Today, I found out that Sarah Palin is kicking off her booktour in Grand Rapids later this week. It took about .25 seconds to figure out that I am pretty much going to have to heckle this thing. In fact, Chris, who found out at the exact same time I did, turned to me and said, "You wanna go heckle it?" and I replied, "Oh yah, you betcha!"

The only problem is, I'm trying to figure out what to say when she's signing my book.

Poll #1485560 What should I say to Sarah Palin while heckling her at her booksigning?
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 24

What should I say to Sarah Palin while heckling her at her booksigning?

The good news is, she didn't get elected anything, so it'll be just the regular police I have to contend with, not the secret service.

I'm having one of those bad days, one of those days where I'm in so much pain that it hurts to breathe, and I honestly just gave up, squeezed my eyes shut, and said, "Wake up, wake up, wake up." It didn't work, because this is my reality. This is my life now. I keep having these moments where it hits me that I'm not going to "get over" this and everything will be better. I'm struggling, every day, with the mindset that I just "need a day to regroup and get over this," because it tricks me into believing that after I spend a day doped on painkillers, laying on the couch, yeah, the next day might be better, I might make it to the store or something, there is going to be another one of these days lurking around the corner. We drove down to Chicago to see a play on Monday night, and by the time we got back, Joe had to help me get into the house. Just from sitting in the car, and sitting at the show. One late night, a little missed sleep, and I'm effectively crippled for two days.

LOL, the fan in the PS3 just started up and it sounded like the Silent Hill air raid siren. Maybe those nice nurses will come take care of me!

Yes, I know the boy child was puking yesterday. I am aware that there is swine flu happening. Good lord, how could I not be aware of it? But the only symptom he had was a low fever and puking. No respiratory symptoms, not a high fever, just vomiting and a fever.

HE HAS A STOMACH BUG THAT IS IT, RELATIVES. NO, I DO NOT THINK HE NEEDS TO GO INTO ER SO THAT HE CAN GET ACTUAL SWINE FLU.

In other news, took a spooky trip to an abandoned school house today. Went in the back way, and while Chris and I were teasing each other about whether or not we'd go into the basement, the basement door slammed shut. We looked around a bit upstairs, but the floor was worrisome, so it was just around the back door and then in through the front door and around the edges there. The middle seemed soggy and not cool.

Later, Chris got a call from Chel, who is a medium. Chel said, "Hey, did you and someone else go to an abandoned school house today?" Chris confirmed and Chel said, "Don't go back there. There is this skeevy dead guy who doesn't want you in there again."

Okay, no worries, skeevy ghost dude. Won't go back there!

I noticed that all I'm using my LJ for is reading what's up with my friends, and logging my own nonstop bitching. That's not good! That's not why I started this journal, damnit!

Went to my doctor today. She wants to recheck my vitamin D, but I'm not going to have the test done. It costs too much, and it's not like I can take more vitamin D than I already am, unless all I do is eat vitamin D pills all day. She also referred me to a rheumatologist, and wrote me a rx for Mobic and Celexa. So, I am hopeful.

In other news, I'm starting a new set of dreads. My old ones had to come out, I don't know if I mentioned that before. No one at my store cared, but the regional did. Now, we have a new regional, who does not care. I'm not backcombing these. Joe still doesn't believe that my hair is just textured in such a way that dreads make more sense than constant trims, perms, conditioning, etc., so I stopped brushing my hair. It's day five, and I have three dreads that have formed. Not fully locked up, but that's fast enough that I can say, "Hey, are you going to give up your, 'Your hair is not that bad' routine, now?" The hardest part is not looking like a crazy woman with unbrushed hair, so I've been rolling it into a bun every day and wearing it that way, though it's not the most flattering look on me.

My big fear is that it's all going to lock up in one big mat, and I don't want that. We'll see what happens. I'm going to just give it up to Jesus and nature.

I'm at KVCC while Joe is in class, because it didn't make sense not to share the trip, since my doctor appointment was about an hour before his class. He was late, but not too badly. When I came into the commons, I found ten dollars. Now, normally I don't keep money that I find. I'm always afraid that it's going to be like, money that someone dropped that they desperately needed, and their baby is going to go hungry or whatever. But we're so broke. Sooooo incredibly broke. So, I'm keeping. I did ask the girl sitting closest to it if she'd dropped some money, and she said no. So, I'm keeping it. Maybe it's some kind of social experiment, where they're filming to see if someone will be honest and return the money. I don't give a shit. I'll take the bad karma and keep the ten dollars.

