Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Swamp Thing....

My very active husband returned home the other day from a long hike.  His shins and thighs covered in large scrapes and dirt, he socks caked in mud, his shoes the hue of dog shit cooked soft in the summer sun.  He's an avid hiker.  I'm glad he has stopped badgering me to tag along.  I don't hike, or run, or ski, or climb, or jump, or bungee.

"Do you like my new water bottle?" he asked.

"Sure, it's great", I say as I glance over to the dirty looking aluminum bottle sitting on the steps beside me.

"Cool", he says...."but you can't throw this one out!"

Let's go back a little ways here.  Maybe a month ago my husband came home from one of his numerous hikes and plopped a dirty, scuzzy water bottle swathed in duct tape on to the counter while I was doing dishes.  When I asked him "What the HELL is that THING?"  He proceeded to tell me he had found it on his hike in the middle of the woods.  "SO YOU BROUGHT IT HOME?" I screamed.  He whined that it was a perfectly good water bottle...even with the duck tape.  If my eyes could have reached out and slapped him, they would have.  "You found it in the middle of the woods because it's a piece of shit and some dumbass litterer person threw it away....why in the name of all things holy did you pick it up?"  He looked at me and all of his sweetness, his innocense, his heart...was clouded by the most idiotic and asinine comment he could have made to me at that point...."cuz' it still works."  "THROW...IT... AWAY", I growled.  I could see his mind quickly trying to come up with a good excuse as to why he should not throw the duct taped relic into the trash...but he came up empty...as he should have...because there is no excuse...none.

So back to the present....all cuts, bruises and smiles, he proudly displays his "new" metal water bottle and forbids me to throw it away.

"Why would I throw away your water bottle?" I ask.

"Cuz' I found it in the middle of a swamp while I was lost." he answers.


"No, wait...it IS new....there was a brand new tag on the inside!  It's not garbage!  Really...it's fine.  It just needs a good washing."

So, my husband has a penchant for returning home with other people's garbage...I think he's lost his mind.  (Too much alone time in the woods isn't good for anyone)  I think we're on the fast track for that show on TLC....you know the one?  Hoarders....Buried Alive!  As I write this...Bren is in fact hiking....and before he left I forbid him to bring anything home.  "But sometimes people find good stuff while hiking".  He whined.  "What if I find a $100 bill...can I bring that home?" 

"That would be mandatory....disregard all my rules of bringing home garbage if it is PAPER money (and PAPER MONEY ONLY).  I will welcome that swamp trash into my home with open arms.

That's all for now,


Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Death Traps, Mouth Nipples, Water Bans, PMS....Oh Yeah...And I'm The Family Pussy... ****UPDATED****

I've had a week from hell.  I want to just wipe this week from the books and start fresh...but nope...it's still going.  Figures.

First, my driver's side car door lock broke.  I couldn't get in or out.  Death trap on wheels...ah yeah.  I climbed over the passenger's seat, and got a shifter in the ass one too many times...so it went into the shop.  $700 later...my lock works...but I now have to use 2 different keys....one to open up the door, one to turn on the car.  What the F*ck?  I still don't have my car, and it's one week later.

(this isn't my mouth...but my mouth nipple looked just like that)  (Wish I was cool enough to have a gold tooth)
I didn't realize until a reader mentioned it...that this pic above looks a little like soft core porn....well it's not...so get your minds outta the gutter!

Then...I went in to have that fibroma thingy on my inner cheek (a.k.a mouth nipple) removed.  I was so excited!  No longer would I be accidentally chewing off my cheek while eating.  But I should've just put a ring through that bastard and left it alone...because if I knew getting it removed would've sucked so hard...I would never have done it.  Long story short...Novacaine wore off, pain hit, I cried...a lot, Tylenol didn't do shit, Doc prescribed pain reliever strong enough to use on a newborn babe, we went to the emergency room in the middle of the night, 6 hours of waiting and an IV of some really really good make you smile drugs, CAT Scan, blood tests, stumbled home, doubled up on Percocet for 2 days straight, missed work, my mouth tasted like metal from the cauterizing chemical, swollen jaw, egg on the side of my face, couldn't get the toothbrush into my swollen mouth, and there was this whitish slimy, gooey shit growing out of the pit that once was a nipple.  It pretty much just sucked all around.  I have never in my life felt pain like I felt from that little "removal".  I think the doctor hit severed some nerves or something.  He said I had a low tolerance for pain...my husband said that translated to him calling me a "Pussy"...can you sue a doctor for being an asshole?  My father suffers from Rheumatoid Arthritis; my mother gave birth to me without so much as a whimper, moan, or curse word and I flew out in like one push; my sister had broken ribs while she was pregnant....basically...they can handle their pain.  But me?   Oh no... I get to be the family "Pussy"...and I got stuck with the small boobs too.  Genetics...they're a bitch.

(Broken Water Main in Massachusetts)

THEN...our town was part of a water ban/boil water order.    Some pipe burst in a neighboring town causing devastating water loss and 30 communities (2 million people) including ALL of Boston could not use tap water.  I thought Brendan might die from lack of Dunkin Donuts large iced coffees. 4 days of no dish washing...and the damn dishes are almost up to the ceiling!  We had to boil water to use to brush our teeth, wash our hands, water our cats.  It's not easy to pour water out of a kettle onto one sudsy hand, then lather and wash the other while trying not to get the kettle all sudsy or toothpastey or whatever.  It blew.  A LOT.  But it's over.  I can shower without fear of E.Coli getting in my eyes.  Let's just say the bottle of Purell got a lot of use.

And to top it all off...I was a raging bitch the entire week because it was that time of the month...nuff said.

That's All For Now,

Monday, April 26, 2010

Dreaming About A Dining Room?????

I have been writing this blog for almost a year now...and I write a lot about the oddities of my life....but I never have really touched on what I do for a living.  I work in the interior design field....and I love it!  It really is a major part of my life.  I spend about as much time perusing design magazines, design blogs, retail stores, and catalogs as I do at work...so I eat, live, breathe decor. 

In the beginning, it was my intention to pepper this blog with my projects, my favorite rooms, ideas and also my home life and familial misadventures...hence "Duel Living".  But...that never really happened.  I found that there were a million design blogs out there that said exactly what I wanted to say and could do it better than I ever could.  Here comes another "BUT"....BUT....I find that there are just times when I can't hold back anymore and have decided to infuse this here blog (just once in a while) with some of my favorite things.  I hope that's OK with all of you.

First off...the room that I have been pining over for over a year.  If only I had the money to do it the way I see it in my dreams.  My Dining Room.  Right now it is a suckfest of mismatched shit and hand me downs.  I hate it with the fire of a thousand suns...that's quite a bit.  The idea of my "dream room"  has always been there behind my eyelids...I can see it...and soon....soon...it will become a reality.  I wanted to share a very rough draft of my vision. 

