Vacation pics and an ass update (not in that order)

Good news y’all. I don’t think my ass is going to fall off, after all. I’m sure you all are as relieved as I am.

I am willing to go on the record as being against Chickenpox. I know, it’s a radical postion, but I have to go with my principles here.

I did get some extra time off work, which has actually been kind of nice because our oldest is home on leave and Pookie is still on vacation, so there is some serious family time going on. And God knows I’ll be ready to go back to work Monday (maybe).

I have lots of good pics but I’m only gonna show a few tonight because I’m hopped up on the generic Benedryl and should be tucked in next to Pookie right now.

First we have a still life entitled What I did on my summer vacation before I got chickenpox and my ass fell off.

What more could a girl need than a good book, some awesome spaghetti sauce, some cheapish alcohol and some good bug spray? Nothing, that’s what.

This is a pyramid in Memphis,TN. Archaeologists are still trying to solve the mystery of how it got there.

They did recently find some ancient hieroglyphics on it. They are currently trying to translate it. Any experts on ancient languages out there? Think of the prestige of solving a puzzle of this magnitude.

There’s something very familiar about it to me. Hmm. Ain’t history wonderful?


What I did on my Summer vacation

Alternate title: Are you fucking kidding me??

Alternate, Alternate title: Kiss my (spotted) ass, Karma, you vindictive whore.

So, I went to New Hampshire and all I got was the chicken pox. Let me repeat that. Chick. En. Pox.

Have I mentioned how I’m old? As in, too old to have chicken pox? Because I am.

Because I love, I am posting what I believe to be an accurate representation of the state of my (spotted) ass.

Pookie took this shot as I was sunbathing this afternoon*.

I know. The Pox is Hott.

More on my vacation later, when I feel more like sitting for a long stretch.

Oh, and fuck you, Karma.

* That is a picture of my ass in some alternate universe. In a skinny alternate universe where I would ever wear a g-string. You are not seeing an actual photo pf my actual ass, for those who were feeling compelled to poke themselves in the eye. There’s no way I’m posting an actual photo of my actual ass on the internetweb. Because I love. And also, it’s getting tough to feed and house all my stalkers, as it is. No new stalkers, is my goal.

Still lookin’ for Hampsters

Ok, so we’re here. After many long weeks of travel in our covered wagon, with only hardtack and bisquits for sustenence, we have arrived in New Hampshire. The natives seem to be friendly, though they do seem a bit taken aback at our manner of speech. They shared with us a delicious local treat called a ‘meatball grinder’.

Alright, I’ll stop now.

So, anyway, we are here. It only took us 2 days, because if there was an Ironman of Driving contest, Pookie would totally wipe the floor with the competition. I drove *maybe* a total of 2 hours the whole trip. I know what you’re thinking. Why didn’t I help more with the driving? Am I just that fucking lazy? Well, apparently, yes.

For one, I have this cute little habit of nodding off in a moving vehicle after more than an hour. whether or not I’m driving, unless someone is talking to me. So basically, when I get fussy and won’t go to sleep at night, Pookie can just buckle me into my carseat and drive me around the block a couple times because I am an infant. A lame, narcoleptic infant who drinks too much coffee.

Our first morning on the road (after I woke up) I attempted to pour myself some coffee from the thermos. I am apparently no better at pouring than I am at staying awake and managed to pour coffee all over my thighs. While wearing sweatpant. Did y’all know that sweatpants will retain the heat of spilt coffee? Well, they will.

Pookie couldn’t safely pull over, so I did the only thing I could do. I pulled the pants off and rode commando until he could stop. It was a little unnerving. And uncomfortable. And never ride with a bare bottom on leather seats. Trust me on this.

I recovered from my third degree burns surprisingly quickly. I may never recover from riding down the road hoping truckers aren’t glancing into the van . Therapy may be in order.

THEN. Last night, while walking back from the showers here at the campground, I turned off my flashlight so the fucking bugs would quit flying up my fucking nose. I then tripped over a picnic table and knocked the tee total shit out of my leg. I didn’t cry, but it was close.

Stay tuned for pictures. This place is GORGEOUS, y’all.

New Hampster or Bust!

Tomorrow, we leave on vacation. I would be quivering with excitement, but I’m too fucking tired.
Breathing and sitting is about all I have the energy for. Oh, and typing, apparently.

