Sip Bacardi Like It's Your Birthday

First off I just wanted to say thanks to all of you for the wonderful birthday wishes! You guys are all really very nice and sweet and totally awesome. I just hope nobody had to be castrated...owch!

If you have never visited the awesome that is The Melting Pot, go! Do it now! Even if you only have the dessert...do it. Do it now! I mean it. I would marry that dessert if it were legal. I could sit here and dip strawberries into that chocolate all the live long day. I wanted to dip my balls in it - it was just that damned good. And...they knew it was my birthday and there was a beautiful arrangement of flowers waiting at the table just for me. And the tables...they are private. I didn't see anyone else around me. And the lighting is low. And the food is good, all of the food, best food evah. And did I mention the tables are private? Awesome. Go...go now!

My birthday celebrations certainly have changed through the years. Nobody called in a disturbing the peace complaint. I didn't down an entire bottle of Hot Damn! before climbing on top of a picnic table to do a song and dance routine. I didn't make an announcement in regards to my current...um....mood...you know...the mood in my pants... Hell, I didn't even go swimming in a local swimming hole. Nope...I had a nice respectable party. One that would make my parents proud. No naked swimming in public pools. No bothering nice people that are trying to sleep. No inappropriate behavior at all. I've become so boring...so...responsible and adult like. When did that happen?!?!?

One thing that made me very happy is the arrival of my china cabinet. All in one piece. All the right parts. On time. What this means is that my dining room is now 99% complete. I just need new carpet and curtains. But I have a dining room table, with place mats. I have a china cabinet, with china and crystal. I have a buffet, with appropriate decorative items on it. I have cool items hung on the walls. I have a nicer light fixture than was left behind. I have bead board! My dining room is complete and I am ecstatic! Except...we now have to be careful in that room. When we throw the balls for the dogs, we have to watch where we throw. We can't go into that room and run around and throw balls at each other, fall into the floor and wrestle, then run around and throw balls some more. Those days are over. Because I have a grown up dining room. When I'm in that room I have to be a grown up... However, the living room is still immaturity central. If I start mentioning making any adult upgrades to it someone needs to slap me.

All I'll say about this is that I didn't get cake nor ice cream. What a gyp...

I Have A History Of Losing My Shirt

Tomorrow is my birthday! A day set aside just for me! Everything that I want to do will be done. All for me! Me, me, me, me, me! Hurray for me! I don't usually look at myself as being this self-absorbed, but when it comes to my birthday...I am not shy about it. This is my day. Don't fuck with it. Don't make me upset. Because this is my day. Mine. My birthday. Which, really...why do I get a celebration for being born? Shouldn't it be my Mom? I didn't do anything. She did. She went through labor and birthed me. Thanks for birthin' me ma...now where's my present?!?! See? It is all about me. But just for now. During my birthday time.

This morning it occurred to me that this is the last day that I'll be 33 and I started thinking about my life and what I've accomplished and I really couldn't come up with anything. Then a Madonna song came on and I started dancing all around the house. Naked. And then it hit me. This is what I've accomplished. I can dance naked anytime I like. That's important. Life is all good. I've got it made.

So, what the hell is wrong with people? Are people so damned uptight that they can't even take seeing a picture of a baby being breast-fed?!?!?! On a parenting magazine?!?!?! One woman said:

"I shredded it," said Gayle Ash, of Belton, Texas, in a telephone interview. "A breast is a breast — it's a sexual thing. He didn't need to see that."

A sexual thing?!?! Sure...if it's an adult attached to it...but this is a baby. A baby being nurished. Fed. Receiving food. How is that sexual? How? I can't even wrap my brain around this type of thinking. Sexual. A baby being fed. Gah! I shudder to think of the education her son will receive about his body and sex if that's what she thinks about breastfeeding.

I moved to this part of Virginia 11 years ago, right? And there is something that happens on a daily basis that I have still not gotten used to. I hate it, actually. When I'm at work or around some of the people that I know here I'm referred to as Miss Itchy. And I hate it. It's too...Gone With The Wind for my taste. I'm not Miss Itchy...I'm just Itchy. I don't live on a plantation. I'm not a Southern belle. I'm just me. Just Itchy. No Miss anything. Add that to the fact that they still to this day mispronounce my name, which isn't a hard name to say, and I'm in hell. Hell I say! How hard is it to take the time to learn how to pronounce someone's name properly?

So Prince is getting a divorce. Poor Prince. I can't imagine that this is his fault. I mean sure, he's a perfectionist with a huge ego...but he's Prince. You know that shit going in. You watched Purple Rain. You know the deal.