Behold...."Organic Modern"

The grey toned zebra printed linen will be the window treatments.  (CLICK ON THE PICTURE TO ENLARGE FOR A LESS BLURRY VERSION).  The table is a simple streamlined teak farmhouse style that I have mixed with some modern and inexpensive acrylic and chrome chairs.  That all sits on a very thin wool woven rug with a simple geometric pattern.  The sideboard is also teak and hanging above is a triptych of carved wood that has been white-washed for an organic "ethnic" feel.

The real beauty will be in the details.  The art that I have yet to find.  I see glass floating shelves with collections of pretty silver serving pieces and some found pieces of driftwood.  Stone trays with sage leaves and river rocks.  Things that don't usually match...but the "GO"....and they work.  It's pretty colorless as a whole...but that's where I am right now.  I'm "into" neutrals...soft, serene, simple.  I want to mix texture and textiles....light and dark..."Organic and Modern".

Well...there it is.  I will post before and after pics when I finish....which may take awhile.  But I kind felt if I showed a lot of people....threw it into the universe....maybe the hubby would "allow" the process to begin sometime in this decade.  So...feedback please???  What would you do if you could redo any room in your own house?

That's all for now,

Friday, April 16, 2010

I'm Smitten....

Hello all,

What do you think of the new facelift? This has been in the works for over a month now. I have been working with Smitten Blog Designs and they did a wonderful job! The new look is just what I wanted...playful, whimiscal, humorous....and very me. I found the background red pattern and went from there. The rest came from the photo below as my inspiration.

Okay...tell me what you think.


Tuesday, April 13, 2010

The One Spider That Didn't Go SPLAT....

I watched a spider crawl across my windshield. I couldn't take my eyes away. Brendan drove, I watched the spider. It wasn't supposed to make it down the highway...it was supposed to fly away...flatten on the pavement...but it didn't. We drove the spider home.

I am feeling like that spider. Here I am curled up in a ball...days whipping by me like the wind. To and from work, street lights passing in my peripheral. Flowers are blooming amidst the spring floods...and it's all speeding by while I'm just trying to hang on. Where are the cops when you need to be pulled over...told to slow it down?

Days and days of rain...now thousands of little mosquito babies will be breakfast for my new spider friend. The sun will warm his 8 creepy legs; he'll stretch them across his silken doorstep. Maybe this is what I need...to get out of the car, slow it down...sunshine on my face....and a little bit of breakfast on my front porch.

I bought khaki pants at the mall...and a spider clung for dear life as we drove home...how very existential.
That's all for now,
P.S. I truly hate spiders. They creep my shit out. And of course the minute I start writing about them....one crawls across my computer screen...so...I smooshed it. It was a lil' one...no harm, no foul. Then....the mother of all spiders decides to crawl outta nowhere and try to eat me! (this all happened within a 30 second time frame) But don't worry...a nice thick copy of Lucky magazine and I taught that bitch a lesson. I fear that I have awoken the whole spider kingdom...and they only have eyes for me.

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Heavenly Widened Roses....Seem To Whisper To Me....When You Smile.......

I'm sitting here in bliss as the sound of the rain beating against the windows intermingles with The Cowboy Junkies in my ears. It's the only thing that seems to be making the rain bearable....when it becomes the rhythm behind an enchanting song...and the backdrop for a contented mood.

That's all for now,

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Unburdening My Beast...

I went out to get cat food this morning....in the pouring, driving rain. As "Beast Of Burden" blared from my car stereo, I pulled into my driveway seeing only the silhouette of my own little beasts scratching at the window...awaiting their chopped tuna sensation.

"Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty...such a pretty girl....pretty......pretty......."

I had things on my mind. I left the umbrella in the car and decided to brave the downpour. I was to run in the house, feed the kitties, and then....go on a design consult (ON MY DAY OFF). Simple....quick....back in a flash.

Except...being the complete asshole that I am...I hit the button. The lock....I hit it....with the keys in the ignition, and the car still running. "Beast of Burden" still playing...but in that exact moment...I changed the lyrics.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid....stupid f*cking girl....stupid....stupid"

(I'm an ass)

EVERY SINGLE ONE of my neighbors in the entire neighborhood was at work. All of them. So I tried windows, climbed the roof and tried upstairs windows, tried basement windows...all to no avail.

"I walked for miles....my feet were hurtin'. " (with no umbrella, no purse, no cell phone) Cars splashed through puddles soaking me to the bone. My shoes leaked in the mud. My teeth chattered in rhythm with the pounding rain. I trekked to the nearest gas station and begged them to use their phone. The saint behind the counter saw how pitiful I looked...mascara snaking down my face....snot jingling from my bright red nose....crazy lady humming Rolling Stones tunes....and gave me his phone. I called my Mother-In-Law and luckily...she was able to bring me a spare set of house keys. A blessing!

I shivered my way into the warmth of my home and saw the little red light on the answering machine...it was work...the client had been waiting for me....I was 1/2 hour late. Damn...damn...damn! I called and sorried myself sick explaining my whole ordeal and bathed in her forgiveness and heart felt compassion.

Adventure kicked my ass today. That's how it all went down. Every single thing really happened...crisis transpired.

.....at least that's what I told my client..........

Really??? I must have hit snooze for awhile before the phone rang and my work woke my ass causing in an instantaneous freak out! So...I lied...and now...to you...I confess. I slept through my appointment. "Beast Of Burden" was just a dream....and I had an umbrella the whole time. But since I unburdened this beast of a lie...I feel a little lighter...though my cheeks a couple of shades redder in shame. My pants on fire....can you forgive me?

That's all for now,

P.S. Care to share some of your more interesting lil' white lies? I feel the need for camaraderie here.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

I Need To Get A Life....

...Seriously, yeah, I've been M.I.A. but I think you should all thank your lucky stars. If I had been posting, you would have had to read about the following"

( I would say that it looks kind of like Fudge Brownie...with a little less fudge. BUT...it could look like Vanilla Ice...with a LOT less hair)
click on picture to enlarge

I have a mouth nipple. No...really...it's a nipple in my mouth. A triple nipple if you will. I went to the doc...it's a cyst (blocked salivary duct)...he stuck a needle in it...which didn't do shit...so it's still large and in charge. I've always wanted a nipple piercing...never got one because the rings would've been bigger than my boobs...and I'm quite sure that look hasn't yet hit the runways in Paris. So now, it's mouth nipple ring time...or a lancing...haven't quite decided!

Uh...let's see...as I said before, I have incessantly been rewatching The Tudors. I highly recommend that shit. It's got love, lust, betrayal, British accents...and some war, a few beheadings, stake burnings and boobs for the guys watching at home. The problem is...I know what's going to happen in every episode, yet every time I watch, I'm always brightened by that hope that THIS time...there will be a different outcome. Maybe THIS time Anne (poor poor Anne) won't get her pretty little head lopped off. Maybe THIS time that fickle King Henry VIII won't be such a prick...but alas...you know how it went....Prickdom.

