Gosh, I'm Just So Unprepared

I'd like to thank my Dad, for he hath blessed me with my flowing eyebrow locks making me recognizable as a Biscuit at 450 yards.

I'd like to thank my Mom, for the hair. The hair is all her. Thick, glorious hair.

My friends for telling me how ridiculous I am and only further egging me on and encouraging this here blog. When it all comes crashing down, there's gonna be a lot of finger-pointing in y'alls general direction.

No but seriously folks....One of my new favorite obsessions reads has bestowed upon me a great honor, a nomination for a Beautiful Blogger Award. Thank you Grumbles, you like me, YOU REALLY LIKE ME. I'll be the first person to admit that I don't really like people too much these days, but I have come across a gaggle of great bitches on this here internet, and for that I am thankful. Go check out Grumbles and Grunts, she's full of it, and that's how I rate my friends, judging on how "full of it" they are. This chick's up to her ears in it.

1. thank the person who nominated me for this award - Check!
2. copy the award & place it on my blog
3. link to the person who nominated me for this award
4. share 7 interesting things about myself
5. nominate 7 other beautiful bloggers

Now on to the 7 interesting things about myself. I've used this list of quirks as a brain dump before, when there was nothing else to post, so I'm going to have to dig deep, really tap into my inner-workings to find something new and interesting. Who am I kidding? I'm a neurotic nutshack who thinks thought pit vipers lived in toilet bowls and have to had to conduct a thorough inspection before it's all systems go. I got lists for days.

1. I live alone, unless you count the midget, and I HAVE TO rotate all my dishes like produce stock to ensure that they all get equal usage. Not too bad right? Well the queer part is that if I don't and one little cup sits at the back of the cabinet too long, unused....I FEEL BAD FOR IT. I FEEL BAD FOR A CUP. Hold me.
2. When I see non-handicapped people park in handicapped parking spots, I lie in wait (is that a phrase, or did I just make that up? Do people lie in wait? What the hell am I even trying to say?) and I plot my revenge. I keep a notebook in my car solely for the purpose of writing snarky, passive-aggressive notes. For example, I once saw a carload of plump teenagers pull into a spot, dancing, and then get out and run into the store. When they got back to their car, they were greeted with this, "being fat and lazy does not make you handicapped, nice dance moves, bee-tee-dubs."
3. Nail polish makes my fingers feel heavy, I never wear the junk, but TOES MUST BE COVERED in it at all times. Unless you're a dude, don't bring a naked toe in my house. I'M LOOKING AT YOU REBECCA.
4. I'm pretty outspoken in most arenas, except in the game of love, then I am a mute. That's me, always in that glass cage of emotion. Thank you ex-boyfriend for completely destroying my ability/desire to love. I'll be over here collecting cats and old newspapers living in a trailer in the woods for the rest of my life.
5. When I was little I had a recurring dream in which the Hell's Angels kidnapped my mom and buried her alive in a dump. This dream came second to the one about Twisted Sister, who I am still convinced are underneath my bed. Shut up.
6. I have a nose like a bloodhound. No seriously. I can tell if you've been in a room before me and what kind of soap you use. That shit went into overdrive when I was pregnant, and it was fun to freak people out and be like, "Dove. The pink kind. Used last at 6:30 am."
7. I like smeats of all kinds. Spam, Scrapple, various sausages, potted meat, etc. I do not, however, like ham at all. If you sneak it in a sandwich I'll cut you deep.

So there's that.

I don't know where to start with the other Beautiful Bloggers in my life, there's just so many.

Junket Juice - I just found her blog, like 20 years after everyone else, and I feel like this girl is kind of my doppleganger. Like, if we met in real life, we'd high-five, go grab some tacos and point-and-laugh at people from a park bench for a couple of hours while drinkin malt liquor out of paper bags. At least, that's how the story goes in my head.

Okay Seriously - If you don't know, now you know. I've been blogging alongside this pillar in the Innernets Community for about 4-ish years now. She's part of my O-G crew, my peeps.

Jennie Jen - My friend Jen started a posterous blog. It's light, quick, and a nice little read. She posts a couple of times a day, and it's usually really cute stuff (even if it is about her cats).

Mabel's House - I LOVE Liz and her writing. Everything about this blog is pleasing to the eye, from her home decor right on down to her DIY projects. I follow a lot of blogs like this, but her's has a special flare to it. And, she's like, a for real writer and shit.

Amalah - Everyone knows this chick. She's hilare, a mom, a writer, and most importantly - a crazy person. Just when you think you're going nuts, looking at your kids like, "WTF Kid?!" - she's saying the same thing too. So, in her craziness, she makes me feel normal and not so alone on this journey. Awesome all around.

Hand Pecked - My friend Debbie makes some awesome stuff, I have no clue when she sleeps or if she even sleeps at all. It's an Asian thing, she runs on beer and macaroons.

