See You In Hell!

Monday, November 27, 2006

Jammie pix

Jammie weekend was fun although I got sicker (have been dealing with this obnoxious sinus drain for weeks that took a turn for the worse) and am now back home and staying home today on antibiotics. woo hoo. But...we did have some fun in minot:

Dylan wuffled Ellie's tum and Spike 'played' the xylophone:

Grandma held Elliott (note the jammies):

And Elliott rode the cat:

Oooh...and there were cranberry muffins...and butter sauce...and now my pants don't fit so well. LOVELY. but damn. tasty stuff!

Wednesday, November 22, 2006

A holiday devoted to: JAMMIES!!!!!

Happy jammies day to all!

We will start our trip back to my homeland of minotia (or mindrot, depending on your mood), this evening and arrive in the gray 'magic' (???) city in the morn, hopefully after much sleep and snuggling with the bebe. Then we will commence the best holiday in the world--'international jammies day/weekend' where we will lounge around in jammies and frolick with kitties, all whilst having approximately 7 meals a day--hopefully involving cranberry muffins with a ridiculously tasty butter and sugar sauce.

Ellie got new jammies last night to ensure she has enough pairs to make it through the weekend. If we're not wearing real clothing, the baby certainly can't.

May flannel and snuggliness fill the holidays! (oh, and beer....lots of beer.)

Monday, November 20, 2006

Bored? Trace your husband!

But be sure and give him BEER (in his right hand).

Thursday, November 16, 2006

What the fuck, Japan?!!!

see ...the "gloomy bear" column on the left is especially, uh, inspiring. Great for the kids, too!!!

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Jege's photo du jour

This is Devin, my husband.

Note: He doesn't REALLY have six arms (if he did, the screen door would be installed, the toilet would be fixed, and the cat litter would have been changed).

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

Sometimes the sentence doesn't fit the crime.

Wouldn't 5 minutes in a 200 degree oven have been more appropriate for this guy?

Monday, November 06, 2006

What the fuck are YOU lookin' at?!!!

The steroids that they injected into my 5th lumbar vertebrae last week have an interesting side effect; they make me alternately rage-filled and near-suicidal. Today is a rage-filled day, and all I want to do is rip the lungs out of every person I see and make a gigantic wreath out of them.

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

Trick or treat

Yesterday morning I had outpatient surgery for my Lower Back Owie (sorry for the technical jargon), so by the time the trick-or-treaters showed up, I still had IV sedation and painkillers coursing through my veins, as I lay on the couch watching my beloved "Shaun of the Dead" on DVD.

The doorbell rang, and Devin grabbed the candy bowl, and went to attend to our first trick-or-treaters. Here is what I heard from my position over on the couch:


"Okay, here you go.."

*SMASH!! CLANG!!! Hails of derisive laughter, sounds of footsteps running away*

"Rude little FUCKERS!!!!!"

Yes, a trio of 8-year-olds had grabbed large handfuls of candy from the bowl while my husband was placing one-treat-per-kid into their plastic jack-o-lantern treat receptacles.

Fuming, he turned to me and growled " Here, YOU do this. I'm going out on the back deck to smoke".

So I took over. Most of my customers were the typical fare, 3 or 4 kids with their mom waiting down on the sidewalk. Then HE came. A dude my height in a Brokeback Mountain-ish leather & shearling coat, wearing a rubber monster mask and carrying a large red pillowcase in which to carry his sucrose-& dextrose-intensive loot.

"Trick or treat" he said in a low, resonant bass that was even lower and more resonant than my husband's voice (and let me tell you, my husband's voice is so low that half the population cannot even hear it, just detect a low rumbling in their innards).
I handed over ONE piece of candy, and he left. About half an hour later, the doorbell rang again, and TA-DA!!! There he was again, but THIS time sans mask. What a clever, clever ruse, eh?

"Trick or treat" he said again, in the identical, tummy-rumbling robotic monotone. I glared at him for one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, then tossed a roll of smarties in his red pillowcase.

He looked into his bag, and then back at me and mumbled plaintively: "I have three kids at home".

I stared back, imagining his "three kids at home" dismembered, and carefully sealed in 57 separate mason jars in the basement deep-freeze. Then I tossed 2 more smarties in his bag, and shut the door.