Judy's Best Friend

Oh, lawdy.  Fun times in Georgia.  I'm not even kidding.  Remind me to tell you about "The Cuban," and also about the sunglasses, and how I got to go to that Titanic Exhibit, the one where you get a boarding pass when you walk in and find out if you died.  (I did not die, but my husband did.  So.)  And Don'tAskDon'tTell, who is my very best gay boyfriend in the whole world, I got to see him, and he showed me pictures of his cat, and... anyway...

But that's not what we are here to discuss, right now.  We are here to discuss going to the Publix Grocery Store with me.

Because Janie, well, she knows how this is going to roll.

On Friday, it occurred to us that we did not have enough diet coke for me.  And yes, I'll admit it, I'm a diet coke glutton, only I prefer the word "fan."

Anyway.

So, we decided to go to the Publix.

Now, Publix, she is a nice grocery store.  Not Harris-Teeter-fancy, and Publix can't touch The Rouse, where they give me free wine while I shop (not kidding.  God, Louisiana is heaven.), but Publix, it's pretty nice.  Beats Kroger, I think.

So.  We go to Publix, and get our stuff (diet coke.  beer.  sweetwater blue, because Jesus loves Georgia.), and we get to the checkout, where our checkout girl, a 22-ish girl, had a name tag that read, "Judy."

:)

Here we go.

"Oh, your name is Judy?"  I ask.  "HER name is Judy, too!"  And I point at Janie.

"It is?"  Judy asks.  "I was named after my great-aunt."

"You WERE?"  I ask.  "SHE WAS NAMED AFTER HER GREAT-AUNT, TOO!!!!"

Janie is nodding in confirmation.

Janie's name, by the way?  Seriously is not Judy.

Anyway,  I continue, "What's your middle name?"

Judy says, "LaDawn."

Almost.  I almost did it.  I really, really wanted to, but I could feel Janie staring holes in me, willing me to not go there.

"Oh, that's pretty," I say.  "Her middle name is Anne."

Sigh.

God damn.  I was so very close to playing this all the way out.

Seriously, me and Judy, we are one fine team.

I love that Judy girl.  Even though I now really want to call her LaDawn.

Bouncy, Starvy Georgia-bound Girl

First off.  Biopsies were fine.  I am fine.  Duh.  As if you had any other idea.

Second off.  My BABY, my big one, my first born?  He went to his senior prom.

Let's just let that sink in for a minute.

...

I.  KNOW.

But look how sweet:

They had fun.

...

Third off.  We are heading to Georgia on Thursday.  That is, the baby and I are, and we will be leaving early so as to get there in time to do Georgia stuff, including practicing with the church choir at my old church, because they love me enough to pretend they want me to sing with and for them, even though I haven't been there in two years.

That's pretty flipping adorable.

So Georgia, get ready, buddy, because I'm on way way...

And it's going to kick total ass.

Grumpomatic Grumpopotamus

I got new running shoes.  I know, that's so stupid and hipster of me to be braggin about, but Good God in Heaven, I love them, and I needed them.  Seriously.  For real.

I bought them two Saturdays ago, and I was really excited and I immediately went to the Lakefront and ran 6 miles.  Six fast-ish miles.  Because I am a beast.

These are what they look like:

Only there are TWO of them.  Because I have two feet.  As usual.

Anyway, so I ran my ass off, and I ate little GU gels the whole time (not so very yummy, those), and it rocked, and I was all WHOOOOOO.  Beast.

And then, on Sunday, when I was going to Not Run, I didn't Not Run, I ran a little bit, with a friend who is thinking perhaps she would like to Run, only, that was over a week ago now, and she hasn't done so again, so perhaps she will Not Run, too.  Regardless.

And then on Monday, I had to get a cervical biopsy.  Look, I know y'all don't want to hear about my lady inside parts, and I'm certainly not going to go into any details, but I wasn't really expecting that, thought they were just planning on taking some binoculars for a closer look, and suddenly it was three little snips of tissue that hurt like a mo fo (for a second) and me feeling pretty damned bad-ass that I did that without even lidocaine.

boom.  beast.