I was watching the World Series of Pop Culture last night and VH1 did something that totally pissed me off. The second round had to be continued until next week...but then the preview for next week showed me what two teams made it to the finals. Thanks VH1! Thanks for taking the surprise away! At least I know if won't be Cheetara. Thank gawd those chicks are out of it. Annoying isn't a strong enough word to describe them. They were an assault on my ears. An attack of my nerves. I understand being excited...but bring it down a notch, mkay?

It Seems The Artists These Days Are Not Who You Think

I've decided that I should be a celebrity. I'm used to rumors and gossip being spread all around about me based on being from a small town, so that wouldn't bother me. I wouldn't be press shy since I apparently enjoy talking about myself a lot so that wouldn't be an issue. I do embarrasing things that people would enjoy blogging about. But the main reason is the fact that I love to receive free items even if I could have just as easily paid for them. You may recall some excitement over the possibility of free Fiona Apple tickets, right? Well I finally found out that I will in fact be seeing her for free next week! Fiona Apple! Live! And for free!! This is so awesome. I'm ready for my close up now!

I would love like you have no idea to have this setup right here. My scrapbooking tools are everywhere. It's a mess to look at and it makes a fairly nice room look like a supply closet. But that item right there would be a wet dream come true for me. But...did you see the price? $2,050!!! My china cabinet didn't cost that much, people! There is no way I could justify that price. So it goes onto my list of things that I'll sit around and wish that I had but I'm way too responsible to ever get. It's a mighty long list.

When I first heard about the BlogHer Conference I was sorta like, "eh" about it. For one, I don't really think of myself as a female blogger. Sure I'm a female, but I don't sit around and think about myself in those terms. I don't really talk about a lot of female only issues and I don't really consider myself a feminist. I may be one...I just don't think about it. And I don't consider myself a blogger. Which again, aren't I? Aren't I blogging right now? Why yes, yes I am. But yet calling myself a blogger seems...professional or something. Or maybe that I think of myself as a writer. And we all know that I'm no writer. I can admit that my writing has gotten a bit better than when I started, a quick glance at my archives told me that. But I feel that calling myself a writer would be an insult to real writers. And for some reason I have the term blogger tied up and married to the term writer. So since I don't consider myself a writer, why would I go to a conference about blogging? I didn't give it another thought. But now there is talk of cocktails, dancing, meeting people, and just a whole lot of good fun times and now I'm thinking that I want to be there. I'm all for good fun times. Except we all know that I'd get there, find my table, sit down and not move. Sit there hoping that somoene would seek me out and engage me in conversation. If left to do that on my own...silence and being by myself ensues. So, now I guess it's good that I don't consider myself a female blogger.

I realized yesterday that I've been in a funk. I've not focused on the pile of work in front of me, keeping my house maintained, the news, my diet, my exercise, or really anything. I've just been going through the motions of this life of mine. I need to snap out of it. I don't really have any good reason to be in a funk. Others around me are unhappy at the moment and maybe that's why my mind created a funk. So I'm not all happy and in love with life while people I love are unhappy. But how is me being in a funk going to help them? So I made the decision to shake it off. So, that's what I'm attempting to do. I'm going to focus on this pile. I'm going to keep up with the news. I'm going to do laundry when I get home. Happy happy joy joy...

And I'm, Like, Yeah, Whatever!

On my way to work I pass a patch of bamboo. A big tall forest of bamboo. And everyday I slow down and peek into this forest hoping to see a Panda. It never happens. I know it will never happen, I am living in Virginia after all. But still...the dream is there. The dream of one day seeing a Panda peeking out of the forest of bamboo at me. That would be nice.

The other day I was visiting this site and lo and behold! she's posted music from Star Wars! Do you know how long I've wished I had The Imperial March on my iPod? How I've longed to have it playing in my ears as I march into work in the morning. How long I've wanted to have the ability to bring people to their knees just with the power of my mind and the flick of my hand?!?! This is awesome! No longer do I have to play it in my mind with my own voice! I'm totally geeked about this and I've totally done it, too. Don't mess with me, people. Not unless you want your trachea crushed by my mind.

As I was putting on my oh so sexy hanging around the house attire last night, I picked up my Bourbon Street T-shirt to put on. Then my little mind started wondering, how did this begin? Who was the first person that went on a trip and thought to themselves "This trip is awesome! It would be even more awesome, however, if I could buy a T-shirt to announce to everyone that I was here!" Or was it the other way around? During a slide show of someone's vacation pictures did somebody think "This would be so much easier if they could just tell me on a T-shirt that they went to Ireland." Naturally I participate in this silliness, but why? Why do I need a T-shirt to tell people that I attended an all day scrapbooking extravaganza in 2005? Why do I know that I'll buy another one this year? Do we just love T-shirts that much or do we enjoy bragging that much? Or proving that yes, I do have a life. A life that involves day long scrapbooking fun. A life that involves going places, seeing things, doing things. A life. Filled with T-shirts.

