grind here)". They were all mortified. Poor Miss A.  She looked at all her friends and said "Sooooo...  You met my Mom...."
It. Worked. Like. A. Charm.   For the rest of the night, whenever I saw two kids look like they were about to go all PDA I'd yell "Do you need to see exhibit A again??". They'd jump like someone poured cold water all over them.
This just goes to prove, you can listen to me the FIRST time, or I can go that ONE step further to make my point. I'm obviously willing to.

It's MY BIRFDAY!! (Also Known as Giant Metal Chicken Day)

Okay, so.  As many of you know, thanks to The Bloggess, I have been on a crusade to be the first of my friends to own a Giant Metal Chicken. I have posted many conversations on here with my husband Shawn (referred to as TWH) about my desire for a GMC and his original shocked & appalled reactions to my request then his eventual resignation to the fact that he was going to have to purchase a GMC just to SHUT ME THE HELL UP. I even did a daily Twitter countdown all this month even though it became a beating for all of us. I NEEDED me a Chicken!!  So, the big day arrived at last.  TWH kissed me awake and wished me a Happy Birthday.  I got ready for work as usual with no mention of my long-coveted Chicken. Eventually, the Crackhaid Dawg made it known that he REALLY needed to go out. TWH & TB were both "engrossed" in something on TWH's laptop so I leashed up the Dawg & opened the back door to find GWENYTH!!!!!  My Very OWN Giant Metal Chicken!!!!  She was even sporting a sign that read "Happy Birthday Mother Fxxxer".  TWH didn't want to spell it out because TB is regularly appalled by my vulgarity & makes it known on a regular basis but it was awesome all the same. After much squealing & jumping up & down with pure joy, I gave out hugs & kisses to my two awesome guys.  Turns out, Gwenyth had been hiding under the carport since last night & I hadn't even noticed!!  My powers of observation are not great. As a bonus, TWH said he got her ON SALE!!  I told him THAT was a sign from God that he was doing the right thing buying me that chicken. He said it was s sign of desperation on the part of the store owner. We're gonna have to agree to disagree on that one.  Best. Birthday. Present. EV-ER!!







Introducing Gwenyth!!  No other Giant Metal Chicken was ever so long awaited!!  TWH ROCKS!!

This is SO Happening!!

Okay, so. TWH keeps trying to get out of buying me my Giant Metal Chicken (Thank you The Bloggess for THAT idea). I finally told him tonight "You can either buy me the G.M.C. or a Puppy". TWH looked at me in absolute confusion before asking simply "WHAT??"  I told him "You heard me. Chicken or Puppy". See, my strategy here is to think of something he would find more objectionable than a Giant Metal Chicken and offer THAT as an alternative. Since TWH mentioned just yesterday that he most definitely does NOT want another Dawg, I figured that would be the way to go. TWH asked me "So, what are you gonna do if I show up with a puppy on Friday??". I responded with "Name it Edsel (The Crackhaid Dawg's actual name is Bentley) and then go buy my own damn chicken!!" I can't lose here. Poor TWH, on the other hand, is screwed!!

The Countdown Has Begun...

Okay, so. It's September 1st. I realized that this morning while I was putting on my makeup. I ran out into the kitchen with my hair still in it's towel turban & mascara on just ONE eye and yelled "29 MORE DAYS UNTIL GIANT METAL CHICKEN!! YAY!!" and did a little Happy Dance before scampering off to finish getting ready for work. I think TWH is going to get tired of this LONG before I do. Bwahahahahahaha!!  My poor Husband.  I call him TWH for a reason...  Happy September!!

I Needs Me a Chicken....

So, thanks to another blogger, I am in dire need of a Giant Metal Chicken.  I will be 40 at the end of September & I have decided that's what I want more than ANYTHING IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD.  Conveniently enough, there happens to be a store that sells just such items in the Old Downtown area where I live.  I KNOW, it's totally Meant to Be.  Last night, TWH & I were sitting around talking & the subject of my Birthday Gift came up.  Actual conversation between myself & TWH:
TWH: What do you want for your birthday??
Me: A Giant Metal Chicken
TWH: No really, what do you want for your birthday??
Me: A. Giant. Metal. Chicken.  I am NOT playing around here...
TWH: (Makes face of either Disgust or Defeat) That's REALLY what you want??
Me: YES!!  I have gone downtown & looked at them. I want the one with the giant blue head & the yellow wings. I'm gonna name it Gwenyth!!  It's gonna be so freakin' awesome!!
TWH: I can't believe this....   Then what do you want for our Anniversary??
Me: They also have these Metal Winged Pigs...
TWH was so overcome with my Vision for our backyard & the sheer awesomeness of it that he had to leave the room...

I am SO getting me a Chicken!!