See what I mean? My life has just been boring as hell. A couple of my super cool and friendly (commenting) readers have mentioned the fact that they were sick of looking at those plum colored balls...all oily. So, I felt compelled to check in, bet you wished I didn't.
I'm dull and blocked. Bitchin' combination!

I will try to have an adventure on which to report later this week.
That's all for now,

Thursday, March 18, 2010

Back Next Week...

Without realizing it...I took a mini vaca from posting...and I promise to be back next week! The weather has been too nice, my life has been too boring, and I have been spending all of my spare time rewatching The Tudors until 5am.

Priorities....ya know?

Back next week...
that's all for now,

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Please Take My Advice: Don't Ever Eat Oily Balls - Plum Colored Or Otherwise.....

Things I have learned while dining at an Indian Restaurant with my husband = 6. I'm sure there are far more...but 6 is all that I could remember...it was such an educational evening.

1. If you don't know what it is...don't order it. S'not worth it. Just isn't.

2. If you are American in an Indian restaurant...your table will look much more boring than everyone else's...cuz' they know how to order and you don't...and their food is much more colorful and delicious looking and yours looks like slop.

3. My husband holds his fancy ice tea glass like a wussy.

4. Do not stare at the people eating at the table next to you or inquire loudly, "WHAT DO THEY HAVE? THAT LOOKS BETTER THAN WHAT WE GOT. NO FAIR!!" Your neighbors won't really appreciate it very much...neither will your spouse.

5. Do not listen to your waiter...especially if he tells you everything is "Good". "Oh yes...is good. Yes is good too. Good. Yes you eat...is good". Funny how nobody else in the entire restaurant ordered what I was having....since it was so "good". Liar liar pants on fire!

6. NEVER EVER EVER EVER order deep fried plum colored dumplings of dried milk and refined flour soaked in sugar syrup. I don't know what I was thinking but it was the only dessert that came with vanilla ice cream...and vanilla ice cream needs to be in my tummy at all times. Next time...I will just order ice cream....dried milk balls in sugar syrup are not pretty...even if they are plum colored.

Don't get me wrong...I like Indian food...when I order it at some sort of mall kiosk where I can pick and choose what I am getting. Ordering off of a 5 page menu....whole 'nother story.

That's all for now,

Thursday, March 4, 2010

Cat Calling..........

OK, so the whole Zen Brandi....Ohm...happy bullshit has been delayed for reconstruction. Called off. On hold. Check back later. I've got a bone that needs pickin'.

I drove home from work last night to find that neighborhood cat (a.k.a. "The Front Porch Pisser) sitting on the roof of our porch...peeking into my bedroom window. What The Hell??? So...not only is that little bastard a Pissing Tom, but he's a Peeping Tom as well???

I climbed the stairs to find my cat Max sprawled across my bed in a very "come hithery, porno kind of....uh....sprawl." I immediately went into "Mommy Mode".

ME: "MAXIMUS!!!!! What are you doing????? What do you think this is...a brothel? What if that cat has a camera...you could end up all over the Internet!"

MAX: Eye roll....yawn....rolls over.

ME: "Oh...so it's no big deal to you? How long has this type of behavior been going on? After all this cat has done to our family and our front porch....you! YOU are allowing this...this...this...freak show to happen under my roof. I am ashamed....ashamed I say! Daddy and I always called you the Neighborhood Whore...but that's because you wouldn't leave the human neighbors alone...now I know the real truth. This is a sad day. What do you have to say for yourself?"

MAX: Shows me his big fat belly. (my heart melts...must give kisses...it's required by law)

ME: "OK...don't let it happen again."

What is the world coming to when you can't even keep domesticated animals from becoming Peeping Toms? Guess I'll have to start pulling the shades. My "boys" are becoming teenagers...first it's window shows for neighborhood kitties...next they'll be sexting or some shit like that.

That's all for now,

Tuesday, March 2, 2010


Ok...today I am Zen Brandi. No telling anyone off....no shredding my underwear in the office shredder....no accusing foreign male ice skaters of being whiny little bitches. I've got the world on a string...and I'm sittin' on a rainbow.

It's March. That means it's not February. That means it's just a little closer to June, July, and August, and this makes me happy. Happy people don't rant. I believe my recent ranting was a side effect of the February Blues. (and stupid people/stupid underwear/stupid sore losing ice skaters)

I'm normally a really nice person....really...truly. Seriously. But when I blow my top, it's a gusher. I let it all spill out. I don't know if this is a blessing or a curse. I usually speak my mind...I know how to stand up for myself....and I am able to censor myself and limit my cursing...but sometimes it just feels so good to throw caution to the wind. Last week....it was pretty windy.

But like I said....today I am Zen. Ohm. Peace. It's March. I'm happy. The Olympics are over, today is my day off, and I plan to go on an underwear shopping spree. Bliss...pure bliss.

Life's a wonderful thing....as long as I hold that string.
That's all for now,
Photo from here

Monday, March 1, 2010

Bottoms Up....It's Dunk Tank Time....

I don't drink. I don't. I don't like the taste of ass in my mouth and I don't like feeling like ass the next morning. No...I'm not a recovering alchoholic (why do people always think that?). I just don't drink. Diet Coke is my beverage of choice.

BUT...and that's a big ol' BUT...there is one person in my life that makes me want to pop open a bottle of Goldschlager mix it with at mojito, and then chase it with a little antifreeze and get piss drunk every time I have any sort of interaction with "them". Really...it's that bad. It's chew my cheek, bite my tongue, dig my fingernails into my palms...f*cking bad.

I hate passive aggressive people. It's like...grow some balls and tell me how you really feel. Grating, dramatic, stupid commentary (which makes me feel like I'm a total idiot) masked by sugar coated sweetness just doesn't fly with me. I would like to put this person in a dunk tank and fire off a couple thousand balls. It would be a mandatory bi-weekly event if I had my druthers.

I have been reading some blogs by my interweb friends and there is a alarming amount of talk about "mean people" as of late. I hate mean people. They make me clench my anus and I don't like to clench my anus. They make me bitch and talk/blog behind their back, and enough is enough.

LISTEN UP SUCKY MEAN PEOPLE (and my nemesis...I kind-of hope you know who you are and I kind of don't...not that I'm a pussy or anything):

I will no longer take your bullshit. Period. Exclamation Point! I'm done. Just as with my favorite cotton panties, you no longer provide me with any sort of comfort/pleasure/or support ....so I'm theoretically throwing your ass out too. Oh, I'll be civil...just to keep the peace...but I won't be real, I won't be unguarded, and I won't be waiting to let you unload your stupid bullshit on my back....anymore. Boo-yaw.

Whew. That felt good. Cleansing. You all should try it. Normally I would just talk shit about this person to my cat who purrs in commiseration...but he's outside or off licking his asshole somewhere. Guess you all just have to do. And believe me...I love you for it.

That's all for now,

Friday, February 26, 2010

There She Goes Writing About Underwear...AGAIN....