The Checkout Girl - Wowzers. Enough said. Another new find via some tweet-or-other. Follow her, everywhere.

In closing, I'd like to thank all the little people who got me to this point in my blogging career. I couldn't have done it without you, you beautiful bitches you. GROUP HUG.

Done Did It

Jeezus, it’s a snooze-fest over here. Work is slow because it’s the beginning of the new year, I have no life outside of being a mom, and the one night I get a sitter I still have nothing to occupy my time outside of the home. I’m positive that I have read everything the internet has to offer, and I shudder at the thought of opening up my browser and refreshing my dang Google Reader one. more. time. So that is why we are here y’all, at this sad little entry about….none other than….me getting muh hair did. And shit.

So my hair was a respectable “mermaid” length, covering the Pointer Sisters nicely so in the event of an unfortunate wardrobe malfunction or ill-placed coffee stain – I was covered. Literally.

I have nice hair, I’ll admit it, it’s not dry or crazy frizzy. It lays straight as a damn stick, has a nice thickness to it, and is fairly versatile. Basically, other hair wants to be my hair, it’s my cross to bear really, don’t hate me. Anywho, I’d been feeling bogged down as of late, not mentally, definitely in the physical sense. I’m doing the 30-Day Shred, trying to eat better, working on being generally more pleasant in the company of others, etc. All of this just wasn’t cutting it. I needed a change, a big one. I moved my furniture, almost completely emptied my closet and gave like, all of my clothes away to aunts, cousins, sisters…still, not the desired effect. I still woke up every morning, looked in the mirror and saw this:

 

Hey, why the long face Mr. Ed? Wassamattayou? See her up there? All dowdy and morose. Jeebus, I couldn’t even muster a good farewell smile for my hair, ingrate. In short, my hair was bringing me down, not allowing me to shed the last little bit of weight I’ve been carrying around from various events. Weight from heartbreak, from laziness, from being a mom with too many hair ties and bobby pins. When you’re busy, sad, clinging to an older version of yourself, and somewhat lazy, you tend to get too comfortable for your own good. I was so comfortable in my own little sad club that I wasn’t just a member, I was the em-effing President. Such is life, say-la-veeee (fuck French, btw). Then something happened, I woke up one day, put my hair up in a shit-knot on top of my head, secured it with a pencil, looked at myself and said, “self, you got to suck this shit up, you’re better than this. P.s., self? You look like a meth head. Get a haircut, smile, get some sleep, and get moving. kisses.”

So I did just that. I got referred to a great stylist, made an appointment that day, found a good charity to donate my hair to, and committed myself to the change. Done. See the effect, decidedly “Mr. Ed Free”:

 I feel free, new, full of energy. I know all that sounds ridiculous, but I just cut 13” of bullshit out of my life. Bullshit that, while an innocent party, was a party to all the EFFING CRAP that happened in the past year. Bullshit that every time I looked at myself reminded me of a person that doesn’t exist anymore. BULLSHIT, that I held onto because other people liked it, not me. Bullshit that was NOT going to lead a bearded Australian man with a penchant for short brunettes to my door to perform “light housework.” That last one was really the catalyst for change by the way. Hear me now, ANYTHING that prevents a bearded Australian with a penchant for short brunettes from coming to your door must be eliminated from your life. Immeds. Plus, this guy, the most important guy, really likes it:

p.s. Babies in "real people" jammies should be illegal. Too daggone cute.

Oh For Shit's Sake

I rest my case.

images via Green Wedding Shoes

p.s. Lady, you got a rancid wolverine pelt on yer back. Just sayin.

The Water's Crazy, Come On In

You guys, I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to walk through that door. I did it, I dipped my toe into the pool of whorsanity that is The Bachelor, and I liked it. So much so, that I cannot believe I waited so long to jump in and just buy a damn antenna already. Quick aside, I’ve been tv-less for over 2 years now. No cable, no nothing. Unbeknownst to me, shittin antennas are a mere $14 down there to the Target store. FOURTEEN DOLLARS. My heart weeps for all the Bachewhores gone by and headless orphans I’ve missed on Oprah. Goddamit. So The Bachelor….um..them bitches is straight nuts y’all. There was a time when I was admittedly obsessed with The Bachelorette, Jen Scheft. I deleted that old blog because I’m an idiot and didn’t think there would ever be a time I needed to prove my love for all things crazytrain. Goddamit. Anywho, it’s obvious I’ve been away for far too long as the times, they are a-changin. First of all, this “Bachelor”??? Jake, is it? This guy is on the wrong show. He’s a bigger wuss-puss than any of the Bachelorettes I’ve ever seen. I know most of it is staged but DAMN if dude don’t bust a tear on ya real quick. He’s all about the dramatic pause, and chokey-warbly voicing in the intense moments of the rose ceremonies. Pfft! Look bro, they ain’t handin out any Oscars for this bullshit. Sack up, toss the roses out, and whichever nutshack catches it in her teeth, she’s your horse. If two of them catch it, cage-match. Done. God, I should write my own show.