Anyway, and that all left me feeling pretty crappy.  Like, much crappier than I expected to, and that's a shame.  All she wants to do is dance, dance (or run, run) and I really couldn't because I felt like ass.  Sort of.  Like, tired, crampy and bitchy.

Anyway, so I didn't run all week, until Friday, and I only went like a mile and a half on Friday.  Didn't run at all on Saturday.  Sucky. 

But yesterday I killed four miles.  And then, the baby, whose Very First Race Ever is on Saturday, and I ran another mile.  So five miles.  Because I am a beast.

And I still don't feel quite right.  Extra tired, grumpy... I should hear back from the pathology this week one day, and I am pretty sure I will feel better after that.  They are obviously going to tell me that everything is fine, so there you go.

Still, running OUGHT to help get me back to my self, right?

The sunshiney one?

Because I am so very much not there...

PTA Mom. As per usual.

The other night, Doodlebug had to perform at the PTA meeting.  Now let it be known, I'm not one of those terribly involved parents, despite that "records indicate that your involvment results in higher GPAs!"  Fuck the records.  They are NOT the boss of me.

That being said, I mean, I send in the crap he's supposed to bring in, I do his homework with him (most of the time), so there.  I'm a good mom and all.

And a hot one.

Aherm.  But I digress.

(seriously, though, 27 pounds since November, and I look foxy.)

Anyway, so the doodle had to sing 2 songs with his little class, and he was so cute and such a big boy.  See?  Big boy.  That's him in the yellow.

They sang 42 verses of "Skip to My Lou" (it really may have been 6 or 7 verses, but still, who knew there was more than one??) and then "Shoo Fwy, Don't Bother Me."  ("I belong to somebody."  Isn't that wrong?  Should that not be "I belong to Company B"?  Just saying.)


Anyway, preciousness.  And thus it begins, my youngest performing annually in some school nonsense that inevitably will leave me misty-eyed and wanting a snuggle.  My big one brought me to tears with some truly awful viola-ing, and a one-time-only event of him drumming along to "We Built This City."  That was a double-whammy, because it proved that my baby had good taste.

And here we go, for round two.

Good heavens, it's hard to love little people who insist on growing up!

Little High Fiver

1.  I got an iPhone.  I know, welcome to 2006, but really, good heavens, y'all.  Why didn't you tell me how much I would love it?  Because I SO DO!  And words with friends- SarSchMye.  Make it happen.

2.  I did the first segment of getting the artist formerly known as my husband's crap packed up this weekend.  I had not realized the extent of his hoarderism, but, I shit you not, there were 75 t-shirts.  75.  That does NOT count shirts with collars or sleeves.  That is fucking ridiculous.  I'm not even going to talk about the model bicycles.

Doodlebug stole one of the light-up pictures on its way to the garage, much to my chagrin.  It's currently hanging in his room.  We're going to have to have a talk about taste, he and I.

3.  I'm running again.  A pretty good bit.  To the extent that I'm going to sign up for a 1/2 marathon in October.  I know I can do it, barring any major injuries or illness.  My Garmin Watch TOTALLY rocks, and it helps with the motivation.  Unfortunately, my shoes are SHOT and need desperately to be replaced, but I ain't got no moneys.  (My friend K's daughter calls it "moneys," and it is the cutest thing ever:  "you got moneys??"  For YOU, my love, any time!)  (also, my friend K?  Freaking amazing.  Just saying.)

 She's so flipping beautiful.  I love her a lot. 

Anyway, so once I get some moneys, I'm totally getting some new shoes.  ThanksbetoJesus, it's tax season.

4.  Doodlebug is playing soccer, now.  I'm going to go ahead and own that I laugh out loud, literally, at least once per game.  He's not exactly gifted, although it is definitely too soon to tell.  Mostly, they are like a school of fish, running from one place to another.  He is occasionally sassy to the coach, who almost but not quite sets him straight.  But I think he's having fun, and that's what matters.  Love my little Soccer Player Doodlebug.