Dear Victoria's Secret Cotton Bikinis (oh, and you too Walgreen 3 pack for $5.99),

The time has come for us to part ways. It's definitely you not me. Since middle school...I have worn your "kind"... and I have owned the saggy butt, the fraying crotch, the unstretchy elastic...but I have to say....that you kinda suck and I'm over you....I wanna find someone new.

Where did we go wrong? Why couldn't you just lay light and flat across my flesh? Instead, you pulled, and slid, and wedged...you split my ass cheeks in two...giving me four lumps and the dreaded panty line. I can't even tell you about all the remarks I have to endure from my co-workers.

I tried your little brother's style....the "Boy Short"....but he fared no better. That little f*cker gave me a bitchin' case of fredge (front wedge)....I believe the technical term is "Camel Toe". Maybe one can get by pickin' their seat once in a while throughout the day...but there is never a time or place to pick anything out of your crotch. I just don't approve.

So...attempting to evade the earth shattering appearance of the "panty line"...I broke my own personal moral code and...gulp...attempted to floss my ass. TOO MANY TIMES. I just don't get how I just didn't "get it". THONGS SUCK! Everyday I wore one of those vaginal torture devices...I was a bitch in Brandi's clothing. I would squeal into the driveway after a long day of work...ass crack rubbed raw...and fumble up the stairs to get to you my bikinilicious friend. But no more. You will be my polka dotted, zebra striped, white cotton savior....no more.

You and your "family" of organic breathability have really let me down. I have had to choose between 4 ass cheeks in the back, a set of lady balls in the front, or rug burn on my...well on my rug. I'm at my wit's end.

I'm setting you free...free to fall apart and pill at will; free to separate body from elastic waist. You can squander someone else's dignity and/or derriere. I'm done. I've come to believe that bamboo or modal or even rayon may be a better fit for me. I hope you understand. Good luck and Godspeed. I may keep some of you around for that one glorious week a month when....you know...uh...I'm riding the crimson wave...or whatever.


P.S. Does anyone know of a good pair of organic undies that do not make their owner's ass cheeks look like a couple of hogs dancing under a blanket? (aka...cause no panty lines) My ass will forever be indebted to your wisdom and suggestions.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Plushenko Is A Whiny Little Bitch....With A Bad Haircut...

For those of you who witnessed the Olympic greatness known as Evan Lysecek the other night...you know...America dominated...and the Russians....whined like little bitches.

Evan was awesome! He spun and jumped and "snaked" his way across the ice and straight to GOLD. I do kind of wish Evan would've taken a little wardrobe advice from Johnny Weir...he could've changed it up a bit from this:

To this:

But....at least he didn't look like this:

Yevgeny Plushenko (what the hell kinda name is Yevgeny anyway) looks like he ripped off his outfit from a second hand shop dealing only in attire from 1981. And the hair???? Uh....hello? Russia? Anybody home? The mullet is best left on the tracks at Nascar. Nuf said.

So, after Evan won the Gold, Plushenko began his tirade. He whimpered and whined, bad mouthed and pouted. Then....he decided to award himself a Platinum medal. ??????? On his blog, he stated that because he pulled a Quad in the competition...he should've won. He goes on to say that if the others can't jump a Quad at the Olympics...they are just basically ice dancing. WAAHH WAAHH WAAH.

To Yevgeny I say: "Go take a shot of vodka and a chill pill. You lost. Deal with it. And get a hair cut...you need one. And P.S. you looked like a loser in the photo below. Work on it.

As for the rest, Skeleton competitors...you people are nuts! You couldn't pay me to go face first down an ice slick. Bode Miller....congrats on the medals, but you're still a tool. Ice Dancers...way to go, but I liked the Americans better. (I am not whining here) American Bobsled dude wearing the tight jumpsuit...you need a girdle, your spare tire and man boobs aren't really a great ratings booster...and they hurt my eyes. American ski jumper missing the tooth...uh...could you have at least seen the dentist before bazillions of people around the world had to witness your jack-o'-lantern grin? I mean really? You could've even just put a white sticker over the space or stuck a Chicklet in there or some shit like that. All in all....Olympics...I love you and still can't get enough.

That's all for now,

Thursday, February 18, 2010


Happy Birthday Dad!

I love you more than any written word word could say. Thank you for my life. I can't believe you are 60!!!!!! You look so damn young! I'm proud to have you as my father. I am thankful to have you as my Dad. I hope you have a kick ass day!

Love you BIG TIME!!!

P.S. I'll call you later.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Ice Burns On The Ass Crack...But The Image Is GOLDen.,,

Great Britian's Gillian Cooke going for the Gold, and "cracking" under the pressure.

The Olympics wear me out. My stomach is all in knots. I find myself dreaming about false starts, double axels, salchows, moguls, O' Canada, and....gold.

I literally get beads of sweat on my brow at the tense moments close to the finish...right before a jump, on the last lap. I'm way too wrapped up in this shit.

I can't watch anymore of those emotional tell alls about every single competitor...the failed previous Olympic attempts, the injuries, the brother with Cerebral Palsy, the family pet that traveled 3000 miles just to cheer on"insert courageous Olympian here". Those heart string tugging vinettes...ick...makes me just love everyone...and want everyone to win. Well...everyone except Bode Miller...that guy is a tool.

Let's talk about the Men's figure skating short programs....could their outfits be any gayer? I mean really? Mesh shirts with pink tassels? Feathers? Gloves? Did you see the sailor suit? I was waiting for someone to skate to "It's Raining Men Symphony #9". I LOVE IT!!! And notice how they can be doing the most amazing sit spin...and their hair never moves? I need help with that...I want my 'do to be sit spinnably steady ALL OF THE TIME. (Lately it's looking more Luge inspired)

I am waiting for the Female figure skating comps to begin. (Secretly I'm hoping for some sort of knee crushing pipe drama...but not really. Ok...really....but not REALLY really) I love the sequined velvet leotards with the fleshy colored sleeves. The blue eyeshadow and the star stickers by the left eye...I love it all. Oh Winter Olympics...you are just too good to me.

So anyway, GO USA, win, fight, rah and all that jazz. Go fast, pick cooler music next time. Don't hit the flag thingy. Point your toes, stick the landing, tuck your head, and don't forget to smile and show all of your teeth...cuz' your American damnit...and generally our teeth are pretty much all there.

And by the way...does anyone know why Canada spent bazillions of dollars on building the site for the Olympics, but they could only afford to give the medalists a head of lettuce instead of a real bouquet of flowers? Eh?

That's all for now,
xoxo Brandi

Thursday, February 11, 2010

My Interest Is In The Future Because I Am Going To Spend The Rest Of My Life There. - Charles F. Kettering

I've always feared that there is someone out there that knows me better than I know myself. I was afraid to admit that someone could see into the darker corners of my heart and call me out on them. I was afraid that someday I would meet someone on the street and they would say, "You aren't meant for greatness. You aren't going to be anything good. You are going about life all wrong. Your future holds nothing of desire, nothing of pleasure, nothing of note." I was afraid that someone would tell me something I didn't want to hear....because I already believed it.

