And I've done some shaving. Somewhere on my body you will discover a tufted heart.

A few months ago I splurged and bought my first ever, non-disposable razor. It's a Gillette Venus Breeze with the built in shaving gel on the replaceable blade heads.

First couple times I used it, no big whoop. It's a razor. It's not any cheaper than disposable razors. It even produces a tremendous amount of trash from all the cartridges that the razor heads come in. But you know what the difference between a disposable razor and this particular one is?

Bleeding to death.

I switched back to disposables temporarily because I didn't have time to go searching for the right make and model in the grocery store the last time I went. So when I pulled out my disposable Bic Soleil, I nearly chopped my leg off with it.

Maybe it's the shave gel or the shock absorbing neck I've gotten used to on my Gillette, but I looked like a mangled emo kid by the end of my shower. And because I was so scared of nicking an artery, I missed lots of spots.

Yesterday I must have looked like a yeti with mange in my shorts. Every time I looked down I caught, yet ANOTHER, patch of hair I had managed to leave on my legs. And it's not blonde, you-can-only-see-it-in-the-right-light hair either. I have thick, dark, black, coarse leg hair.

Pants it is! Until I can get some more cartridges for my razor, at least.

Today's subject line quote is Dick Solomon, "3rd Rock from the Sun" (1996).

She's like the Terminator, except she's not from the future and she likes to dance.

It is 10:27 p.m. and I am too tired to give you a real, daily blog. Sorry, but you get this piece of crap.

After meowing for about 2 hours straight, I finally threatened my cat that I would sell him to a Vietnamese restaurant if he didn't shut the hell up.

I also so Terminator Salvation this afternoon. The sound was so loud and rumbly, that when we walked through the parking lot I nearly peed my pants when a car with the bass all the way up drove behind us.

Also, I've eaten nothing but fast food and popcorn for 2 days straight and It makes me feel a little barftastic. Definitely not going to help rid myself of the jiggly bits.

Today's subject line quote is Wendy McKay, "Andy Richter Controls the Universe" (2002) {Little Andy in Charge (#1.3)}.

Thanks, Mr. Wolverine. I'm ready to play.

Whew! Made my daily blog cut-off with an hour to spare!

I just got back from the movies with my friend, Jules. She's funnier than me, you'd like her. Or you do like her since some of you have met her. Anyway, we had the theater to ourselves because nobody wants to see X-Men Origins: Wolverine, including us. Night at the Museum 2 didn't have any showings until midnight.

I'm too old for that. Jules brought me a latte with 3 shots of espresso and I'm still gonna pass out before 12.

We kinda had a Mystery Science Theater 3000 dialogue going--which was fine because the whole movie's dialogue consisted of "NOOOOOOOOOOO!," arms flinging back, and grunts. But I did see a tremendous amount of beefy men and Hugh Jackman's bush, so it evened out.

I also saw a ripped midget at Wal-Mart afterward.

Today's subject line quote is Marmot, "Franklin" (1997) {Mr. Fix-it Franklin/Franklin Has the Hiccups (#4.2)}.

Madder Hulk get, stronger Hulk become!

I just pulled a crying child off of the conveyor belt at the register of a Winn-Dixie.

Yes, it was my child. He had not taken a nap despite the 3 attempts I'd made since 9 o'clock this morning, and this was not one of those didn't really need a nap kinda days. Tired tots are a lot like the Incredible Hulk; they transform into an uncontrollable beast that thrives on the anger of frustrated parents and caregivers.

Despite my son's episodes of crankiness, he seemed in a good mood after working out at the gym. So when I ran to the store for exactly two items, I didn't anticipate it being a mother-son wrestling match in the aisles of Winn-Dixie. It was horrible!

First off, he now refuses to sit in normal shopping carts. I have to use a clunky one with a child steering wheel attached that doesn't steer with the kiddie wheel OR the normal handle. Does he at least stay quiet and enjoy his mother's ridiculous efforts to calm him while maneuvering an 18 wheeler through the aisles that are not designed big enough for their own carts?

No.