5.  Beanie is going to prom.

I KNOW.

But it's senior year, and it's time.  I just... don't know what else to say about that.  In a month, he will be a graduate of the mandatory schooling, and I...  can't believe he's going to be leaving me soon.  NOOOOO.

Enough of that maudlin nonsense.

Lebowski

The other day, I was sitting on the couch, knitting and watching television*.  Doodlebug was on the floor, Creating Important Art. 

All of the sudden, he looked up at me, and said, "Mommy, you know when people frow up?" 

"Yes," I said.

"What's that orange stuff?"

...

"I guess it's carrots," he said.

And this?  This is why I have sons, because throw up questions amuse me, and the serious nature of such questions amuse me.
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And so yesterday, we were in the car, after picking him up at after-school, and the little shit said this.  "Mommy?  The other day, I asked you something and you said you didn't know.  Only one time before that, I asked you how you knew something, and you said that you know everything, so I guess you don't."

Logic is going to kill me with this child. 
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Doodlebug went to a party on Saturday, the party of another child in his class, at the bowling lanes.  I'm going to say that, perhaps, six year olds are a bit young for bowling, but they did have fun, even if it was a matter of whirling around and discuss-throwing bowling balls as hard as possible down the lanes, resulting in a pinball like effect of bumper-bouncing down the lane.

I didn't really know any of the other mothers, and they were all super nice, but still.  I'm terribly uncomfortable in these settings.  Would have been MUCH better if a pitcher of Miller Lite or what-all had appeared, but it didn't.  Note to self:  never throw a kid party without some alcohol available for the adults.  I did find a smoker-friend, so that helped.

When they went up to get the kids' shoes, and we were all in line, and our kids were running around blowing these kazoo things, this prick comes up to us and huffily asks, "who is the parent of this party?"  We kind of point toward the mother, but he doesn't go directly to her.  Instead, he unleashes on all of us.  "We are in the middle of a tournament, here, and the noise is very distracting.  These kids need to be quiet."

For the record, the kids were actually all behaving pretty damned well, and the bowling alley is responsible for booking a birthday party at the same time as a tournament, not the mother, and, well, what an asshole.

Anyway, I didn't say anything, but I did watch the party mom get a little upset, and I could tell she felt kind of bad, and that really pissed me off, so I volunteered to go round up some balls for the little poppets.

What a douchebag.

Ultimately, it was fine, and then later the party grandma walked way out on one of the lanes to fetch a stuck ball, and I realized I like these people, they are my kind of people, but still.  I didn't know any of them, and there wasn't beer.

I completely hate children's birthday parties. 

The doodlebug had fun.

The dude abides.

"Throw me something, mister!" Shouter

L'aissez les bon temps, bitches.  It's Mardi Gras. 

What's that mean, you ask?  It means this.

1.  King Cake.

oh, sweet heaven.

To-date, I have found the goddamn baby twice.  I have already brought in one cake, so I am in arrears by one cake.  Still, I am not the only one.  At least one co-worker owes another cake, too, so I'm probably okay until next payday.  Thank God.

2.  Parades.

Every year, the kid steals my sunglasses on parade days.  He has, like, 40 pairs of sunglasses of his own, yet this is how I get the shaft.  He's cute in my Jackie-O's, though.

The first parade rolled last Sunday.  It was all right, we got some crap, but not as much as we usually do.  I have a lot of hope for this weekend, though.  There are two parades this weekend, and I know pretty much every single person in the Saturday parade.  I am going to go ahead and bring three bags for the catches.  My goal this year is to get roses, lots of roses.  Granted, any man I see will be over age 80, but they might think of me as a cute young thing.  I'll take it.

3.  Sunshine

Mama is ready for these little skinny white legs to brown up a bit.  Mardi gras parades are a good start.  As soon as the season is over, we ought to be into prime beach weather.  Take me to the beach and I'm a happy girl.  So let's have that now, shall we?

Happy Mardi Gras!