Seriously though folks, have you seen this shit? There is one “woman” who I’m pretty sure wandered into the casting by mistake and was originally on her way to MTV’s Jersey Shore tryouts. This “woman” goes by Vienna, methinks it’s her drag name. One look into the cold, dead eyes of this beast and I knew it was curtains for the other girls. This one’s a ratings-grabber. Everyone hates her, and everyone loves to talk about how much they hate her. Dingdong Vienna thinks it’s because they’re jealous, typical. Yeah, we’re all jealous of your do-it-yourself extensions and adam’s apple. Sorry, that did sound a little schoolyard of me, BUT THE TRUTH HURTS VERA DiMILO, I mean, VIENNA! Observe:

Again, uncanny isn't it?

I caught myself cringing throughout the whole show, yet unable to look away. Of course, there’s the outcast girls, forced to watch a group date from afar whilst roasting marshmallows and roughing it outside of a luxury RV. Poor widdle things. Only one was supposed to get dumped, but they both ended up getting axed. This is where my favorite part happens. The exit interviews.

“I think he’s making a real mistake” (cue bleeding mascara and eyeliner)

“He’s going to be sorry, I mean, HER over me?? PUH-lease!”

Ladies, don’t do this. I mean, do it because I’m real big on pointing-and-laughing, but if you want to be able to respect yourself ever again (if that’s possible after whoring yourself out on national television) then don’t. You’re SO gonna watch that months later when you’ve just started to go outside and show your face again after months of seclusion with boxes a box of powdered gems donuts tucked in your arms like a wee babe and instantly be thrown back into the black hole from whence ye came. Lose gracefully, after all it is a tv show where some shmuck sets out to find him a bride via dumb luck and bad scripting. How great can dude be anyway? If he’s so kick ass then why does he need a corporate sponsor to get himself a lady? Hmm? Tinky winky mayhaps? Hear me now Bachelorettes, TEST DRIVE THAT SHIT. All’s I’m sayin.

Suffice it to say (p.s. I had to Google that to make sure I was using it right. Y’all are in the midst of a literary GENIUS) I will be watching this every Monday from here on out, or until The Waaaahhhhchelor chooses his wifey. I already have money on Ali and Tenley being the final 2, with my heart belonging to the feisty and sweet Ali who I’m siding with solely based on her hatred for Vera, I MEAN Vienna. Vienna’s good for ratings, but I don’t think Donkeyboy’s got it in him to keep “faking out” with Slamface. It’s painful enough to watch as it is.

T.C. and Rick Will Be Pissed

Ugh, ever just get in a general lull about things? Like, everything? I’m there, I’m knee-deep in that lull and the tide is rising. No no, I’m not all Gloomy Gus and shit, just bleh, nothing of importance to say. That is unless you wanna get me started on TICTAC VASES. Then I think I have a little too much to say. So, in this time of perilous lulldom, I will give a slightly embarrassing and eye-opening admission.

I’m in lurve with my son’s pediatrician.

That’s not the admission, most mom’s have a soft spot for the person who prods and pokes at their babies, constantly keeping them on the forefront of health. The embarrassing and eye-opening part is this…..

I’m in love with my son’s pediatrician because he looks like Magnum P.I.

Like, no shit, dude IS Magnum. All he’s missing is the shorty-short OP’s, a Hawaiian shirt, and Higgins, of course. I know, I know, you’re all, “Biscuit, dubya-TEE-eff dude?! MAGNUM?!” Yes y’all, Magnum motherhumpin P to the I. It’s no mystery I love a good beard, this is second only to a finely maintained “lady tickler.” It’s a stash-bash, and we’re all invited. I loved the shit out of ‘ol Mags as a kid, even then I had an appreciation for a good facial hair pattern, and Selleck was at the top of the stash game in those days. I mean, come on, dude had a Ferrari and bitches basically fell out of the sky nekkid when Thomas Magnum rolled through. I don’t know one lady over 40 who doesn’t get that far-away look in they eyes when you bring Magnum into the conversation. Gaze if you will upon the white-hot heat:

Now it took some digging, but here is a picture of my son’s Pediatrician, we’ll call him McStashy:

UNCANNY! I had to take The Wizlet in for his one year checkup today and I swooned as McStashy rolled over in his wheelie-chair and basically straddled muh quiverin knees in the seat where I was holding Wiz to give him shots. Oh, that voice! That stash! What is that?! VELVET?! Long story short, I have a problem, and judging from the waiting room, about twenty other women do too. That joint was a stable chock-full of pantin fillies. He’s married, so I’m just admiring from afar, but McStashy the offer is always on the table.