He starts doing an interpretive dance comprised of up, down, jump, scream that must be designed for attracting bad moods because we were both in one by the end of it. And as I'm yelling at him to sit down before he falls out and spills cranky baby brains all over the tile, he grabs my neck and begins to pull himself out. Using the cart as leverage under his little toes, he starts pushing off and standing up to wrap himself around my torso.

By this point, I'm pushing a gigantic cart around the corner while wearing a toddler like a scarf.

I had to bait him into the car with Teddy Grahams--of which he fell asleep with his hand still in the container on the way home. And you know what? I Didn't even make it home with both the things I went to the store for in the first place.

Today's subject line quote is The Hulk, "Ironman" (1994).

They've gone to plaid!

About two weeks ago I was so sluggish and grumbley about the perpetual sink full of dishes that I was praying to Betty Crocker for guidance while looking for the switch that would put me back into homemaker mode.

I found it. It broke. I've been stuck at ludicrous speed for two days now.

Once I get past the morning grogginess by ingesting a few gallons of coffee and staring at a wall for a minute or two, it's GO, GO, GO! Yesterday I did all the laundry in the house, folded it, and put it away, (Or tried to at least. I'm not used to having everything clean at once, so I ran out of dresser space and hangers) and made a purse from scrap materials.

Today I cleaned out the kitchen cabinets, scrubbed the counter tops, and windexed the appliances. What's next, color coding my closets and alphabetizing my shirt labels? Maybe I should start small by simply finishing my projects from back in 2000andgodknow'swhen.

Yeah, I owe people crafty projects all across the country. I have a partially knitted hat for Donna in Portland, Oregon that I started when it was still cold. There's a neglected Memphis Raqs sign in my garage in need of some quality artist-project-spraypaint time, too. Hell! Remember that purse I finished yesterday? It was something I had promised to make for a friend from Charleston before I graduated in 2007.

I have craft ADD. I get all invested in a project just long enough to see something "cooler" that I want to make and run after it like a hyperactive kid who just saw a quarter. Or whatever other shiny things their attracted to these days.

Today's subject line quote is Barf, "Spaceballs" (1987).

Damn, double damn, and an extra pint of damn for the weekend!

I have survived this seemingly pernicious weekend, and it was no simple feat.

Just like most of you, I'm grateful for Friday to come around, sweep me off my feet and carry me swiftly into the sunset of Saturday and Sunday to recover from a hellacious week. But, this weekend? It must have downed some primo speed, smoked a pound of crack, and went on an espresso binge in an alleyway behind Starbuck's.

Can you even get crack by the pound?

Regardless, I'm worn out and now need the work week to recover. Why? Because Friday-Sunday were filled with things like this:

FRIDAY

Well, actually, I don't remember Friday. Weird. I'm sure it was splendidly filled with kooky events and equally freakish people enacting them. Wait...was Friday the day we went to the park? If so, I was right and that's when the old man kept hinting that I need to be touching Michael in order to keep a close enough eye on him. Doesn't matter. Saturday is what you really want to hear about.

Saturday

My mother-in-law came to visit and subtly called my outfit whorish.

Saw Angels and Demons in the theater and was called out by my husband on my "reaction" when Ewan McGreggor appeared on screen. He thought I was laughing at his accent, and I assured him it was just because the man is very pretty.

Something about a wine bar, a rude waitress named "Titty McSlutterson," and me raising a "not a vaginatarian" to her "strictly dickly."

Lastly, there were exploding lightbulbs in my bedroom when I got home.

Sunday

Woke up around 6 with the dogs and stood in my bedroom staring at the wall until Dom asked me what I needed. To which I rasped "water," gulped down a cupful and somehow woke up again around 9 with no knowledge of getting back into bed.

Rain, New Orleans French Quarter, more rain, more mother-in-law, and a hangover.



It was much fun. But there can be too much of a good thing and now I have to decide between taking a shower or going into small coma while Michael is napping.

Today's subject line quote is John, "A Bit of Fry and Laurie" (1986) {(#2.1)}.

Sleepy-time now?

Almost forgot to eat my worm. Er, write a blog today. Unfortunately, I was already snuggled up under my covers and ready for bed when I realized this fact.

That is all.

Today's subject line quote is Al Bundy, "Married with Children" (1987) {All-Nite Security Dude (#5.16)}.