And, the very end makes me giggle. A lot.

Around 10pm last night I got excited, really, really excited! So I grabbed Katie’s laptop (since she’s out of town) and crawled into bed. I pulled up Pogo.com because I just KNEW that the new badges were up. That was when I realized it was still Monday. I was so sick of Monday that somehow I convinced myself it was already TUESDAY NIGHT.

I’ve had a rough week or so. Hell, I’ve had a rough couple of years. But through it all one thing has remained - my ability to take my emotions out on other people. When things get really, really bad there is only one place I turn. Right here. Oh yes, and even though you aren’t supposed to hit the cops or the little old ladies (no matter how many times Maggie begs me to) it still has a way of soothing my soul.

It’s not like I’m all bad. I make it a rule not to drop a balloon or tomato on the dog while he is relieving himself at the hydrant because the thought of splatting that dog and knocking him into his own puddle is even beyond my rage. Plus, it’s hard to aim with a 4 year old sitting next to you yelling, “ewwww GROSS! That dog had an ACCIDENT!!!!” It kind of puts the kill on the stress release.

Still, I knock some cyclist off his bike and then I hit some chick pushing a stroller and somehow… somehow… just a little bit of the rage goes away. Don’t get me wrong, I know there are better ways to soothe my soul. I meditate… I think about doing yoga, a lot. But, sometimes I just need something to take the edge off, you know, besides the tequila.

Hey, it’s either this or the bell tower people!

This was supposed to be posted last Friday but I couldn’t get anything to work right. Now, here it is. Enjoy!

Amy Making Margaritas from Amy Doran on Vimeo.

Ok, since I have a cold right now and feel like I’ve been run over by a garbage truck, thrown back into the road and hit by an RV filled with beer swilling rednecks… I want to talk about things that make me feel better.

Aside from pedicures, sex, a massage. TMI? I thought so. My bad. Onward and upward though…

I’m a super picky freak. I admit it. In the past I have actually demanded fresh water. (I’ll wait, I just reread that post and it is far better writing than anything I’ve given you in a long time, so feel free to read it.)

I love Kleenex with lotion. It is the ONLY Kleenex that I buy and I never buy a generic substitute. That is the only tissue that doesn’t turn my nose into a raw, two-holed mass on my face when I have a cold or allergies. I also love Comtrex and Zicam. But, only the Zicam in the pre-measured spoon thingies. I mix it into hot tea and almost can’t taste it!

I love causing other people great discomfort when I’m sick. It makes me feel better to know that if a member of the household is not catering to my every whim in a deeply committed desire to make me feel better that I can find ways to make them regret it and amuse myself at the same time. This includes forcing my husband to sit in the same position for two hours while I sleep propped up on him. He claims that I get very “clingy” when I’m sick. It’s partially true. But, if I’m sick I figure that whole “for better or worse, sickness and in health” thing should come into play and that if I’m uncomfortable than he should be as well.

And, I know, I was hoping to provide a video of the cutest kitchen appliance on the planet (and even Beamer will think it’s cute, really, I swear!) but I got sick. There is always next week and I swear it’s worth it.

Oh, and I totally did have video for today but YouTube is acting like a giant ass and for whatever reason I can’t get the entire video to show up on Flickr. I’m thoroughly frustrated, tired, AND sick. So, instead of my usual determination, you have lazy excuses.

Good night and have a pleasant tomorrow.

I brought a fresh bunch of mint and rosemary into the kitchen, rinsed it well, and plopped it into a vase on my desk. It smells heavenly and is so nice to look at since I’m stuck in my little corner here all day. The next day I noticed something moving on the leaves. It’s a super, tiny caterpillar. For a second or two I actually thought about taking it out and feeding it to one of the chicks. But, there was only one and I didn’t want to look like I was favoring anybody and besides, I don’t think I could take any creature off to be eaten by another creature.

We’re down to three now. From six to three. Two died and one Zander played with just a little too hard. Those little things are fragile! Anyway, just to make it clear - Zander did NOT attack the chickie, it was hopping around his nose and they were playing and he just… sort of… uh… well, never mind. But, it was an accident!

After all, he used to be best friends with a rooster.

We still have a black and yellow one. Kate named it Kodak. Which is fairly unisex, considering we still have no idea what sex they are yet. Still waiting for crowns and things to show up. They are awfully cute. Like fat tennis balls with legs and wings!