Get out of my dreams, and into my car. GET UP IN THE BACKSEAT BAY-BAY AYYYYYYYYYYYYYY.

Things I am OFFICIALLY Sick of

I'm in a lull, but one thing I never lull on is getting the angries at some of the ridiculous shit I run across in the interwebs. I consider myself a crafty person, I likes to get my random, rainy Sunday craft on just like anyone else. Hell, I took old baby food jars and made snowglobes out of them for The Wiz. So yeah, I gets muh craft on, even when it's just for funsies. Some people are taking this bullshit too far though. I get it, you're trying to reduce your carbon impact, be green, yadda yadda. Well, ma'am, I think this is just dumb:

I don't know what pisses me off more about this...the fact that this person set up an "art shot" of their self-proclaimed awesome p.o.s. craft, that it was recycled onto another craft blog, or that people are OMG'ing all over themselves over this shittin TIC TAC VASE?!?! For'reals y'all? Oh muh god, lemme run out right now and get A bud of baby's breath to daintily slip into this magniferous vahhhhhse. Puh-LEEZ! This is crap! Hey lady, I got a good craft for you. How's about you day-coo-page yerself a wee lil trash can and throw this here vahhhhhse in it?! Jesus people, come the hell on!

Then there's the engagement photo shoot trends. People, I don't even know how to breach this subject. I really don't. There's just so many things to say, yet, so little time. First, I want to say that I get "it." You're in lurve, you want to SHOW THE WORLD YOUR LOVE, scream it from a mountaintop...got it. So take a few shots for the paper, for your save the dates, for whatevs....posterity? But you know what shit like this does?

Shit like this makes me want to break faces, and this is a tame one. Really? The Globe? Some books? What is this really saying about your relationship John and Jane McTravelskies? I mean, you know Dude up there was all, "jesus, ice a bitch up and the next thing I know I'm holdin a daggon globe in a field?! Really?!" Yes dude, really. Your street rep just dropped to negative 5, although I'm pretty sure you weren't slayin bitches in the Magical Poon Forest prior to this gay stunt either. Just sayin.

Ha, just wait, then there's B A L L O O N S.  Oooh, ba-roons, me rikey. Let's get a goddam assload of oversized balloons and hold them solemnly in....wait for it.....the middle of a damn field and look all mopey and shit. Yeah, that just screams, "I'm in a mature relationship where it's all about the two of us ding-dongs growing toghether and enhancing each other's lives. Now get out of my light bitch, I'm trying to give 'em my good side."

Ok, so these two aren't mopey, but I don't have the patience to go through my Reader and look up the 1000 mopey-baloon-engagement pics I've shared over the years. Boo on me, bah-nuptials-humbug. Oh, and apparently kites are the new balloons. Yay.

Don't get me effing started on these two. They are a nice segue into the next thing that sticks in my craw like a stinkbug. Vintage. Vintage, vintage, vintage, vintage. The above is from a "vintage-themed" shoot. What?! What makes it vintage? The fact that he's dressed like a vagabond mine-worker and she like a 1930's opium-addled street walker?! Is not smiling vintage? I think it is, because in order to be vintage you have to be depressed, like in an old-timey we-are-rich-enough-to-pay-for-this-ridiculous-shoot BUT we-wanna-look-like-we're-suffering-through-the-Depression kind of way. Every GD thing is vintage these days. Shit, I AM VINTAGE. Dude, I got like, t-shirts from aught-one in my closet and shit. I got vintage-ass GAP argyle socks for daysssss. I should post my ass up on Etsy, label me vintage, and let the bidding wars begin. Yarrrgh. "Check out today's model in her vintage jeans, with vintage bangles, and vintage PEZ dispenser." There is no end to this, why can't shit just be old? I got me a old-ass pair of Doc Marten's, they ain't vintage fuckers, they're just old. Or used! Yeah, vintage is just old, used shit. So there cool kids, you're all used up, fancy that one up in your photo shoots and your Etsy shops. Don't get me wrong, I love an old t-shirt, perfectly broken-in, mmmph! I also love Etsy, promise I do, but don't sell me a "Boho-chic hat knitted with vintage yarn", just don't. Call it what it is, old ass yarn. You want vintage?! THIS is vintage:

Yeah, that's right, my parents set me up in the 'ol Doubler, the 2-face killer pose with the ghostly, disembodied head floating gently above my wee angelic face. I mean, come on. Put this bad boy on Etsy and it'll be rainin vintage 50-cent pieces, or da-blooms. Yes, I henceforth demand all payments be in vintage monies. I said it. Delivered on horseback, via pony express. Hey, go hard or go home.

But this....this shit is kick-ass. Dis' some vintage funny right hurrrr:

You're welcome.