It is now three days away from my birthday. No reason to mention that other than I'd hate for you to forget and then feel bad about it later. See how considerate I am? Always thinking of others.

Put The Right Letters Together And Make A Better Day

So I've been seeing these commercials for the 100% All Natural 7-UP, right? And this made me excited. I've always liked 7-Up better than Sprite and those new Sublyminol commercials irritate the shit out of me, so I was totally stoked to give this a try. My hubby beat me to it. But he saved the bottle for me to check out. Imagine my surprise to find out that this so-called "100% All Natural" product contains high fructose corn syrup. That does not classify as 100% all natural in my little book of health. Not at all. How the fuck are they getting by with this? This is bullshit. I expect truth in advertising.

While cruising some blogs last night something struck me as funny. Everyone's talking about how hot it is where they are, like it's only hot there. Doesn't anyone watch the news anymore? Or at least the weather channel? It's hot everywhere. Yes I'm hot. Yes it's humid. Yes I complain to my hubby about how hot and humid it is. But I'm not acting like we're the only ones. I saw a weather map of the country yesterday and it was red. The weather everywhere is red. Red, people! That means hot. Hot as hell. Everywhere. Not just here. Not just where you are. Not just where your mom lives. Everywhere. I've mentioned that hot and humid weather makes me cranky, right?

You would think that by now people would realize that selling cookies 3 for $1 is only going to lead to domestic violence. I mean, it could be some evil ploy to make me pay $2 for 6 cookies and have an even amount of cookies for the two of us. But it's done everywhere. Like, at Red Lobster. You sit there and you wait for the cheddar biscuits to come out. Just you and your family of four, for this example we'll be a family of four. Here come the biscuits. But what's this? Five? There's four of us! Now there will be a death match to see who gets the last hot cheddar biscuit before begging for more. Why not look at the situation and bring at least eight? Is that so hard? And no, this paragraph doesn't belong to me. I stole it from my hubby. If you don't like it, blame him. If you do, well that's because I put my special mark on it. I guess I peed on it. Yeah, that's it. I peed all over this paragraph and made it mine. You know, cause that's what dogs do to mark something, they pee on it. Did I just refer to myself as a dog? I think I did. I'm not a dog. Crap. Well, there it is. I've spent my time with dogs more than I have people and now I'm actually calling myself a dog. This is a sad, sad day.

Bring To Life A Vision In One's Mind

So the evil Prednisone seems to have worked its way out of my system. I am no longer irritable, grouchy, pissy, moany, or bitchy. So we have that going for us. And I magically dropped a pound. Well, between Friday and Monday I magically dropped a pound. It's amazing. I was on the Cold Stone Creamery, cheesy potato, and chicken parmesan diet all weekend. So I decided to keep the magic going and started the diet and exercise diet. I've now put that pound back on. Can someone please explain how that works to me?

That brings me to the reason I was on the evil Prednisone to begin with, the month long rash. The last time I announced it was mostly gone some evil voodoo doll owning person that hates me rolled said doll all around in some poison plants and the rash spread to my face. So, I'll not make that mistake again. Just know that I'm doing fine and well and good. Thank you very much. Now if I could just build up the courage to work in my flower beds...

While at the grocery store I saw that they are offering hot dogs on a bun ready to go into your microwave and into your belly. Which is great. Because making hot dogs was really very hard and time consuming before.

I checked on George this morning and it seems that he's decided to be his own bunny so he left the nest. I found him just hanging out in the yard. I wanted to put him back into the nest with all of his brothers and sisters, since that is just a hole full of bunnies I've got going on there, but he wouldn't have any of that. Once you get that taste of independence it's hard to move back home, isn't it? So he hopped away and sorta gave me the finger in the process. Ungrateful assed bunny.

