Well. Looks like I'm going to a summer wedding, in the park. What to wear, what to wear? I haven't a thing to wear. Quick! Ask the Bitches, they'll know what to do.

Cashmere: Mittens or boxing gloves, duct-taped to his poor little arms. That'll slow him down.

Yay kitties!

Yay kitties!

(New kitties are pretty much always a 'yay' occasion, huh? But those two look like sweeties.)

Every time he gets naked, bring him to the bathroom and see if he'll give it a shot.

Smart Cindy. He might just be ready to start doing things like the big boys.

I like hairstyles 2, 4 and 6. The Myspace link didn't work for me.

Nothing like starting a post and then being abused by babies before finishing it. It'll be interesting to see if this post is anywhere near where it started.

eta freakin' formatting.

again with the edits.

On the contrary, my dearest Bev, whenever I own wristwatches with a metal band, I find that, with daily wearing, the underside of the watchband becomes *severely* corroded in about 3-4 months. Also, bugs never bite me.

I am, apparently, extremely acidic. (Or is it alkalinic? I'm assuming acidic, because I have the ability to CORRODE METAL.) I have the feeling that that plays a large part in the reason that BPAL turns to Play-Doh on me.

If I were a super-villain, my power would be my acidic-ness. I'd get all sweaty and then *hug* the superhero(ine), and my acid-ness would leave them powerless. *Powerless,* I tell you!!!

I've heard the theory that they bite everyone and some people just don't react.

After X-Men we were pondering lame mutations. Like, the one sucker who is able to organize mergers and acquisitions with remarkable efficiency -- his costume is a suit and is mocked endlessly by the bad-ass looking mutants.

I'm tempted to find some complicted shorts that he'll have trouble getting off--but then when I actually want to start the toilet training, that could work against me. I'm also tempted to let him roam free and wild in the back yard during the day--sort of like a baby goat but with less grass eating.

That's a potty training technique (well, it was on Yes Dear )

My cousin used her daughters nudist urges for potty training. If C kept dry all day she could have naked time before bed that night. She would tear around the house, it was hysterical.

I wanna go see Lifehouse on Monday. I need to find a friend to go with me.

waves in a friend-like manner

I have no plans on Monday! (But I won't be disappointed if you have, you know, other friends.)

GC, I like #1, 3 and 4, with #4 being my favorite. Also, the myspace link didn't work for me, either.

On the contrary, my dearest Bev, whenever I own wristwatches with a metal band, I find that, with daily wearing, the underside of the watchband becomes *severely* corroded in about 3-4 months. Also, bugs never bite me.

Dude! Sugar would totally do that!

Oh, beth, your poor friend! Much ~ma

Oh Christ Beth. Best wishes for your friend.

Okay, guys, I wasn't really convinced until now, but I am now confident that my mom is batshit. Fucking. INSANE.

I got the feeling my uncle was giving her the regular report on how I was doing when I got in the car. He had just finished up, and so he passed her off to me.

She started things off by telling me to buy my ticket to come home because the prices kept going up.

And then, without provocation, she started yelling me about having no common courtesy, how many times had she told me that if I borrow the car, I should fill up the tank (which, um, I had been doing), if someone does something for me, I should do something in return, how many times did she have to tell me, why wasn't I doing it? All she was hearing was complaints, never anything good. I kept saying I was an adult (which, um, I never actually say), but I wasn't acting like an adult; I was acting like a child.

And she didn't want to hear any of this "When I get a permanent position, I'm going to move out" business. The family wasn't some dirty, stinky people I had to get away from. I was not going to live on my own.

And then she told me I should just quit my job and move back home.

Yeah.

She'd let me live on my own in Michigan instead of coming back home, and that had been a mistake.

The entire time, I was pretty much rolling my eyes, hanging my mouth agape, and holding the phone away from my ear because she was so loud. My uncle finally took the phone and asked her why the hell she was yelling at me. So she hung up.

I explained to my uncle (my mom's brother) what she had said, and I cried and I cursed and I cried and I cursed and I cried and I cursed. He was just as baffled as I was because he had told her I was improving. He didn't care about the gas thing, don't worry about that. And the moving out thing was just ridiculous because as I've said before, I thought I had been pretty clear with everyone that that had been the plan all along. Hell, my dad himself had told me that was the plan. He had told my uncle that was the plan. Live with them for a few months until I found my own place. My uncle, having known my mom for longer than I had, was used to her brand of insanity.

He told me not to let it get to me and to let it go. There was much bigger stuff to worry about in life.

Later, I engaged in the wonderful therapy that is turning the radio way the hell up and singing your lungs out while driving.