I spoke with a psychic the other day.

I've always wanted someone to divine my future; I never saw it through because I was afraid. I was scared about spirits dancing in the doorways...spilling my secrets into a crystal ball. A pack of cards, incense and herbs...thickly accented tongues of women in brightly colored robes...this was all I really knew of what a "psychic" was. The Unknown...but not anymore.

I spoke with a woman (over the phone...YES...over the phone. And no...her name was not Miss Cleo) whom I found through a referral from Petunia Face. We planned a date and time through e-mail...and SHE called me.

She jumped right in to tell me I was stuck in the mud...had a lack of energy, no zest for life. (At the top of a page sitting in my lap, was a question I was waiting to ask until the end...it read....Why don't I have any energy, no zest for life? So the reading started like that. The hair on my arms never fully laid down for our entire conversation.
She mentioned a particular person who was "moving too fast...that needed to SLOW DOWN"...I found out just today, that that very person just recently got 2 speeding tickets. She "felt" the migraines that I suffer from. She felt the pains that plague the right side of my neck on a weekly basis. It was bizarre.

For a few days before our planned reading, I had been nervous if she would mention spirits or angels. That was always the part that I was most afraid to hear. I thought to myself that if someone came through...I would want my friend Laura to be there....she would be the least scary to me for some reason. At the end of our conversation...the reader asked if I had any other questions. I drew up the courage and I wondered aloud if there was "anyone around me".

The person she described...was my grandmother...but she was trying to "send through" someone else. Someone small, short, light haired....whom had met death with an impact...LAURA. She described Laura. She continued to speak about both my friend and my Grandmother (both well) and in those moments with this unknown woman whom I'd been so afraid to speak to...I felt very calm, and at peace. It was quite an experience...parts of which I choose to keep private because they were so profound.

I'm not quite sure if my reading has given me any real answers to my future. I do really believe that our future is always changing. But what I took from that 1/2 hour...was peace. It was so crazy, scary, heavy, and awesome all at the same time.

If anyone is interested in this woman's info...drop me an e-mail. I am happy to give my seal of approval and say...don't be afraid...she doesn't bite. It really was something I will never forget.

That's all for now,

Friday, February 5, 2010

Wake Up Dear...There's A Monster In The Wall....

So...last night I was just settling down for a night of dreaming and drooling...when a scratching noise in the corner of the bedroom caught my attention. My first thought was, "what the hell are the cats doing now?" So I turned on the light, and...nuthin', zilch. Max was happily perched on his kitty condo. Gus was snoring belly up on the recliner downstairs. Then I heard the noise again....WITH THE LIGHTS ON! That is when the situation became dire. Since all were present and accounted for, my second thought was, "what the f*ck is trying to get outta the wall?"

It was the middle of the night...but of course I was just going to bed. I sat there thinking to myself...maybe I had already started dreaming....but THE LIGHTS WERE ON! Scary noises aren't supposed to happen with the ever powerful lights on. Lights are like cryptonite to scary things and noises. Last night...the lights failed me. They failed us all.

I woke up Brendan. I'm sure he thought I was losing it. "Honey....Honey....Bren.....Bren....wake up! There's SOMETHING IN THE HOUSE! Listen............." Of course the noises stopped when I squealed aloud that they in fact existed. And Brendan began to doze again...eyes half open, ears all the way closed. "Wait....wait...listen!!!!!" Unfortunately for me...the noise presented again. Fortunately for Brendan...his wife wasn't a total nutter.

"It's probably just a mouse in the wall," said my husband. "It's not a lion. It won't hurt you. What do you want me to do?"

"GO GET IT OUT!!!!!! Check the closet, kill it, it's alive, and diseased, and infected, and it's trying to eat it's way out into our BEDROOM!!!!!!!!!! Maybe it's in the closet....go check the closet!!!!! IT'S A MANIMAL!!!!"

So Brendan pulled himself from the warm covers to humor me...and of course found nothing. He also went all the way downstairs to rouse a rather groggy and scraggly Gus from his belly up slumber to shove him in the closet at my command. Gus would have none of it. He just wanted to lay in front of the closet....and sleep. So did Brendan.

I sat up all night and stared at the wall. I willed the scratching and scampering to go away. The noise was too big for a mouse. This was a monster...a mutant...a killer. The cats started going crazy around dawn...pacing, and sniffing, and pacing, and jumping. The noise continued...I drifted in and out of sleep. It sucked hardcore!

Work was not fun...no sleep...scary visions of returning home to find a hole eaten through my bedroom wall and some random Rabied out ninja rat to be sleeping on MY side of the bed.

I called my family for support, made Bren call the landlord, Googled "Animal THING in wall"...and I found this:

That is when I lost my shit. THIS IS A DEAL BREAKER! I could maybe handle a mouse, a squirrel, a....gulp...rat......................but a POSSUM ???? HELLS TO THE MOTHA F*CKIN' NO!!! Those circus freaks are an abomination to the animal kingdom...and if there happens to be a possum in my wall..........I swear I will move out and never look back! I shudder at the thought of those beady eyes, that scary ass tail, that long pointy face waking me up just to say hello...then EAT ME! (I've had a few past run ins/bad experiences with Possums. There was an incident with a cat and mistaken identity....note to all readers...don't say "Here kitty kitty" to a Possum and try to pet it...it will growl, snarl, and then chase you....and probably eat you as well.)

The landlord has since brought a "humane" trap and set it in the crawl space near our bedroom wall. But if I find a possum in that trap....my animal lovin' ways are here-to-fore extinguished and there's gonna be a posse stringing up that possum...and the head honcho in charge.......is going to be ME. It's on you Possumy Piece O' Shit!

That's all for now,

Friday, January 29, 2010

Cat Piss, Elephant Piss, or Husband Piss. Hey Neighbor Take Your Pick...

The pizza delivery man probably was a little taken aback when he delivered our pepperoni pie and there was a crazy woman in a blue bathrobe, pink slipper socks, and a brown Snuggie yelling towards the door, "SORRY ABOUT THE PISS SMELL!!!!"

I think my husband's latest Facebook post captured it best. Our cats are engaged in a turf war with a neighborhood cat. And the other cat's way of "dissing" our "sons" was to piss REPEATEDLY on our concrete front steps. Bren said it was the other cat's way of "talkin' shit". We are a little bitter about being part of the collateral damage.

The responses that Brendan got on Facebook were hilarious! One of his long time college buddies just said:

"BB gun and a night scope."

Someone else said:

"Piss on your neighbors' front step and show them who's boss."

I really liked the last one...and then I remembered...my husband DOES have a penchant for pissing on things. Remember THIS post? Brendan enjoys peeing on random things: dead fish floating in the pond on his way home from work, his kid brother, his nemesis' car grill (so when he started the car it would heat up and smell like piss for eternity), and random homeless ladies while drunk in the Florida Keys. In Brendan's defense...he HAD been driving for hours before becoming intoxicated and unbearably full bladdered. And when he had started peeing in that vacant building and realized that the mound of garbage he chose as his ideal urination vacation hot spot was ACTUALLY a sleeping woman (she shouted, "hey, hey, hey") he DID move over a couple inches. The core of his being is basically good.