She Wanted To Groove So I Grooved Her

This cute little guy, who I've decided to call George, disrupted my entire morning! BeagleGirl's natural instincts decided to kick into high gear this morning and she found a rabbit's nest. Oh joy! Now I'm not against the rabbits and their nests, but I wish they would take inventory of the property and realize that there is a Beagle on the grounds. You know...a Beagle. A rabbit hunter. It's coded into their DNA to tackle drunk bitches rabbits. But yet here we are with a baby rabbit! Sure it's cute. What wasn't so cute was watching BeagleGirl paw it, chase it, put her mouth on it, and hearing it squeak in shock over the whole ordeal. Luckily she's not a trained hunter and hasn't ever killed anything, so I was able to get her far enough away from him so I could scoop him up and take him in the house! Stupid rabbit. I didn't get to Yoga Booty Ballet this morning. I didn't get to chill out and take my time getting ready for work. Instead I had to find a shoe box, find a place to put the bunny and the box, read on the Internet about what I should do with the little guy, put him back in his nest and cover him back up so Ma Rabbit can find him tonight, and take BeagleGirl outside again on the leash so she could do her business. In the hot and the humid that is Eastern Virginia in the summer time during a nationwide heat wave. Did I mention my hair looked nice today? Not anymore! Fucking animals...out to get me they are.

So, I've mentioned that I think Tommy Lee is skanknasty right? I'm sure I have. If not, here goes: I think Tommy Lee is skanknasty! However, for some reason this picture has quite an effect on me and my pants. I feel tingles of joy going on when I look at it. And I don't know why. Tommy Lee is quite the skank and his tongue has some sort of yellow taint on it...but Dave Navarro moves me. Moves me to think dirty thoughts. Makes me want to pet my bunny, if you know what I mean. I gotta change the subject...

I heard Fergie's new song on the radio the other day, this "London Bridge" song. Good gawd damn, people. This is terrible. I think after this, radio needs to give up. The record execs need to go into some other line of work. Whoever produced this needs to be bitch slapped. With my dick! Well, if I had one. I'd certainly smack everyone involved with this...travesty of sound with it. There's not enough payola in the world to make me ever willingly torture my ears that way again. I'd rather listen to Paris Hilton's song. I'd rather watch BeagleGirl pull baby bunnies apart with her teeth than listen to this crap again. It's that bad. And I know it'll be a huge "hit" and I'll hear it as often as "Hollaback Girl" and gawd help me I'll probably one day tap my stupid ass feet to the beat in a candid moment in a clothing store. And someone will see me. And then I'll be known as that girl who was catching a groove in Old Navy to that sucky ass Fergie song. Dammit.

A note to some of the people on Last Comic Standing: If you are not funny, talking louder doesn't help. It just makes my head hurt. And I don't care that you don't have jokes, you have problems. I'm aware you have problems. One of which is talking too fucking loud while not being funny in the slightest. Where did they get the people in the crowd? Why were they laughing so much? There just wasn't that much funny going on. I'm about to be as through with this show as I am Tourgasm... Somebody needs to bring on the funny!

When I'm Dealing With The Funky Sidewalk

Over the weekend I was thinking about my pjs. Quite the intellectual, huh? Me and my deep, deep thoughts about my pjs. Anyway, I must have been watching some sitcoms or something that show all these people actually wearing pjs to bed and/or to lounge around the house in and that sparked my brain to go do some thinking. I have some "official" pjs. And when they are brand new I will actually wear them together, as a set, as the retail gods intended. But over time the novelty of wearing matching attire wears off and I begin to wear the bottoms with some random T-shirt that doesn't match it in the slightest. And that is what you will find me in anytime you come to my house. But when I watch the TV and I see all these people in their matching pj outfits I can't help but look at myself and wonder - am I the only one doing this? Am I the only one sitting around in scotty dog pj bottoms and a Scrap-a-thon 2005 t-shirt? Flowered pj bottoms and a WVU t-shirt? Plaid bottoms and an old work t-shirt of my hubby's? Hair pulled up in a messy pony-tail/bun combo with mismatched pjs and bare feet. Man, I'm sexy...

So I've been using this purse that I hate. And I do mean hate. I hate it with a passion. A fiery passion that burns deep down in my soul anytime I have to go out and about with this thing strapped to my shoulder. I complain and bitch and moan and groan and probably even whine a little bit anytime we go out and I have to take this thing with me. So I said to my hubby over the weekend that I was going to look for a new one, that I'd put up with myself and this purse for too long. He's heard my complaints. He's done the adequate amount of replying to me to indicate that yes he is indeed listening to my very important complaints about this purse. But never once did he offer up a solution to my woes. That is until this weekend when I said I was going to look for a new one. He then says "OK...but I thought you had a few that you really liked laying around." Why couldn't he have reminded me of that about 4 friggin' months ago?!?! I thought it was men's job to solve problems. Isn't that the basic idea of that stupid Mars/Venus book? Men solve problems. So...what was he doing all this time? Is this some sort of man joke that I don't get? Did he secretly enjoy my suffering? I don't get it. I had a problem. He obviously had a solution. Where is the break down here? My thought? I said "I"m going to look for a new purse" but he heard "Me and You are going to go on an all day shopping spree to find me a purse and you'll have to look at all these purses and answer all these questions about what you think of the purse and how it looks on my shoulder and if it makes my ass look fat and does it match my hair and how's my ass look now?" and freaked out. Yup. That's what I think. None of that matters, though. I only say all of that to hide the fact that my hubby came up with a solution that I should have long ago. A really good solution, in fact. But I'm still looking for a new one.

