Not To Be Petty...

But for just ONCE in my life, I want my own crisis or heck, my own good thing all to my self. This time it's a mini-crisis I have to share. But just so you understand the timeline of sharing my life stories...

When I got married, I visited my mom on my honeymoon to discover my sister was getting a divorce.

When I found out I was pregnant with my first child (the same day), my BIL was getting a divorce.

When I was pregnant with my second child, my paralyzed on one side and mentally ill father was living with me until 2 weeks before the baby popped out. I was ready to run away and join the circus after that stint.

Now I am having my gallbladder out--minor surgery, in and out in one day, scheduled nicely so everyone is submitted to the least amount of stress. My DH (and I'm not thinking DEAR here)has severe diverticulitis (which means his tummy hurts like a raging bitch with a knife twisting and all that) and just may be faced with surgery.

Now, damn, that's just plain rude. I'm not sure I should be blaming the poor DH because it's not like he planned to feel icky. He hates going to the doctor, and if he's calling me wanting a doctor's phone number I know he's in a ton of pain. I'm one to go and 'get it checked' sooner than later because I am Las Vegas for germs--once they get going in my immune-free system they're partying like it's 1999 again. It takes a patty wagon of antibiotics to round those naughty suckers up, all the while they're screaming, "What happens in Trish's body STAYS in Trish's body!"

So I'll keep you updated on that.

In other news, we have new fish, Houston. That's really LONG post, but let's just say the Tank Of Death is in prime time, waiting to claim the next victim already. I'll update you on that tomorrow.

I'm going to write a little naughty ditty to sell. I've become a sad, lonely 'ho for money these days. A pathetic, petty 'ho with a nasty gallbladder and a sick hubby. If I could drink, I think I'd be best friends with Jose Cuervo. Night night.

RIP

The fish tank of death has claimed yet another life...

Today we had a lovely, toilet-side ceremony for Spot the Pleco (those algae eating fish). He was a good fish, and diligently ate all of the algae on the sides of the tank until we had a pH problem (poor little guy probably thought he was living in vinegar). He is survived by Summertime II the frog and Zoom and Multi the goldfish. May he rest in peace in an algae filled pond up there in the sky.

My Third Child...

Actually my fourth child, since the senile dog considers himself the first born...Is a Tamagochi. It's named Tally, it's a girl, and at this point it looks like a worm with a clown nose and mustache (it morphs every cyber year or so--two days ago it looked like a black chocolate kiss with arms and legs). If you don't know what I'm talking about, Tally is one of those little mechanical keychain toys where you get a cyber pet to feed, clean up after and play with, so it won't die. Well, K-man has one, and it's not dying on my watch.

Unfortunately, it's now an obsession because the maternal instincts won't let go and allow the kid to just KILL IT. It would be a probable thing, because every time I pick it up it's hungry and crying it's eyes out because it's sad from neglect. I don't like crying, hungry things-it makes me nervous, like the Tamagochi police might come and take custody of the thing. So I check it to see if it's hungry (he likes sushi!) I check it to see if it has pooped. Yes, it leaves this big stinky pile in the corner, and if you don't clean it it gets sick and you have to take it to the doctor for a shot.

It goes to bed at 9:00 at night, so Sunday after the races (8:54ish) I was in high demand. To DH: "Go out and get Tally from the camper." Him: "Why?" Me: "Because it goes to bed at 9:00 and I have to feed it, play with it and make sure it doesn't crap before bed or it will be sick in the morning." He blinked, and shuffled out to retrieve the thing, because he's slightly germaphobic, and the thought of it sleeping in crap, cyber or not, was probably too much to bear.

Even RIGHT NOW, as I type this, I am inquiring about the damned thing. K-man is in the living room now, checking on Tally's needs (and letting the senile dog out for the fifth time today. For some reason, he is acting like our house needs a revolving door on it, like a hotel). It's still asleep in it's little bed, snoring Zzzzz's in a crap-free environment.

My only hope in live is that the thing will grow up and find a mate, have it's own egg and move away. YES, even Tally will find a mate. And if it doesn't, you can ask the Matchmaker to set it up with something (nothing like a little cyber arranged marriage) so it can grow and leave the nest. I'm hoping it takes less time than 18 years because I don't know how much more of this stress I can handle. I'll let you know when to send shower gifts for my fourth child.

