My dad announced yesterday that my sister wanted to come up for a party that we sorta told people that we were having. I told people to RSVP by November 1st. This party was due to take place on the evening of what would have been our wedding, if PA didn’t pass the asstastical law about who could officiate a wedding. No one RSVP’d. I didn’t bother calling people because I neither wanted to seem as if I was begging nor did I want to put anyone in a weird position if they truly didn’t want to come. So, we just ixnayed the party idea. Until yesterday. Since I am still trying to build a relationship with my family, I told my dad that yes, we were still having it, and that we’d love to have anyone who wanted to come up to come. David and I spent this afternoon buying up a diabetic’s wet dream. We had cannoli’s, Polish Cheesecake, and amazing bakery cookies. My sister, mom and dad came and it was a lot of fun. We played 80’s Trivial Pursuit. Things were almost like they were B.S. (Before Stuart, not entirely unlike Before Christ.) Here’s to mending fences…

Tonight, as David and I were sitting on the sofa watching Spider Man, I blurted out with as much enthusiasm as someone who just won the MegaMillions, “I LOVE MY MOP!” We met last week at Walmart. He was under $9 and my knees were tired of scrubbing the floor. He came to me when I needed him most. And I actually look forward to holding him in my arms as we disinfect the linoleum.

Also, while watching some Spidey, David said, “Hey, that guy has a droopy eye too!” “What guy?”, I replied. He said, “That actor.” Then he said, “I have a droopy eye too.” “No you don’t!, “I said.” “Yes I do. After I look at myself for like 10 minutes in the mirror, I see it.” The conversation ended with, “I love you David. Or should I say Narcissus.”

THE END.

But it’s not my fault. It really, really isn’t. Grab your favorite designer coffee’d concoction and sit down for a minute like we’re girlfriends. I have a story for ya.

Halloween was rushed and hurried as I had to work that day. The kids had a wonderful time and there was oodles of candy to be eaten by all. Lex had school the next day so we cut our trick or treating short and bustled back to the car. Everything was nice and peaceful and lovely. And then Thursday happened.

I was having a PMS-induced psychotic episode. I yelled at Luke for breathing the wrong way that morning. We took Lex to school and came home. Luke went peepee on the potty like a big boy and I decided to treat him to McDonald’s for doing such a great job. And, of course, in redemption for my behavior in the morning.

As it’s 50 below zero here (well, it’s in the 40’s…. shuddup), I picked a McDonald’s with a PlayLand. Mistake number one. We ordered our lunch and ate as our arteries clogged inside of our thermalized chests. After eating Luke went to play in the PlayLand. To make a long story short, he broke his arm. At McDonald’s. The place that was supposed to be his reward for good behavior.

We spent six hours in the ER. They reset it, cast it and sent us home. We have follow-ups with the orthopedic doctor scheduled for the next 10 years. Or so it seems.

And not to sound like my dog ate my homework or anything, but the fucker did eat my laptop power supply. I have another one now, and everything is right in the world again.

AND, I am now Mrs. Booker. So, getting married kinda interfered with my blog writing time. Photos here should you be interested in taking a peek.

Sorry, internets. I’ll do better this second week. I promise. Tell my kids to stop going to the damn hospital though!

Eden Kennedy of fussy.org has once again organized November’s National Blog Posting Month. Given that I am always up for a challenge, I’ve decided to sign up. There’s no need to thank me — no, really. For thirty fantastic days and nights, you will be entertained by my every whim; every inane thought that enters my brain shall come into fruition if only in the form of the written word. Yippee!!

My dog is acting out and I’m not at all amused. Stop taking the drain out of the tub, fucker! While you’re at it, stop biting the little boy’s ankles. No one likes an ankle biter.

I will find out this morning whether or not I have a job. The HR people are trying to work something out so that I can work part-time. I appreciate their efforts. We shall see.

I have a nice day planned. I’m doing nothing followed by a side of sit on my ass. Yay!