*photos via Whip Up, and Green Wedding Shoes

No Words

When the world has been turned on it's ear, THIS is the biggest news today.

oh

my

GOD

I guess it's good to have a little light-hearted diversion from tragedy, but this in itself is a wee might tragic to me. I'm probably going to lose some friends over this, but uh, I mean...she really didn't look half-bad before? Like, is this even her? I call bullshit, it IS Hollywood after all, they got body-doubles dropping from the sky. It's just a shame. I know people (not me) who would kill to be a skinny little beotch with an actual, detectable waist who gets paid to do nothing but prattle and whine all day (not me, although if y'all want to fund my "Prattlin-n-Whinin" Tour 2K10, email me and I'll get you that paypal info real quick). Things like this terrify me, I mean REALLY terrify me. Thank Biggie I don't live in LA. Christ, they'd send me off to fat camp the second I got off the plane!

"we're gonna need a bigger boat"

Aaaaaanyway, that's my 2 cents. Age gracefully ladies before you end up looking like a melted She-Ra doll after a 4-day bender bootin black tar heroin with Cheetara. Those things never end well.

Help for Haiti *UPDATED AGAIN*

I know there are very few people that read this, but for those of you that do….I’m calling you to action. The situation in Haiti is getting worse by the minute, you’ve seen the news stories, and the pictures. Over 3 million people are said to have been affected by the earthquake and tens hundreds of thousands are estimated to have lost their lives. If you have it in you, dig deep, do what you can. I donated $10 to the American Red Cross by texting “HAITI” to 90999, and I plan on doing anything else I can. I’ve heard all the “I can’t” stories. Look, I’m a single mom living paycheck to paycheck, and I was able to do this one little thing. If it was me and my baby over there, living in the street, no clean water to drink or food to eat, I’d be begging people and relying on the kindness of strangers too.

People, this is just as easy as posting the color of your bra on Facebook. Don’t be lame and only support the “fun cause”, be a mini hero and do your part as a citizen of this world. If ALL you can do is send a damn text (and I know you motherbitches are some texting fools) then send the damn text. The donation will be noted on your next phone bill, easy peasy. I believe the ARC has already raised 3 million dollars with this effort so far, THREE MILLION DOLLARS! If the numbers are right, that is one dollar for every person affected by this. Let’s double, triple, quadruple that, and get these people some help. I've been to the Dominican, which borders Haiti, trust me, they needed help BEFORE the quake...I can't even imagine what it's like there right now.

I dare you to read this and not feel something, anything for these poor people. My heart is heavy today. If anyone has any other ideas/ways to help please email or post a comment here and I will blog/tweet/volunteer the effing hell out of it.

Go here:

Doctors Without Borders
American Red Cross
Hope For Haiti
Oxfam
Wyclef Jean's Text-donate option and a BIG list of other organizations!

New info on the BRESMA situation:
Thanks to all of you for your continuing support and prayers through this very serious situation!

Ali Pace, wife of Chad McMutrie, spoke with Ali McMutrie on the phone at 4am this morning.
Ali was using one of the multitude of phone numbers that was given to her by the sisters to try in this situation.
Ali McMutrie said 'We are okay, but not actually okay."

She continued to explain that all of their supplies are running out, although none of them (including the children) are in danger of their health or physical well being yet.
Ali Pace explained that the next plan of action is to acquire a plane this morning (Friday, January 15th) to take down supplies to the sisters and children. They will be taking 8 other American passengers down to assist in the preparations to bring everyone back here to America.
The plans are still in the works this morning, specific details are forthcoming.
As of now, all of the children that are going through the adoption process here in the States (approx. 30) will finish the adoption process once here, and continue on to their new American homes.
For the other children (120 or so) they will be brought here temporarily, but their futures are yet uncertain.

What we need right now:

Ali Pace has requested that people gather and donate the following to a location yet to be determined:
- infant/baby diapers
- powdered formula
- bottles of water
- kids snacks/crackers.
- medical supplies (yet to be determined)

The children range in ages from infant to 13 years old.

I realize that Ali Pace had posted to bring these supplies to her house. Please do not do that yet, we want to move forward in an organized manner to get these supplies to plane as smoothly as possible.
An alternate supply drop off site is yet to be determined, please keep checking in.
As the day progresses we will post more information here as to where to drop off these supplies as well as other important details.

As Promised

Photos of the boy, more to come too. These were just some candid shots my lovely pseudo-Sister took this weekend. Candid people, unplanned. She's just so very talented (and I'm just so very proud). Thanks Coty!