Anyhow...knowing that this pissing retaliation scheme is plausible (I have the able bladdered husband to prove it)...now we just need to find out which neighbor owns that f*cking cat.

At least we can be happy that our anonymous neighbors don't have an elephant...but then they would be much easier to find...

Oh yeah....and we gotta stop ordering pizza...the piss smell kinda kills my hankering for pepperoni, and now the pizza guy thinks I'm a f*cking Snuggie wearing nut job.

That's all for now,

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Leapin' Lizards....

A man in New Zealand was arrested at the airport trying to smuggle out....are you ready for this?

Wait for it....

43 Geckos....in his Fun-derwear...I mean underwear!

Almost certainly, all of the geckos were on international "insurance" type business...and this German bloke was just giving them "first class" travel accommodations. Retch! Is that a gecko in your pants...or are you just happy to see me? That guy up there can put me in his....OK never mind...I'm married....and I'm sure my husband would look as good as Becks in nut huggers. Thankfully, he does not attempt to pull that "look" off. Becks looks like his trying to smuggle more of an iguana than a lizard...sigh.

Continuing with the "Party In The Panty" theme....my wonderful husband gave me the best birthday ever! No perverts....I wasn't talking about sex. I arrived at work to find a beautiful bouquet of lilies, came home to a bottle of champagne....and a scavenger hunt. Presents hidden all over the house...slippers, bathrobe, new James Patterson novel, Cd's, and a photo in a pretty bone picture frame. But the picture in that frame...was friggin' awesome. It was always my vision to have a picture of Brendan and I duelling with swords as the header photo on this blog. The fact that we playfully banter/argue....that is where "Duel Living" came from. I just never got around to creating something that would capture that idea. Brendan did.

It took him 6 long hours of Photoshopping Genius. My sword is way prettier than his. In the real photo...I was holding my bouquet....we should've done this in the first place.

And lastly...the funniest gift of all...and what is allowing me to post about underwear....yet again...was found hanging from the rafters in the basement. I was met with a blindfold and a cardboard tube...and a pinata. So I whacked away...and out spilled....underwear???

"It's a panty pinata!!!!" cried my husband!

All in all, whether geckos or pinatas....a party in the "pants" is the best "party" of all.

That's all for now,


Friday, January 22, 2010


Apparently, the patrons of a Holiday Inn chain in Britain weren't getting a "good night's sleep". So...the sleep genius/dumb ass head honchos over there across the pond at the Holiday Inn came up with this new and innovative idea to offer human "Body Warmers".

With the cold snap happening in Britain lately...the Holiday Inn brainiacs thought guests would sleep better if their beds were warm and snuggly when they came in from the cold. This "complimentary service" provides clients with two people in "sleeper suits" who will get under the guest's covers and warm the bed for 5 minutes. Uh....anyone else think this is freaking CREEPY!???

I mean, who are these bed warmers anyway? Are they random hobos from some park bench? Or maybe they are "Professional" bed warmers that got a degree from some bed warming university. Did they have to pass some sort of exam where they had to get the bed to a certain degree and the chilly guest/guinea pig just had to fall asleep? Was that an instant A?

I don't know. I don't think I would take advantage of this complimentary service. I have never been one to have one night stands, threesomes, or casual pillow talk. I mean what do you say as these human bed warmers are leaving? "Was it good for you?" "Uh...call me?"

Nope, I think I'll stick to the good ol' fashion ways of warming up the bed: electric blankets and farts. I apologize to any hobos that I may be putting out of "work"...but I prefer my own flatulence to yours. Sleep tight...don't let the bed warmers bite.

That's all for now,

P.S. just for purely selfish reasons...today is my birthday...and I love comments on my blog about ANYTHING more than candy, flowers, or cake. Happy birthday to me!

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

The Doctor Is Out.... And Happy Birthday MOM!

Apparently, part of being a interior designer is also being a marriage counselor/prayer group member/mental health counselor/babysitter. I wasn't aware of this when I started on this career path. You would be amazed at how many fighting couples walk through the doors and open up their closet full of skeletons....to ME...and I am forced to listen. You would be appalled at the way parents just leave their children unsupervised. You would be stunned at the things that people ask my opinion on. I thought I was decorating their homes...now I'm holding hands and singing friggin' Cumbaya.

Today, I worked with an older couple...we'll call them Bob and Enid. Enid wanted a beige sofa. Bob wanted a soft sofa. Enid wanted to see sofa legs. Bob wanted to see no legs. Enid wanted linen....Bob wanted microfiber. Get the point? I pulled 10 fabric choices...Bob liked the 5 on the left...Enid liked the 5 on the right. I gave them cushion options....Bob liked the down cushion...Enid liked the foam and poly fill. I gave them swatches...they gave me a migraine. I felt like telling Bob to take Enid home, give her a little "slap and tickle" and to come back tomorrow when they'd loosened up a little bit. I mean really? How did they make it through 50 years of marriage if they can't even agree on a f*cking couch?

Awhile ago I helped this guy...we'll call him....Lenny. Lenny....had a SEVERE case of OCD. He wore rubber gloves out of the house (he lived with his parents...he was in his 40's). He had a weird fear of gum on the ground...so I guess the gloves were like his gum force field or something. ANYWAY...he came in to find furniture...none of which he would touch or sit on....for a new apartment which he was going to be moving into. OK...simple enough...but for some reason...that simple transaction between client and design consultant became more like patient/psycho-therapist. He called me multiple times a day/week. We discussed how the furniture was to be assembled. Would it be put together where anyone was chewing gum? Were the delivery guys going to be wearing the same gloves they used to deliver everyone else's shit? Did I believe in God? Did I think God/Church could help him with his OCD? Did I like the recliner or the arm chair better? And on, and on, and on. One day...Lenny called AGAIN...I sat down at the desk and prepared for another 45 minute Q and A session about the sterility of bubble wrap...but he surprised me. He said that being a person with OCD was extremely lonely...and in me...he had found a friend. Basically...he asked if we could hang out sometime (with my husband included). I was speechless. I mean, I didn't know this guy from Adam...and here he was trying to date...us. I decided the "relationship" wasn't going to be healthy. I didn't want to get into a situation where I was giving advice on a topic I had absolutely no experience with. I didn't want every conversation be about if my hands were clean, my shoes gum free, my relationship with God...what the best brand of bleach was. So, I broke up with his answering machine...and I blamed it on my husband...you know the whole OCD cock block routine...I figured he'd understand.
I am lucky I get to do what I love. And most days...I do love it. But....THE PEOPLE!!!! I sometimes just feel like saying....

"You should get a divorce....green goes really well with that."

