Making...

A couple of shopping bags, a turtle, and an egg purse. I'm VERY productive.


Taking vitamins helps with all the tired.

**Forgive the smooshy images. I had to do this for uniformity's sake. You understand.

Imma take a nap.

I'm so damn tired lately.  SO. SO. TIRED.

We're getting Phoebe out of the habit of sucking her thumb, and so she just can't seem to fall asleep anymore.  Ever.  I don't think she's going to sleep normally ever, ever again.  You think after babies grow up into toddlers that their sleep schedule evens out, so you don't have to get up at random hours anymore, right?

NOPE.

If she doesn't go to sleep at a decent hour tonight, I'm going to soak her damn thumb in a codeine marinade, so I get a reprieve.

Watch me. 

Giddy like a like a schoolgirl.

Marissa is coming home tomorrow.

I'M SO EXCITED!

I can't wait to see her -- she's been gone for FAR. TOO. LONG.  Two weeks at my parent's house, and then three weeks with her sperm donor dad.  I bet she doesn't even remember what we look like.

I can't wait to pick her up.  The fact that we get to go to Charleston and have Starbucks?  That's jus a bonus.

I can't wait to have my girl back!

I suck.

So, I'm sitting on the porch, talking on the phone to Marissa's godmother (which is cool, because she doesn't care that I have a potty mouth, so it's pretty much me just grunting words like "shit" and "bitch" interspersed with "totally" and "uh-huh") when I see someone out of the corner of my eye.

Whoever this person is, is walking up the street, carrying a plastic bag, and he's shirtless.  Now, there are a lot of men that walk around here shirtless, which is fine -- but scary.  I just try not to make eye contact. 

So, there I sit, trying to (kind of) watch my language, and trying not to look directly at whoever is walking up the street.  Because I'm sitting on the porch by myself.  And shirtless men with plastic bags are skeery.  And also, I was saying lots and lots of bad words, so maybe he's got a bag full of Jesus and he wants to smite me with it.

Of course, this person walks right up to the front of the porch, and stops.  I take my cue, and put the phone down, and just look at him, not really sure what to say, or whether or not to duck.  He looks familiar -- I'm thinking that he might be our neighbor down the street, in which case that makes him FAR less scary.  But, you know how white people are -- they all look the same.

He proceeds to ask me if I like squash and zucchini.  I say that yes, I do.  Then he asks me if I like cucumber.  Again, I say that I do.  So then, he hands me the bag -- not full of vengeance, in case you're wondering.  No, it's full of vegetables.  Fresh ones, that he must've just picked.  So now, I feel like the WORST.  PERSON.  EVER. 

Here I was, trying to avoid him, and he was just trying to be friendly. 

I told Bryan that I want to make some cookies or something to say thanks (and to assuage my guilt) but what if he's not the guy?  What if it was some other random white dude?  How will I know without making myself the biggest jerkface EVER?

You thought my neighborhood niche was cats?  No.  I get to be the resident asshat.  Every street needs one.

P.S. If you know a good zucchini bread recipe, would you mind sharing?

Suckah.

You want to have a good laugh at my expense?  Of COURSE you do.

We still haven't given away the kittens.  Want to know why?  Because that's like trying to give away snow to Eskimos, or handing out some crazy at an asylum.

We've offered these cats to everyone, and people JUST LAUGH.  There are several fliers at the local grocery store, convenience store, and ads in the local paper for free cats.  I do believe the market for kittens is flooded.  There is literally no one upon whom we can foist them. 

I've even offered to ship them out of state -- how cool would it be to have a cat imported from West Virginia?  I mean, it's so EXOTIC.  It would be even better if I could convince just one or six people of this.