On the other hand, maybe I was supposed to find the money. Maybe all those times I've done nice things for people and stopped the car to get out and help a turtle across a busy road, maybe the universe is paying me back with this ten dollars.

Oh, I probably should have just left it. I'm going to be in an existential crisis by noon, at the rate I'm going. People find money laying around all the time, right? RIGHT? AM I GOING TO HELL?!

My son is wearing a Woody costume (you know, from Toy Story) and he keeps saying, "Call me Buzz." I was like, "I'll call you 'Woody,' because that's your costume." Then he said, "I'm a space ranger. Just because I dress like this doesn't mean I'm Woody. I choose to be called Buzz!"

I swear, he's been reading transwank over my shoulder.

Welcome back, C of E folk.

This is pretty big news to the whole grain Catholic side of me. The frosted liberal side is sad that the unity is coming from misogyny and homophobia, but still... considering the Catholic church has compromised on, oh, you know, NOTHING EVER, this is kind of shocking.

Joe is showing me his prints. He's using all these terms, words like "dodge" and "negative" and "exposure." I have no idea. It's like a foreign language. My knowledge of photos goes as far as shaking them and blowing on them and waiting impatiently for thirty seconds until they show up. Still, I'm proud of him, he's learning and taking this all very seriously and I'm glad he waited to go to school until now.

I'm so happy to be home, though. I was so exhausted, I fell asleep in the car and drooled on my shirt. I've got to get used to doing more than one thing during the day. I hope I survive this trip.

Wednesday is in her bed, making this droning toddler noise as she tries to get to sleep, and Christian is reading aloud, in his droning way, and it sounds like a satanic ritual is going on in that half of the house.

In other news, I'm about to go watch some South Park via the xBox, because Netflix, for some reason, won't accept that we stopped our account.

In other other news, I had a negative pregnancy test, so... dodged that bullet!

Oh, I guess I'm going to argue with Joe that I can't fold clothes because I fell worn the fuck down. That should be fun!

I've been super tired and cranky. I went into the kitchen and started making a sandwich. I put a fuckton of mayo on it. Joe says, "You've been eating a lot of mayonnaise lately." And I said, "SHUT UP I JUST WANT IT OKAY?" and went back to putting more mayo on my sandwich. With a cake knife, the kind you do frosting with.

And Joe says: "I think you're pregnant."

Dear lord, I hope not. I can't see a reason that I would be, but we do use NFP, and that's how my grandma ended up with six kids.

Still, it worked between Christian and Wednesday, so it should still be working now, right?

If I don't get my period by the time I come back from New York, then I'll start to panic.

Right now, I'm going to go eat more mayonnaise. I'm thinking dill pickles dipped in mayo. No pickle jokes, I just want one, okay?

I feel like I'm wearing a too tight corset, and a bra with shrinking shoulder straps. That's my pain today. I like to put things in underwear terms.

In other news, my feet are freaking cold. It's like I can't get them to warm up. They do this often, even with shoes on. Also, they turn yellow, and mottled with red. I calls em my corpse feets.

Son and husband are at Boyscouts. Christian was supposed to wear his Halloween costume tonight. He went as Woody from Toy Story, so we bought his costume at Target. And I was all, "YES I DON'T HAVE TO MAKE SHIT THIS YEAR!" Until he came to me at about four today and said, "Um, the costume doesn't have a pull string." Cut to me running frantically around the house, looking for something to make a pull string out of. AHA! White plastic ring that holds together the three-pack of Heinz bottles from Sam's Club! Sawed on off, melted the edges with a lighter, shaped them out, burned the fuck out of my fingers, sanded, tied to yarn, threaded through costume, voila. Pull string.

Wednesday's costume came in the mail today. She's going to be Snow White! I don't have to make shit this year! Oh, wait, slippers not included. Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to find the left-over red felt from Christian's costume last year. A little sewing, a little starch...

I was going to be Princess Fiona in Ogre form this year, but shit got real and I can't find my wigs. So, I'm busting out my gold Holy Clothing dress, putting a crescent moon on my forehead, and going as Morgaine. I think Joe is going to be Steve Zissou again. Yes, we do just have that costume laying around.

Wednesday did a spectacular swan dive onto the edge of the coffee table and split her melon-rind. She got a CT scan, and was clear for launch, but let me tell you, the bump/cut on her head sicks me right out.