"You're a nutter...get some shock therapy and sit on this lovely chenille sofa with the turned leg when you get home...I promise it will make the voices go away"

"Your children are the devil's spawn...we don't sell cages or straight jackets here but this floor lamp could double as a bat with which to knock your little f*ckers upside head."

"I don't know if I believe in God...but I definitely feel like I'm in Heaven on this bed...and I hear Angels singing when it's paired with that dresser."

"Thank you for your business...now can you please shut the f*ck up??"

Maybe that last one is a little severe. What do you think?

On a separate note..............

That's all for now,

Monday, January 18, 2010

Boring Award Show Strikes Again....

Seriously...how boring were the Golden Globes? Yeah, there were pretty dresses...sparkly jewels...newly unveiled nip/tucks. But...who f*cking cares?

In light of everything going on in the world right now, my heart just wasn't in it. I barely watched. I hoped for my favorites to win...most didn't. I swear it's all fixed. James Cameron paid off the Foreign Press. Mad Men is beginning to madden me. What the hell kind of category is television series/comedy/or musical? Why did Mariah Carey find it nessessary to show off her tits...AGAIN? I hate the word tits. I strongly dislike Mariah Carey. (Sorry E.L.) Did anyone else think that Mike Tyson was more excited about The Hangover winning than any of the rest of the cast that ACTUALLY was in the movie for more than like 5 minutes? What a friggin' tool! Go get another "tribal" tattoo on your face Mike...and don't ever speak in pubic again...your voice makes me want to rip my own ears off. Film/Television awards shows need more exciting moments...they should invite Kanye to the Oscars...now that's entertainment!

I'm boring myself here....so I'll see you Wednesday.

That's all for now,

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Truth Be Told...I'm Less Young Than Old...My Feet Are Cold...This Rhyme's On Hold...

My birthday is coming...and I have a slight problem. I may be only turning 31, but my body feels more like 81 (achy). My social life is more like 51 (boring). My ass is like 61 (Saggy and flat). My boobs are like 11 (non-existent). My face is like 21...which is obviously OK, but...I'm just sick of people telling me I look "cute" (I hate that word...cute) and so young...and am I old enough to be married, decorate their living room, order a cocktail? That gets annoying...I know, I know, I should be thankful, but sometimes youth is confused for inexperience, or naivete, or stupidity. My mind fluctuates between 11 and 71 (infantile yet forgetful). I get the giggles when I hear the word penis...but sometimes I can't remember what a penis is. I laugh at stupid commercials...then I forgot that I ever saw them. I drive really slow in neighborhoods...but really fast on the highway...then I mix them up. (Sorry about your trash can Mr. Neighborman) So am I more young than old? More old than young? Let's see....

I'm Old: I would rather sit in my recliner and watch reruns of the Cosby show than go out to the latest club.

I'm Old: I got my first cell phone last year, never turn it on, and refuse to relinquish my land line. I will never text. I will never tweet. I really want a Jitterbug... That's all I REALLY need is a cell phone that says: Operator....Tow....911. Simple. Easy. Understandable. No lame ring tones. No stupid buzzy tweety twittery vibrating. Just a extremely large buttoned cell phone named after a kick ass swing dance!

I'm Old: I do not know how to scan anything onto the computer. I do not know how to "Upload" a photo onto the computer. I do not know how to "Unzip" a file. I have no f*cking clue what the difference between a J Peg or a PDF or PDQ is...whatever...I don't know what they are....I know what P's and Q's are....and I mind them.

I'm Old: I miss Ann Landers.

I'm Young: I have yet to start reading the Obituaries. Rest In Peace Ann Landers.

I'm Old: I play Canasta, Cribbage, Pinochle, and Dominoes online.

I'm Young: I play the above ONLINE.

I'm Old: I have the night sweats and hot flashes of a menopausal woman.

I'm Young: I have the attitude, bitchiness, and that whole monthly bleeding thing of a normal chick my age.

I'm Old: I like my vegetables soggy.

I'm Young: I eat Reese's Peanut Butter Cups for breakfast, or lunch, or a snack...well any f*cking time I feel like it...cuz' they're awesome!

I'm Young: Is that a zit on my chin? I'm going to be 31 for $%^&*sake! When do the wrinkles cover up the zits...you know kind of sag over the blemish...lap over the pustule?

I'm Old: What were we just talking about again?

Anyway, my birthday is coming whether I like it or not. I have to start working on those "goal" thingys that I had laid out back in my 20's...you know...kids, home, career...the usual. I guess in that way...I'm still pretty young...I have a lot left to accomplish...but I just know that I could do so much more in life with a handy dandy Jitterbug and a big glass of Ensure!

To Your Health!

Monday, January 11, 2010

Vampire Penguins And Zombie Guinea Pigs Are Awesome...

I was perusing some of the "Blogs of Note" on blogger today...and I came across this gem....

You gotta check it out! A wife records her husband talking in his sleep every night...every night! And let me say...this guy is awesome. Here's a preview:

"Vampire penguins? Zombie guinea pigs? We're done for.... done for."

"Well that's just great. Peanut butter in my crack. Goddamnit."

"I can't control the kittens. Too many whiskers! Too many whiskers!"

I can relate in some small way to the wife of that husband. Brendan is a moaner. He moans in his sleep...and agrees a lot too. He is constantly saying UM HMM...UM HMM....UM HMM...like he's listening to a really really detailed story...taking it all in....and just...ya know...agreeing. It's kind of in this sing songy style too which makes it really cute...or annoying...depending if I am trying to sleep. UM HMM...

Of course I try to take advantage of all of this "consenting"..."hey Babe...can I go on a shopping spree tomorrow?" "Hey Bren...can I quit my job and become a reality TV watcher/reviewer...but basically just watcher?" "Hey Love...can we hire a maid, a driver, and rent some kids to play with from time to time?" And then I wait for the inevitable sing songy UM HMM granting my latest whim...but without fail...every time I actually have a great idea...he wakes up and says...."SHH...it's sleeping time."
F*CK SLEEPING TIME...you were just agreeing with the Sultan Of La La Land and all of his half assed requests...but when I want something that will benefit US (you would really enjoy seeing me in my new wardrobe while I watch America's Next Top Model) you wake UP??? Figures.

Once....just once, I would love to have him acquiesce to one of my rather small requests...and when he does....maybe I'll just be waiting there with a recorder like the wife of that Sleeptalkinman! UM HMM....

That's all for now,

Friday, January 8, 2010

Snot Duty...All In A Days Work...

I like my job...generally. I deal with a lot of bitchy, wealthy women who don't have any sense of taste, tact, or humor, but it's ok, because I just suggest they decorate their living rooms in puke orange...tell them it's the latest rage...add a little paisley in a pus green, and send them on their way. They fall for it...these rich, tasteless ladies. Like putty in my hands...I just knead them into submission, and they pay me for it.
Rich Bitchy Women: "Really, this orange color..."
Me: "It's called Mac N Cheese..."
RBW: "Right...Mac N Cheese...you really think this should be on my bedroom walls with the...uh...yellowy/green settee in the uh paisley?"
Me: "Oh yeah...it's the tits. All the rage in Dubai this year. You will be the talk of the town! And by the way...it's pus green...the color...it pops!"