I have to work tomorrow, and I am incredibly bitter about that, but I’ve made plans to skip out at about 1:00 so it will only be half as exhausting as usual, which will give me time to come home, shower, shop for last minute stuff, and let Pookie have a nice long sleep before we head out at about midnight. To the promised land, otherwise known as New Hampster, at least around our house.

In other news! I have a website! Courtesy of the awesome and amazing and other words that start with ‘A’ (including alliterative!) Blue.

She’s done a great job and I hope you’ll go check it out and I hope you like it as much as I do, which is impossible because I love it a lot and it’s all about me. You people can’t really compete with my narcissism. So don’t even try. SNAP.

Also, I got the most awesome shout out from a fellow blogger and I have to share it with y’all for two reasons. First, it’s all about me! Second, this chick deserves some recognition of her own.

She wrote:

I’ve been searching for the blogs of 20 and 30 something year old single females making their way in the world but have come to the conclusion that all of them are actually at home with their comforters over their heads trembling in fear, so I’m left with the mommybloggers, and that is okay. The 20 and 30 something years olds of the world have a tough go of it and by the time they get it together they wind up with kids and blogs. is a mom with a blog. A mom who lives in Texas (again, so much better than Reno) and writes about old timey crushes, (Orlando Bloom? Bah! Rock Hudson! Yay!), her crippling fear of spiders (I have some fun stories for her) and Kevin Eubanks’s Salary. If you’re new to web-ness check out her links. She has researched and stuff so the links are good.

Contrary also has a website, , not just a blog. This means she gets double the internet adoration. It also means she gets to post cute pictures of her family. Someday I am going to write Contrary and ask her how to get the pictures out of my laptop and onto my blog, because you want to see what I look like, right?

I know! How awesome is she? And how awesome am I….apparently?

Oh, and those of you who are dying laughing at the notion of me helping anyone figure out how to do anything on the computer? You can bite me.

I plan to update often while vacationing, which could either mean that I update every 5 minutes or that I forget I have a blog for the duration. I’m not really good with the planning.

But y’all should totally check back often and you should also check out the new site and let me know what you think because I am insecure and need constant positive reinforcement.


I hate spiders.

Yeah, yeah, I know. All creatures great and small, the Lord God made them all.

What the fuck ever.

I hate spiders.

Once, when I was but a tot, perhaps 3 or 4, I allegedly told my mother that a spider had growled at me. I know spiders can’t growl, but this was probably the first step on my road to arachniphobia.

I am generally not a fan of anything with any more than 4 legs. Most insects are on my eeek list. I do like ladybugs and doodlebugs, though. Because they’re cute. And I’m shallow, even in a etymological sense.

But spiders are the worst. Eight hairy legs, skittering sideways. Weaving webs out of their butts. I mean, seriously, that shit is just wrong.

I recall a couple of stories that happened at a former workplace of mine. They both involve escaped tarantulas. Bird eating tarantulas. ( A quick quote from the Wikipedia entry on these things: ‘one of the few tarantulas which can capture and eat a full-grown mouse’.) (holy shit!!)

In one story, someone (accidently) stepped on the spider. Can you imagine stepping on a spider that’s as big as a hamburger patty? A juicy, undercooked hamburger patty?

The other was about how a tarantula crawled up an employee’s pants leg.

I wasn’t there for either of these stories, but they served to make me keep my eyes open and seriously consider banding the cuffs of my pants (you know, like cyclists do), just in case. Because I would have fainted while simultaneously peeing my pants had either of these things happened to me.

What are y’all scared of? What just skeeves you the hell out? What makes you want to cry like a bitch and ask your Mommy to hold you?

Ah, the good old days

Now, like every girl, I’ve had actor crushes. Mine were sometimes a bit different than other girls. Don’t get me wrong, I had brief flirtations with the likes of Rick Springfield (I still know all the words to Jessie’s Girl) and Rob Lowe.

Mostly, though, my crushes were old enough to be my father, if not my grandfather.

James Garner– from his early days with Move Over Darling to Support Your Local Sheriff to The Rockford Files to Space Cowboys. My favorite? Victor/Victoria with Julie Andrews.