Bitches-n-Bullets

I’ve told you all about my butt-crazy family befo’, so it should come as no surprise that my weekend activities consisted of the First Annual Bitches-n-Bullets meetup. It’s a simple concept. Bitches. Bullets. If I were to throw in a couple extra b’s they would be: beers, boots, babies, and bullshit. Whole lotta bullshit, but the good kind, the make-your-cheeks-hurt-from-laughing kind. Basically, “what had happened was”, my cousin Mindy had never handled a real firearm before and she made a comment on Facebook inquiring to the location of an affordable shooting range in the area….Uh, Mindy? Have we met? We don’t just have a gun cabinet at our house, we have a gun WING. I told her to come on down to my house over the weekend and we would shoot the shit out of some shit. Before I knew it, the comments came a-pourin in. Aunt Brenda, Aunt Sheila, Cousin Kara, Sisters….they all wanted a piece.

Hence the birth of, “Bitches-n-Bullets.”

We had everything going for us, the Bitches. The pot was sweetened when Sister Coty said, “hey, I got a thrower with a foot pedal and auto reload, want me to bring it?” DO I?!?! Um, yes, bring that shit. Shortly before dusk the Bitches started filing in by the carload and we set the thrower up by the water’s edge. Good gravy the excitement! You could cut that shit with a chainsaw the air was so thick with it! We were all poised and ready to shoot when Mindy came ‘round the corner with this feller:

Let’s just say she had some “rage” to let loose and ‘Ol Bear took the brunt of that. He took it several times, no, about 15 times. Mind you, this is the first time she has ever shot and we handed her a 20-guage shotgun, earmuffs, a stuffed bear, and told her to get some. Some was gotten.

'Ol Bear, gettin got

We moved on to clays, and I was swiftly reminded how long it had been since I last shot moving targets. Out of 6 I probably hit 3.5 clays, and that’s being generous. Hey, this is my blog, I do what I want. I think the highlight from this segment was when Chey stepped up to shoot and instead of yelling the normal cue of “pull”, she swaggered up to the plate, positioned her gun and yelled, “GET SOME!”

We were no good for a while after that one. Here’s the gang in action:

Aunt Brenda

Yours Truly

Mindy

Coty "2 Pretty" Jones

Aunt SheShe

When we lost light, we took it inside and began the third B….binge drinking. I kid, butwedidgetsomeshitdone. Many a game ensued after this, one of which consisted of 3 die, and 3 quarters. This. Game. Was. Awesome. Basically when the die rolled they revealed either a “C”, an “R”, an “L”, or a dot. C’s meant you put a quarter in the center, R’s meant you passed a quarter to the right, L’s to the left, and the dot meant nothing so if you got dots, you drank. Simple. I, of course, took all the monies straight out of the box and I owe this victory to my lucky quarter, Helen Keller. I had no clue Helen had her own quarter, but she stuck by my side and led me to victory. There’s even teeny tiny Braille on the quarter, Braille only a mouse could read. I put Helen Keller in my bra for safekeeping and from there she would “sign” various game tactics onto the Pointer Sisters. Here’s a shot of Cousin Kara trying to cheat and “hear” what Helen was saying. Helen knew something was up and gave her bunk suggestions. I took Kara’s money, thanks Helen.

Then, as the way of many parties before it, the arm wrestling began. We have an in-house champ, but she’s always got to rub it in people’s faces. Mindy may be small, but my god is she strong. Strong like bull. Me, not so strong, strong like flea. Flea get ass kicked.

Things get fuzzy at this point, I remember rapping on the back porch…a lot. Like, I think we may have cut an album or something out there. If Tupac were alive, he’d be plotting my death right now, ‘cuz we was dropping the white hot lava out there. There are no explanations for the pictures that follow. All I can say is, I woke up and a piece of candy cane, a bottle cap, and a quarter fell out of my bra. That there is my idea of a good night.

cigarettes for "effect", comb, not sure what that was for...

***Photo credits to Coty Jones Photography, Aunt Blender, and Cousin Mindy, respectively.

The Yearling

I have really been struggling with this one. In my head, the minute I write this and release it into the world, you’re really, really, truly one and I can’t take it back. Writing it down makes it official and I’m not entirely sure I’m ready for my baby to officially be one year old. Oh but wait, you are, you’re totally one and I have no stinking clue where the past year went. This time last year you were a bubbling sack of baby goo, head bobbing, hands flailing about…now you deftly pick Cheerios up like a surgeon and *GASP* walk sometimes. Though not an expert, you are routinely challenging gravity and in true Frankenbaby style, meandering across the room 4-5 steps at a time. What?!?! Are you kidding me?! Get back over here and remain stationary in the same spot for 4 hours drooling on yourself please! I kid, I kid.

To watch you grow and discover is to breathe. Your little eyes sparkle and dance when you figure out a new way of doing something, or realize that you can do something on your own. You look up at me as if to say, “did you freaking see that Ma?! I totally just picked this thing up, and threw it in the trash can for you. Now it’s gone. It’s in there, and I DID IT.” Yes baby, I saw that. I also saw you throw away 2 spoons, your blankie, a shoe, your binky, 8 tupperwares, and the remote control. Strong work son, now get a job.

