Ahh, Visits to the Doctor

I finally caved and got myself in to see the Doctor this morning. Oldest is in arse end of spring break, Littlest is the allergy queen, and I am the now over medicated.

Have you read the Twilight series?? I will shamefully admit that I have. And I have seen both movies. In fact, I might just OWN both of the movies- but only because Oldest likes them way more than I do. He even did a calendar countdown to the day of New Moon's release.

Well, one of the characters is Carlisle, a vampire doctor guy, who is described as the hotness. In the movies he is NOT what I had pictured in my head, but for an older guy I guess he isn't too shabby. Maybe.

Yeah, I only wish my Doctor could compete with Carlisle. He can't. Some people get the Cullen, and the rest of us get this:

Now, knowing that Mr. Dr is a bit of a weenie I knew I had to be somewhat patient with his bedside manner. Or lack of bedside manner I should say. (Um, I think he was hitting on me at one point). Basically I had to throw down and demand more Xanex so I can make it through a day without strangling myself (or my punks) (or my dog) (or the neighbors punks) (I think you get the picture).

Turns out he called my Xanex and raised me some Ambien. He fooled me with his p-p-p-p-p-p-poker face. Then, just to make sure there were no hard feeling for the whole "hitting on me thing" he threw in some Zolof, recommendations for therapy, AND threatened blood pressure meds. Then, get this B-Dubbers, he said I need to work out. That is basically the EXACT same thing as callin me fat. OBESE EVEN!!!  I left that office feeling a bit like Fat Bastard. 

And the killer? I DO work out. 5 dang days a week. Jerk.

 

Phone Calls and Peach Ceilings

As I mentioned several times, we live in a Log Cabin. Its a great Cabin and I mostly love it. What I don't love is the few walls that are Sheetrock instead of wood paneling. I don't love them simply because they are painted PEACH. Who paints their walls peach? Not me, that's who. And to make matters worse; the upstairs bedroom and bathroom had matching PEACH CEILINGS. Who paints a ceiling peach? An Idiot, with a capitol "I."

I became a rebel with a paintbrush this week and painted those peach ceilings white. You heard me, I did it. I loudly and proudly exclaim to the world that I painted those peach ceilings white, without permission from the folks we are renting from. Rebel? Thats me! Last night I was a very UNhappy B-Dub. Painting ceilings are NO FUN. Especially after 4 hours at the park and a strength training workout for my legs. I was hurting something fierce by 1:30 in the AM when I finally finished. Is this the face of a happy B-Dub? I think not.

As if I needed any other reason for the angriness, I was also dealing with this:

Stupid hours spent at the Park. : (

But this morning provided some excellent entertainment to distract me from my misery of aching butt regions and sunburned top regions. Littlest was chatting it up on this old cell phone my big bro Coolio gave to Oldest. And by chatting it up I mean having actual conversations, like "I love my family, but Dadda is at work" and "I have a puppy and his name is Chuey-baca," et cetera.

The second time she started with the talking on the celly I could have sworn I heard someone talk back to her. Impossible, there is no service associated with that particular phone. She couldn't have call anyone, Right?

Wrong. She was having a very merry conversation with the ever so happy 911 operator. You hear me, Littlest called 911 and filled her in on the status of each family member, including the dog; and talked about going back to the park, wanting to go to McCrappies for lunch, and how we have not yet brushed her hair this morning. 

Needless to say, that phone no longer has a battery. And, I am now convinced, my kids wish to cause me bodily harm in the form of busted blood vessels in my eye. Or maybe my ear, either way. Send help, Xanex, and blood pressure medication ASAP.

Oh, and just in case you are wondering what a peach ceiling looks like part way through its transformation:

It was similar to living in a cave. Badness.

White Kids Can't Dance. Brown Dogs Can.

I hope in like 15 years I am still hip enough to throw down at a club. I mean, I love shaking the B-Dub Booty and all. I am even working on a patent for the B-Dub Booty Shake, which, just in case you haven't heard, is all the rage these days! Unfortunately neither of my punky punks have inherited my shaking skills. I blame Charley. So, really, in 15 years I better go to different clubs than my kids- I would hate to put them to shame on the dance floor. Schooled by your Mom? Sads for them.

Good thing for me, dogs take after their owners. That's what everyone says anyways, and tonight I was able to prove that a) my punks lack skills, b) my dog is a whole lot like me, and c) for an hour of entertainment all you have to do is turn on some jams and let the kids free.

Yeah, prolly should have brushed her hair... : ( 

He is calling this move "The Robot." Poor kid.

Headbangers Ball 2010?

I don't even know what to say...

Chubaca decided to show them how its done 'round here

CHECK OUT HIS AIR ON THIS MOVE

I swear to you, skills like his can't be taught. You either have it or you don't. Finally, I have someone I can completely relate to. 

Notes of Interest: 

1. my camera lens is dusty.

2. Please excuse the blinds- hazard of the B-Dub Booty Shake, I know your jealous.

3. Also excuse my lack of floor cleaning this weekend. It isn't anything personal. If it was personal I would have made sure the mess was bigger- special treats for special friends and all that.