Cary Grant– even in his madcap comedy days, starring in classics like Arsenic and Old Lace or Bringing Up Baby all the way up to even more classics like Father Goose and Operation Petticoat. Oh! And let’s not forget His Girl Friday, easily one of the best movies ever made. Of course, I wanted to grow up to be Rosiland Russell when I was a little kid.

Rock Hudson– yes, I know. He was gay. But I defy any heterosexual woman to watch Pillow Talk and not fall just a little in love. Oh, and I also defy any heterosexual male to watch Doris Day in those dresses and not fall a little in lust.

Paul Newman-yes I know, me and everybody else. Nobody’s Fool is my hands down favorite movie. He was OLD in that and I still wanted him.

Sean Connery– Need I say more?

John Wayne– To this day I can’t watch the end of The Shootist because he dies in it and it was the last movie he made before he died in real life. My favorites are The Quiet Man (not a western, so you western phobics out there should watch it and give the old man a try. I think this one will surprise you), McClintock, The Sons of Katie Elder and never mind, there are too many to list).

This is by no means the complete list. I watched a lot of old movies as a kid. I had a mother who wasn’t too strict about bedtimes and all the time in the world to watch The Late Movie (for you kids out there; before cable, there were three, sometimes four, channels. That was it. And the movie they always showed after the news and Carson was called The Late Movie. A little slice of American History, right here at VeryContrary).

What about y’all? Who was/is your crush? By the way, every woman in the world currently has a crush on Jack Bauer and/or Dr. McDreamy so those don’t count. Because I say so.

In Exile (and kind of loving it)

Well, folks. I’m off at Mommy Camp, also known as the Best Western (witness horrid hotel art at left), where it is hoped that I will regain my usual sunny dispostion, because OMG, I am a horrid bitch. Ok, maybe not, but I was certainly feeling pissy and out of sorts.

Pookie and JD packed me off so I could come home to them tomorrow with a smile on my face and my inner bitch all chilled out.

I stopped by the bookstore to buy this book, but they were sold out, which is great for the author (Mary Janice Davidson), but sucked for me. But! I found this other book, which she also wrote and since all I really wanted was a book with her unique sense of humor and unrelenting goofiness, I was a happy girl.

While I was at the bookstore, I picked up something for the boy to assuage my guilt.

Meet Douglas the steam engine (I think he’s steam. He could be diesel. I’m no expert.) JD is a fan of Thomas the Tank Engine and his friends. He’s been doing a lot of talking about ‘Poor Douglas who has to live at the bookstore’. Don’t you see? I couldn’t leave Douglas there! I had to buy him!

Also while I was at the bookstore, I managed to offend the guy at the customer service desk.
See, he has a mohawk, and I thought it would be funny to tell him that someone had run over his head with a lawnmower while he wasn’t looking.

I know what you’re thinking: That isn’t even funny!

Well, he didn’t think it was any funnier than you did. I could tell because of the way he stared me down , because hey, he’s a young guy with a ‘funny’ haircut in a small town in Texas. OF COURSE, no one ever gives him shit about it and OF COURSE, he has a great sense of humor about being screwed with.

I apologized, he said ‘it’s ok, I’m used to it’. I apologized again, he said ‘don’t worry about it. I apologized again, he said ‘Good Lord woman, you made a snarky comment about my hair. It wasn’t even funny. It’s not like you called my mother a whore or something. I’m over it. You get over it too’. Or words to that effect.

I then proceeded to (accidently!) step on the back of his shoe, giving him a ‘flat tire’ when I was following him to the fiction by author section. It was at this point that I asked him not to throw me out until I had a chance to pay for my purchases. That, he laughed at.

And then he was very helpful and sweet and I would totally introduce him to my daughter if it wasn’t for the subversive haircut that makes it clear that he does drugs and trades in white slavery. The little communist.

Ok, all kidding aside, I was mor-ti-fied. Y’all may recall that I am quite adept at pissing people off because I think I’m funny. I’m gonna see if they have a class at the local college that teaches ‘Shut up already, Dumbass- 101’.

I’ve spent the bulk of the evening wtching a Benson marathon on TVLand. I forgot how much I loved this show. I was on IM with Pookie and he accused me of having a drink because I kept exclaiming over stuff on the show. But I did spot Ted Danson and Jerry Seinfeld in the early years.

Ok, I think I’m done rattling on for now…Benson is calling. The gang needs my help getting the Governor out of yet another fix.