Christian should be pleased, though, because no one is going to call her cute for a few days, and also he got to stay the night at Grandma's.

Baby just learned to eat with spoon. Got it on her first try, so I'm impressed. Cats and dog, not so much, as they have all had the experience of being smacked on the nose with a spoon full of potatoes while she screeches, "YUMMY YUMMY!"

And there was a super spooky post made to SF_drama: Before anyone asks for linky, here is linky. I know there will be at least one more super spook post made, because tijuanabible will make it.

But I want to hear your ghost stories, flist. I want you to tell me about spooky, supernatural shit. Do it.

( Mine is under the cut )

My daughter.

Let me tell you, internets.

She just realized today that she could go through clothes that are laying around. Like, go through them and pick stuff out. Then, she brings these items to you and demands that you put them on her. Loudly, and with lots of jabbering and demonstrating where the item should go. She is willing, however, to listen to your advice and not put brother's dirty underwear on her head.

She is wearing a diaper cover from the dirty clothes pile (not like, with pee on it or anything, I'm not that bad a mom), a pink and white spaghetti-strap top that she took off a Build-A-Bear cat and therefore it is a bit small for her and shows her tummy, and she's trying to put on daddy's socks.

She is routinely going into the bathroom to check out her look in the mirror, and squealing with delight at the results.

I've been trying to break myself of the casual habit I picked up in my youth of saying, "retarded," like "That's retarded," or "you're retarded," because I realize why it's offensive. I've started being especially mindful of it since I started working at my McJob, because people use it there CONSTANTLY and in the presence of our mentally handicapped coworker, which is just a thousand shades of wrong.

I have probably cured myself of ever saying it, ever again. Because I mindlessly typed it in a comment to stupid_free.

Battening down my inbox, brb.

Dear Financial Aid Office Woman:

If you had not been so snappy and bitchy with Joe when he came in the dozen or so times before, repeating the same answer over and over again to different questions that you neither listened to nor let him finish, we would have known two weeks ago that the bank did not receive his MPN, and that it still needed to be filed. Instead, you told him the funds would be disbursed by October 2nd, when they weren't ready to be disbursed at all, and refused to look up his file on the computer.

Fuck you very much,
Our entire family, which has been stressing over this stupid FAFSA thing for the past month.

I'm not sure if the guys on VH1 are getting hotter, or if I'm just hard up for it, because I've watched three videos this morning where I've gone, "I'd hit that."

( Who I would, indeed, 'hit' )

That last one deserves special mention, because I've been dancing my ass off to his single lately:



Seriously, dancing like a spaz until my legs hurt.

In other news, Wednesday is now going off by herself to poop, then coming to me to ask for a diaper change. Not ask in words, she doesn't talk that well (although we're up to baby, go boom, night-night, milk, bottle, momma, daddy, close the door, this as in "what's this," and uh-oh in the "things Wednesday says" category), but she will come up and go, "eh eh!" and pull on her diaper. Sure enough, she's pooped. Twice now, the place she's disappeared to in order to do this is the bathroom. This is ridiculous. She's supposed to be my BABY. She did the "first word" thing at nine months. Walked at ten. She's eleven months old and she's starting to pull this "I have a grasp of my body functions" bullshit. She's trying to wean herself off the bottle, and asks for solid food before formula. Well, little missy, you're going to be in diapers until you're twelve, because you are my baby.

Gosh, with Christian, I had a bad case of that first-time-mom desperation, wanting my baby to be ahead of all the other babies in his age group so that I could brag about how "advanced" he was, and he did everything super late. He didn't talk or potty train until he was three. He didn't walk until he was fourteen months old. He didn't sit up on his own until he was seven months old. And now, I have this baby who I wish would just slow the eff down.

Sigh. She's probably awake from her nap and apply to colleges as I type this.

Really, Tigers? Really? I mean... really? YOU ARE THE ONLY FUCKING TEAM THAT COULD BE IN FIRST FROM MAY TO FUCKING OCTOBER AND NOT GO INTO THE POST SEASON!

At least the Twins will get their asses handed to them by the Yankees.

I'm working hard today, but I wanted to share these videos with you all. If you've already seen them, well, enjoy them again.

( Music by weird girls under here )

I am making this post to bring it to spiderjill79's attention, because I told her I was changing my icon and she couldn't stop me.