At It Again...

Only a few weeks left over at Tawny's for a drawing of handsome margarita glasses that I painted! The date she's drawing says Aug. 31, but I'm having surgery that day and for some reason, I don't picture the surgeon running out to the post office with the package for me. I think we're doing it a few days sooner, so get your name in the hat! You'll have gorgeous glasses to celebrate the Labor Day holiday, and you'll get news about Tawny's books--cool deal all around.

She's still picking on me, that Julie! I did issue an apology on her blog comments for stating she went Mel Gibson on me.

Okay, so maybe you didn't go Mel Gibson on me. I apologize. However, I did picture you with blue hair dye and waving a size 13 Ebony needle screaming, "FREEDOM" as I wrote my blog.

And indeed, after reading what you did to the blue shimmer, I am even more concerned for your state of mental health. If I lived closer, I'd give you an IV of margaritas, a fistfull of dollar bills and drag you off to a Chippendale show.

In case you don't know what she did to her Blue Shimmer Sweater, knitted on size zero needles...she committed yarnicide. It was Madame Theaker, in the living room, with a knife (sounds a little like CLUE, doesn't it?)

Today we are just hanging around. The neighbors must have come and dropped off their dishes in my sink because I have no recollection of using that many over the weekend. Unless the senile dog started cooking. Which would be very interesting...At least he'd know who's hair is in the food when he finds it. He's shedding again, getting ready for his winter coat already. Silly dog.

SHE'S PICKING ON ME!!

OMG, so I innocently post a few comments to Julie's blog and she goes all Mel Gibson on me. :::sniff sniff::: I swear, her baby and cat have joined together, reprogrammed the singing doggie thingie she has pictured on her blog, and have begun to brainwash her. I feel very, very sorry for her (and the rest of us, too, if the baby and the cat succeed in taking over the world, we're all TOAST!)

Today is my sister's birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY PIGGIE! Her name is actually Dawn, but when I was little PIG was the worse thing I could come up with to call her as a taunt. Now I can think of a lot of other things, but as a mature adult we don't call our sisters names (plus she hasn't pissed me off in decades).

She happens to call me Chickie, because when I was a junior in high school I dressed up as a sort of 'trashy' punk rocker, wearing a trashbag mini skirt and attire. We stopped to get coffee at the local store and this wino in the store said, in a gravelly voice, "Hey, CHICKIE, come here!" And I promptly fled the scene.

The hat I mentioned is finished, and it fits! I had to rip it out and restart but it's lovely. K-man was impressed and wore it around at breakfast.

And racing...let's just say I'm glad the day is OVER! Any day that starts with me screaming at children for putting on SCHOOL CLOTHES to go to the dirtiest place on earth is NOT a fun day. Regional race on this Saturday, and I've conned the DH into sleeping over at the track (I have no clue where it is, but it's in NY near the VT border) and then doing something as a FAMILY that doesn't involve DIRT or GAS or TIRES. K-man immediately pipes in with, "Let's go to an Adventure Landing type place (an amusement park in FLA) and race go-karts!" NO NO NO, silly child. I guess he didn't get the, NO DIRT, GAS OR TIRES part.

We shall see how the rest of the week goes. I'm definitely on a back to school count down...

Hotter Than Hades

It's hotter than hades here. Hot enough that when the kids tell me their doing tatoos, I tell them to have fun without checking to see if they're making REAL tatoos or the temporary kind. It's just too damned hot. It's sad when a trip to the store is gilded bliss because there's A/C there, and all you want to do is linger over the display of corn butterers because it could waste an extra 30 minutes. Tomorrow is supposed to be cooler, though. We'll see.

In other news, we went, we raced, we broke stuff and came home with fifth. It was one of those days like when you go to the circus and the clown car pulls up to evict 20 millon clowns. So that was that.

I've been knitting a hat. The first hat was too big...this hat is looking too small. If my friend Julie were about, she'd smack me and tell me to gauge my work. Which is SORT of did, but I can't count. When she finally battles her baby gates maybe she'll give me some advice. But until then, I'm knitting a hat. For someone. :::grin::::