Everything makes you dance, you’re very musically inclined. The clicking of spoons in my bowls while I’m cooking, the oven timer, the opening sequence to 24…all of these make you bob and sway, giggling the whole time. Giggling, that’s another thing. I don’t know if any of you have ever really heard a baby laugh, but it’s magical. I mean, like, 2-horned-unicorn-on-rollerskates magical. You laugh, then I laugh, then you laugh again, then I laugh back. We do this for hours you and I, just laugh.

Before you I worried about stuff that just doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. How will I structure his day? Will I have enough “me-time?” Do I have the right crib/toys/carseat/bathtub? Will he like soy or regular formula? Will I lose my identity as an individual? Truth is, those things exist but they play such a small part in what it means to be a parent, to have a child. I have friends who are either pregnant now, or desperately want to be parents and I kind of have to giggle inside when I hear them ponder what they think parenthood is or means, or will mean(and OH MY GOD is it different for everyone). It’s not their fault, all newbies are naïve, as was I. Parenthood is one of those things that you really can’t wrap your head around until you’re forced to, i.e. the birth and arrival of an actual baby. The whole world changes the minute a baby comes into your life.

Which brings me to this Little Man, the meat of this pivotal milestone you have reached. This birthday is more of a celebration for me than it ever will or should be for you. It’s a moment for me to step back and process all the little pieces that have fallen into place over the past year. I didn’t know I needed you until you were here. I didn’t know I was in trouble and needed rescuing until you saved me. I didn’t know my heart and soul were capable of loving someone so unconditionally until you came along and showed me how. Yes, life changed when a baby showed up at my door, but more importantly - I changed. I’m not the person I was over a year ago, I didn’t handle this the way I thought I would – I did better. I did it better because you guided me through it, you showed me a side of myself I didn’t know existed. You taught me to look to myself for strength and no one else when everything in the world seemed to be falling down on me. You taught me to laugh about nothing because it just feels good, sounds good.

So happy, HAPPY birthday baby! I feel like it’s my birthday though, because you are the best gift anyone could ever ask for and I can’t wait to see where your little feets carry you this year. Just tread lightly Son.

**I apologize for the crappy pictures, I wil post some better ones later on...promise.

2009 Brain Dump

I really wanted to have The Wiz’s one-year post up today but neighbors are jerks and they killed my internet. Such is life.

Well it’s a new year, the two-o-ten is up in this piece and what have I got to show for it? My brain is shot from the holidays and THE birthday, plus I have a pretty wicked bug and it’s all but drained my will to live. So I have for you a list, a summation of the year that was 2009, some resolutions, what I gleaned from said year, and some closing statements. Enjoy, or not, I’m guessing a little of both.

• I am human, I have feelings, those feelings were hurt this year worse than they ever have been before. Actually, crushed is a better adjective. Nothing like waking up one day and having everything you know to be true flipped on it’s ear. For the record, I’m still hurting and if You ever read this or anyone in your sick little circle does….well, I hate you and it breaks my effing heart to say that, I never EVER thought I would feel that way about you. You are a liar, you have a black hole where your heart should be, and I feel sorry for all the people in your life that you treat so miserably to their faces, but mainly behind their backs. Karma is very, very real and you have a bullseye on your back. When you wake up one day and there is no one left to stand by you, know that you did it to yourself and I hope it was all worth it in the end. I leave you in 2009, forever. Brings a whole new meaning to the phrase, “you’re dead to me”, because you really, truly are. P.S. try hiding “it” from Her, I dare you.
• I make really cute people.
• You really cannot, and I say this without any conditions, trust anybody in this world. Trust me, you can’t. (haha, get it, it’s funny because I said you can’t trust anybody then I say…..oh fuck it)
• Being a parent is the hardest, most challenging job there is to have. Moms and Dads, I love you guys, like, a shitload.
• Being a parent is the most amazing gift there is to have. Period.
• Nothing compares to your first real love, but hopefully something else comes along that blows that out of the water and shows you a different kind of love.
• I am still completely grossed out by feet and the sound of macaroni and cheese. Some things never change, God bless it.
• I’m not a bad writer, I’m just a different writer. Like when people say you’re not fat, you’re big-boned…..yeah, I’m the Big-Boned of the writing world. Grammar be damned!
• Most things happen for a reason, some things happen just because they do and they totally effing suck and there’s nothing you can do or learn about it. That’s it.
• I want to go out on a date, a real one, with an open mind.
• I’m getting contacts in 2K10, I just am.
• I want to read more, and have already started on this one.
• You can smooch a friend and still totally want to be friends, no matter what.
• Having a baby is a golden ticket back into the Family Will.
• Don’t try to replace things, find better things and leave that old broke-ass shit in the can.
• I don’t care what this says about me, but buying a new pair of shoes will 100% change your day.
• I WILL cuss less in the new year, promise.
• I’m a lot more creative than I thought and I have made some seriously cool shit this year. I want to eventually peddle these wares.
• I’m also a much better cook than I thought, and I was already pretty good. Thank you Julia Child and Pioneer Woman.
• I am pretty damn picky about my men-folk nowadays. CAN’T IMAGINE WHY.
• My love for beards went above and beyond, and I don’t see an end in sight.

