My Poor Babies

I am sad. And thinking nasty, nasty thoughts about the Red Sox.

And I'm trying to figure out what to say. What snappy little comebacks to have ready when the taunting begins.

Well, when the taunting continues. Skipper left me a voicemail midway through the game, around the 7th Inning. Pumpkin (who apparently became a baseball/Red Sox fan tonight) called seconds after the game ended. Then Steph called (with Muffy cackling in the background). He kept giving me some line of how he was trying to offer an olive branch by asking if I wanted to grab a beer. I don't buy his line. The man was calling to taunt. Because Red Sox fans (even brand spankin' new ones PUMPKIN) are just mean, mean people.

But I have no snappy comebacks. I will just let them enjoy their fun. It happens so rarely and is usually so shortlived. And I know the Yankees will come back next season and beat their asses like they normally do. Because Yankees win and Red Sox lose and that's just life.

Oh Happy Day (I still hate the red sox)

I just bought Duran Duran Christmas Ornaments. And am so excited I can't see straight. But there is some anger. Apparently I have fallen off the Duran Duran email list I was on and was not aware that they were signing their CD in New York RIGHT IN TIMES SQUARE on the 12th. You cannot imagine the weeping when I learned of this news. Lovey and I are distraught. And so we must go out and buy the new Duran Duran CD to soothe our sad souls. And possibly the Team America soundtrack. Retail Therapy at it's best.

I hate the Red Sox

I hate the Red Sox. I hate them so much. I hate their horrible, horrible hair. I hate how they must drag these playoffs out the way that they do. I hate that they cause me such stress. I hate that fucking Trot Nixon. Fucking Trot. Hate, hate, hate. Hate the Red Sox. Bad, bad Red Sox. Bad!

I cannot get those first three words from the Team America theme out of my head. Seriously. All day long I'm at work with "A-mer-i-ca, Fuck Yeah!" going on a constant loop in the back of my head. I know that at some point I'll just start singing it out loud. And then I'll get the funny looks again. I hate the funny looks. But I hate the Red Sox more. Damn Red Sox.

I just finished rereading Valley of the Dolls. Amusing book. Depressing book. I can't really remember much of the movie, but I always picture Patty Duke as Neely O'Hara when I read it. The whole evil people and drug abuse stuff aside, the book really depresses me because of the whole 'woman needs man' theme. It' so offensive. That all women desperately want to get married on some level. That a man has to be the one to support the family even if the woman has millions. That a woman needs to be married to be successful. Even if you have piles of money and a great career you're something to be pitied without a husband. And then the idea that men cheat because they're men. It's just what they do. Women accept it and move on. So gross. So very, very gross. Blech. I think the thing I really like about the book is that pills (especially sleeping pills) are called dolls. It's a habit my family has picked up, for no reason I can explain. We just call sleeping pills dolls. Like last night Mom told me to just take some dolls and go to bed.

We have lots of little in jokes, the folks and I. Like Dad and I often do a whole, "Let us go then you and I" schtick whenever we're heading off somewhere. We've done that since before I ever read the poem. It's weird and dorky, but a funny family thing. We often call Dad Sparky or Clark because of a whole Wally World/National Lampoon's Vacation thing we have going. We have our dolls. We have little nicknames and jokes and things like that. We have jokes about Dad's girlfriend and now his boyfriend (usually his roommates) and Mom's boyfriend - though now that he's going to be a father and all she hardly ever talks to him which takes all the fun out of that joke. Most of the time they make no sense to anyone else and often convince others that we are not a healthy family. But we really are. It's just our weird sense of humor. I like the fact that our brains are twisted in the same way. Drugs and poetry and mockery bringing us closer. Good times.

Woo

Daddy made Captain. So you will now all have to start calling him Captain Bill. Just so you know. Until he gets annoyed and threatens you. Then you can stop. But not until then.

See, Mommy's Magical Heart got Dad a promotion. That puppy is POWERFUL.

I'm Not Feeling Well... (excuse the swearing)

Shit mother fuck! Goddamn those motherfucking Red Sox. ARGH!

Sorry. Had to get that out. Cannot believe the Yankees haven't wrapped this up already. And with today's weather it looks like we'll have to wait until tomorrow to put that team out of it's misery. Bah.

I'm not having a happy day. Really. The Yankees haven't won yet. I just typed that as one and not won because I'm not very bright. I had to walk to work (well, to the train and then to the office from the train) in the cold and the wet (uphill, both ways, with snow as well as rain and no shoes). And it's still cold and wet. I have a really gross overflowing catbox that I just cannot be bothered with right now. My apartment is vile. Seriously. I weigh about a thousand pounds. Some bitch I work with gave my freaking cell phone number to my jackass of a boss and they both felt it was acceptable to use it on a Sunday night. And I know if I don't change it he'll start making a habit of calling me on the weekends and at night and on vacations because he is evil. Which is why I've spent the past couple of years not letting him have it. And I'm annoyed at the fuckers who trip over themselves in the elevator to let the girls out first even if they're at the back of the elevator. I'm a girl, not a freak who can't handle waiting at the back of an elevator for half a second. And it does take you boneheads longer to push yourselves up against the wall and indicate to me that I should go... and poop on you. And Muppet is leaving me for a week to go to London. And all the freakin' gross black and mint jelly beans in my jelly bean tub. And the cramps. Oh my god the cramps are making me want to cry. CRY!!! WEEP!!!

Anyone wanna come over and hang out tonight? Heh.

But really, I'm being a spoiled child. Because yesterday brought the best news ever. Mom is doing well. Really well. Super duper well. Best Heart Attack Ever well. She got her stress test results back yesterday and the cardiologist said if he ever has a heart attack then he wants the heart attack Mom had. YAY! My Mom really is freakishly overachieving. It's always going for the A+ with her. But yeah. There wasn't any damage to her heart. It's functioning normally and with medication and some slight lifestyle changes (though not as much of a sodium cut down as she thought) she should be good to go for a million years. Or at least to her goal of seeing me turn fifty. Though why she wants to see that after seeing how well I handle 30, I don't know. But, I'm so happy. I'm happy for me to know this and feel better about her and worry a little less. I'm happy for her because I think it's a big weight off of her and now she can get back to her life without worrying that something might be wrong that she can't really feel. It's all so good. Go Mommy, go Mommy, It's your birthday, it's your birthday...

Maybe I shouldn't've put my Mommy news at the bottom of the swearing entry? But see, I wrote about the awesomeness of her heart and now the cramps are gone. Her heart is magical. That's how she's able to love the complete idiot that she and Daddy raised. Magical Mommy Heart.