So, I’m putting on a sunny face. Sunday is Mother’s Day (Happy Mother’s Day to you gals who are celebrating!) and after the week I’ve had… well, let’s just say my kids OWE me. BIG TIME. Not the little one, just the older two ingrates. Let’s just say that when they want to be stereotypical teenagers, they are really, really good at it.

This picture was taken just a couple of hours before the accident. That little gold chicken next to Kodak? That’s the one that got it. I still feel bad about it. It was Ethan’s favorite.

This stinks, I’m trying desperately to come up with some wonderful post when all I can do is a little happy dance and sing, “Friday… Friday… Fridaaaaaaaay!!!!” *and jazz hands*

I have thoughts whirling around in my head but most of them are just Stewie quotes.

Stewie: Oh, yes, Meg, yes-yes yes, everything was going swimmingly for you until this. Yes, yes, THIS is the thing that will ruin your reputation, not your years of grotesque appearance, or your awkward social graces, or that Felix Ungerish way you clear your sinuses, no no no, it’s THIS. Do you hear yourself talk? I might kill you tonight.

Oh, that Stewie… he’s quite a card.

I can’t begin to explain the relationship between my cat and I. Well, I couldn’t before, but I can now! I used to be so smug that my cat slept on the back of my chair all day long as I toiled away at the computer. Really, I was so snooty about it. Can you blame me? Look for yourself:

She’s so clever at looking adoring!

But something changed this weekend. I’m more than a little embarrassed to tell of my experience, but I think that it’s about time someone shed some light on this before another clueless cat owner gets hurt.

I had gone outside to do some gardening. The sun was shining and there was a nice breeze. The weeds were coming up easily, it was just a good afternoon. I decided to go inside to get something to drink and that was when I noticed that poor Liza’s water bowl was empty!

*gasp*

I felt HORRIBLE! HORRIBLE, I tell you!!!

I quickly filled the bowl and even added a couple of ice cubes (she likes to play with them). That was when I realized… no Liza. Usually she can hear someone walking within 12 inches of her food dishes no matter where she is in the house. I began to look around for her, worried that something terrible might have happened!

That’s when I walked in on… on… just look for yourself!!!

That’s right. Liza and MY chair!!!

She actually had the nerve to look miffed when I caught her!!!

Ever shot tequila? You know - lick, drink, suck?

Tequila is a fickle fucker. I had a few too many shots one night and swore off tequila for nearly 6 years. I know people who can’t even be in the same room with a bottle of tequila because just the sight of it makes them gag. It’s just not for everyone.

We had a friend over who when presented with a celebratory shot with a fresh lime wedge and salt shaker (all artistically arranged on a nice platter!) sneered at the lime and salt and said, “I don’t need that pussy crap.”

Of course you don’t. And, what is that I see you pouring into your Jack Daniels? Coke, huh. Ahem,Yes, I can certainly see why you might not want a slice of lime and salt with your shot of tequila.

The thing with tequila is that when it’s good it’s very, very good. It’s a social thing, I think. The lime and salt - while the perfect flavor side to the tequila, is as much rounding out the flavor of the drink as it is ritual. Toast, lick, shoot, suck and it’s usually followed by a high-five, cheer, or the grimace and gasp that a tart lime will bring.

Of course, when you bring body shots into the equation it takes it all to a whole new, sexy level. I like to think of tequila shots as “mini margaritas” all the power and none of the dilution!

All of which is completely ruined when you have too many. And, the startling truth is that all it takes is one little shot to go from “yeah, this is fun” to “I am so sorry about your shirt… and your shoes… and the back patio.”

Not that I would know anything about that.

Time for another video post… it’s been a while. Enjoy!

Dear Self,

While I applaud any and all efforts you make to free yourself from the chains of depression, I must really insist that you try to behave sensibly. I know, I know, we talked about it and decided that exercise would be a very good thing and music too, absolutely!

But, was it absolutely necessary to dance naked in front of the bathroom mirror while singing “Love Touch” by Rod Stewart? You do realize that it is possible to get your heart rate up WITH clothes on, don’t you?

I’m well aware that meditation is good for the body, mind and soul, definitely. But, did it have to involve incense and enough chanting for Maggie to ask you from under the bedroom door if you were ok?

And, yes, freedom for all. Free your soul, free your mind, free your spirit, I’m every bit as esoteric as you are darling, but this no bra wearing thing? Really? I mean… the girls have a daily round of gin rummy with your knees!

Oh, and one last thing? Could we master, ummm, I dunno maybe a basic yoga stance before we leap right into tantric sex positions? Hmmm? Maybe? Ya think?

Greaaaaat.

Good talk. Goooood talk.

Love,
The Queen