I can’t wait for 2010 to get rolling, I’m ready to be myself again. I completely rearranged my apartment in the throes of my sickness when I got home from a long vacation last night, just to have a fresh perspective even if it’s only within my own four walls. Hey, got to start somewhere right? I’m cleaning out all the closets and crannies where the funk hides, that’s how I heal. I really do have a lot to be thankful for and even more to look forward to. One day I will look back at 2009 and be all, “man, 2009 was such a bitch, BUT have you seen her lately? She totally got fat. Neener neener neener.”

 

To Hold You Over...

Holidays is cray-cray mang.

Here are some things that are allowing my brain to forget that even though Crimmut is over, I still have to deal with the CRUEL realization that my baby will be one year old in 2 days. Not cool Universe, not..effing..cool.

I want to live here, I don't care if the owners are there or not. They seem pretty rad though, so I guess I'll let them stay, FOR A WHILE.

Make these, don't ask questions, just go make these right now and rub them all over your face.

And IF you're ever bored, be bored no mo. This guy is on it, and I do mean, ON IT.

And OH MY GAH YOU GUYS.....I don't usually go gay for the gayness here but, BUT.....

thislookstotallyeffingawesomeandicantfrigginwait

This Time Last Year, Literally

I'm wearing this same shirtdress today, and holy shit......it fits a lot better now.

I wish I could grab the girl in this picture and shake her and say, "DO YOU HAVE ANY EFFING CLUE WHAT'S ABOUT TO HAPPEN?! LIKE FOR-REALSIES?!"

You see, I thought I knew, I really did think I had a pretty realistic view of what was about to go down.

Folks, I did not.

My baby turns a year old in 12 days, and what I can tell you is that my monthly letter to The Wiz is going to be a rough one this time around. I have learned more in the past year than I ever thought was possible, yes I just went all Lifetime made-for-tv-movie on your asses, deal with it. My point is, that girl up there just doesn't exist anymore, in so many ways...

Stick around to find out why.

xoxo Biscuit

I Came Back From The Dead and All I Got Was This Stupid T-Shirt

Ok, I’m going to throw something out there. It’s going to hurt, I’m going to blush, and I may go into hiding for a few minutes weeks.

My name is Biscuit, and I used to watch Soap Operas.

(This is the part where you say “welcome” and tell me you did too. Guys? Anyone?)

Ok big whoop, it wasn’t my fault that my babysitter watched Days of Our Lives and Young & The Restless.

(Another embarrassing admission; the theme song to Young & the Restless was the first song I learned to play on the piano, and I wished my name was Cricket. Shut up)

Recently, the soap world has been on the decline. Classics are dropping left and right. In short, Mama’s stories is gettin cancelled. Guess wut? She don’t like it neever. Guiding Light was the oldest soap out there, that shit started on the RADIO y’all. Grannies and housewives used to huddle around radios the size of microwaves every single day and listen to that shit, can you believe it?! When I was in college I actually scheduled my classes around that damn show ‘cuz Lord knows Reva Shane and the Spaldings were going to help me retain all that important knowledge my parents were paying for. To this day I can tell you the plotlines from 1997, and which “version” of each character was in effect, BUT FOR THE LOVE OF KRISHNA do NOT ask me where Colorado is, or Arkansas if we’re being honest. Something about a good old fashioned, trashy soap…I don’t know, just makes your heart warm. I mean, we literally ran home from class to get a good seat for GL. I wasn’t the only one either, I had many, many friends who scheduled their life around Days of our Lives, *cough-STASIA-cough*. You get attached to the characters, you have your “oh-I-hate-her’s” and “man-i-just-feel-so-sorry-for-him’s”, and the classic, “I-wish-he-would-die-for-real-this-time’s.” So my question is…

What happens now?

I want to know all the secrets! I think it’s only fair that if a soap opera is cancelled, or any show for that matter, they should make a movie wherein all the stories are told. Can you imagine? I can tell you this, it wouldn’t be like no damn Dallas-it-was-all-a-dream bullshit either. It might even revitalize the soap industry. Holy shit y’all, I think I just became a visionary…

BOW BEFORE ME MY MINIONS, LIKE SANDS THROUGH THE HOURGLASS SO….

Sorry, got away with myself there. It’s hard. First I’m a prophet, then a visionary….I got a lot on my shoulders these days.