I do have a lot of down time. Idle, lazy, Facebook perusing, ass picking down time. I'm not good with down time. If I was home...down time is golden....at work...down time is torture.

I ask for projects all of the time. Please, please, please give me something to do!!!! Load me up with tasks where I can get lost in time and the minutia. But...sometimes this isn't a good thing.

If you need me tonight...I will be cleaning snot off of the windows up by the "North River" bedroom set. Yup...I'm not reallly planning on getting lost in that minutia. Don't get me wrong...I'm not too proud to clean snot. I am an interior decorator/furniture sales associate/snot cleaner upper...and I'm damn proud of it. But I would have rather continued to pick my ass than clean what someone else picked out of their nose. TOO LATE!

Ask and you shall receive. Down time = Snot time. If you've got time to lean...you've got time to clean. Blah blah blah. I was hoping to inventory our wall of fabric samples or something time consuming like that...but I should be thankful I'm not licking the toilet bowls clean. I love my job. Well, I like my job. Well, I have a job. Yeah, I have a job. Hallalujah!!! Please let me know if anyone needs any design help anytime in the future...I hear Snot Yellow #241 is making a comeback!

That's all for now,

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

The Side Dish....A Husband's Worst Nightmare

I will never claim to be a food connoisseur. I know what I like...and I generally will try anything...unless it contains fish...that's a no no.

I hate to cook. I don't know if it's because I don't know how, or if it's because I just don't like to do it...probably because I just don't like to do it...I'm lazy. I never learned the little nuances of cooking...where does the marjoram go? How much clove do I put in the rice? Does the raspberry truffle taste like it needs more bay leaves to you? You know...the basics.

So Brendan and I made a deal. He would do all of the cooking and I would do all of the clean up and the dishes. Pretty fair...pretty fair. And Brendan isn't a bad cook or anything...far from it...he's way better than me, but............he has an "issue".

Side Dishes.


Side Dishes.

He makes f*ckin' weird side dishes. No, wait. It's not that the side dishes are weird, they just don't usually match the main dish...and that can be interesting. Still don't understand? Try these on for size...

Tacos and Mashed Potatoes

Ham Sandwiches and Canned Corn

Steak and Tater Tots
And my recent favorite...Some kind of Lunch Meat Sandwiches and Brussel Sprouts

And in Brendan's food world...rice goes with anything...be it beans, chicken, eggs, sandwiches, or hamburgers. Rice makes the meal. I think he heard too many Rice-A-Roni commericals growing up or something...it has now become the Boston, Massachusetts treat.

I should be thankful that he does all of the cooking (and the grocery shopping)...and I am...I really am. I am not hungry, though I have gone hungry on a few occasions when my Love has experimented, but I resort to granola bars or cereal. I think we need to get back to basics. Brendan needs to learn the food pyramid again, and I just need to either suck it up and eat my bagels with their side of tortilla chips, or learn to cook myself.

I guess I'll just suck it up. Cooking f*cking sucks! And in the future....our children will be the topic of conversation at every play date as all of the other kids speak of what they ate over at little Gustav Octavian Yeager's House (this is what my husband wants to name our child) Chicken Nuggets and Eggplant...Grilled Cheese and Beets.

That's all for now,

Monday, January 4, 2010

Come Out Come Out Where Ever You Are!

Today, I am forlorn. Usually I am opposed to it...lorn that is...but today, I for it.

Max...."the grey one"...my cat...doesn't like me anymore. Somehow, he got a scratch on his right eyeball, and it's all squinty and cute. I can't tell if he's mad at me because I've been calling him Popeye or because Brendan and I have been holding him down 3 times a day to put 2 different jellies in his eye. My guess is the jelly...but I'm taking it quite personally.

Max has always been a lover. We call him "The Neighborhood Whore". He flits from house to house soliciting belly rubs, food, love, attention. He has been found numerous times inside our neighbor's homes...laying on their sofas, eating their other pets' food. He worms his way in...and stays. He's adopted the 80 year old man next door as his best friend. He follows him on his walks around the cul de sac...and awaits the impending rub down/cool down on the front steps. This is Max...the lover.

Max has always been a drama queen. Since he was a kitten, he would attempt to break out...he never mastered that one (though he obviously mastered the "break in"...just ask the neighbors). He has always gotten his way...another scoop of food, a 4:oo am cuddle (it is difficult to refuse a 15 pound kitty sitting on your chest and licking your lips and head butting your face), the never ending game of in and out...in the house, out of the house....in the house, out of the house.

Max has always been a brat. He has this stare...his jealous stare. It's like I hear his voice through his eyes...a cross between Stewy from "The Family Guy" and Eeyore...he hates any attention that is not completely on him...especially if it is being paid to his brother Gus. Of course, when either Bren or I see this face...we go running to console our jealous little man...,"oh Max, we love you too...come cuddle...kiss kiss, love love." And we're right back in his furry little pocket once again.

Today I am forlorn because Max isn't being a lover, a drama queen, or a brat. He's hiding from me...under the bed, in the basement. He isn't purring for me, isn't showing me his fat little belly. He shrinks under my touch and leaps away. Like a child saying those 3 horrible words to their parent....I feel it in his eyes...."I HATE YOU!"
Today I am forlorn because I remember saying that to my father. I HATE YOU. He was probably doing something for my own good...feeding me Lima beans, brushing my hair, putting jelly in a scratched eyeball...but I didn't know it. And even if he told me that he was doing it for my own good....maybe I just didn't understand.

My cat is hiding under the bed and I am having a total meltdown. Okay, not entirely...but damn it kind of stings. It took over 30 years and a cat to make me realize how many times I must have stung my father the way that the scratches all over my arms are stinging me right now.

Kids can be little bastards. I know I was. I know I probably never said I was sorry...but I am. Hate isn't in my vocabulary when I speak of my father. I get it now. Max will come around...hopefully his eye will heal, and he won't get too fat from all of the extra food and treats we are plying him with to win back his love....but he'll never say he's sorry. He doesn't need to...he's a cat.
That's all for now,

Friday, January 1, 2010

"OLD LONG SINCE" or Long, Long Ago

Auld Lang Syne literally translated means: "Old Long Since"....or long, long ago.

Basically the song Auld Lang Syne says: Let's drink for old time's sake....and isn't that what everyone does?

"For auld lang syne, my dear,

for auld lang syne,

we'll take a cup of kindness yet,

for auld lang syne.

And surely you’ll buy your pint cup !

and surely I’ll buy mine !

And we'll take a cup o’ kindness yet,

for auld lang syne."

I just wanted to say...that if I drank...I'd raise my glass to you all on this the start of a new decade...the beginning of new friends...the memories of old...the spirit of kindness in or out of a cup....the wishes for good things to come for us all.

Happy New Year My Friends!!!

That's all for now,

xoxox, Brandi