I love mothers. I have a mother. My sister is a mother. I'm bound by law to now love mothers. But I have a note for you all. While your child is speaking to someone that is not a mother and said non-mom person doesn't understand that "Boo boo k poo" means that they accidentally got hurt getting into the neighbor's pool but they are all OK now, don't get all indignant when explaining this to the non-mom. Non-mom doesn't live with your child. Non-mom isn't dissing your child or implying that your child is a non-speaking idiot. It just means that non-mom doesn't have access to your child 24/7 and therefore isn't privy to the learning process that you and your specific child are going through. Give us non-moms a break, OK?

I Got A Def Posse, You Got A Bunch Of Dudes

So I've put on some weight. Actually, I weigh more now than I did last year when I went on that diet and lost 15 pounds. This is very, very upsetting to me. When I got the pictures back from vacation and saw the proof, it was...well it pissed me off actually. When the doctor first put me on Prednisone due to this damned poison ivy I have he explained that it may increase my appetite. Yeah, and the sun may rise again tomorrow. I've never been so hungry in all of my life. I'm putting food on top of my food. Ketchup on top of my toothpaste. Buns on my dogs. While I'm eating I'm thinking of what I can eat next. It's been bad. Real bad. And now I have a fat ass. And I'm afraid that there's a possibility of...camel toe. Oh gawd! I just admitted that in writing. I've gotten so fat that my pants are being eaten by my crotch! My crotch is even hungry!!!! I can't stop! It's all out in the open now. I have a fat ass and a hungry 'giner. Who wants to vist me now? OK...I'll stop. I don't really have camel toe. I'm just more aware of the possibility now that my pants are so damn tight. But I do have a fat ass. Thank gawd yesterday was my last dose of the fat making pills. Now I can get down to the business of getting rid of this fat. These pounds. All 22 of them. Damn steroids!

You know what else? My driving has gotten worse. I'm constantly having to slam on my brakes to avoid ramming into someone. These situations are just sneaking up on me. And instead of accepting and acknowledging that I'm the tool, I yell, throw my hands up, and act like the person that I almost rear ended is the worst of all the bad drivers. I don't know what that is all about. Can I blame Prednisone for that as well? I think I will. I think this is called 'Roid Rage. Or is it 'Roid Road Rage? Whatever, I have it. And it's not pretty. It's sorta dangerous. And it has a fat ass.

I have my iPod hooked up to my computer at work so I can enjoy music all the live long day. Yesterday a song came on and it was waaaay too loud, so I pulled up iTunes to turn the volume down and laughed because the song that was too loud was Shhh by Prince. Oh I'm sorry, that was during The Artist Formerly Know As stage. Anyway, that's just funny right there. A song called Shhh was too loud. I'm amused...apparently very easily.

Have I mentioned that my birthday is in 15 days? No? Wait, yes I did. Just now. Sheesh. Read the beginning of this paragraph. There it is. Yup, in 15 days I'll be eating cake with abandon. Delicious mississippi mud pie style cake. Gooey hot fudge. Chocolate cake. Marshmallows. Nuts. (yup...giggling is occurring) Now, do I find it at all wrong that I started this post by complaining about my fat ass and I'm ending it by talking about gooey hot fudge covered chocolate cake? Nope. Not in the slightest.

I'll Let You Whip Me If I Misbehave

So part of my exciting life has been to replace our mattress. Finally we set out to actually buy one. So off we went to the mattress stores. Do you know how hard it is to buy a mattress? There are so many brands, and styles within the brands, and firmness levels, and plushness levels, and you can't just look at it and sit on it to test it out. So off I go laying down on all these mattresses. I roll over onto my side, since I'm a side sleeper. I lay on my back. I sat up like I'm reading a book. I lay on my side again. I lay on my other side. I lay on my belly. There I go on my side again. Hubby on his side of the bed doing the same things. On a million different mattresses. Until we finally found one that we could both agree on. One that I could have actually fell asleep on right there in the store. And now that I know that this glorious, glorious mattress is being delivered to my house this weekend I've been sleeping horribly on that broken down piece of crap that we've been calling a mattress all this time. I feel as if I've been run over by a truck when I wake up in the morning. My back and my legs are so sore that I shuffle over to the bathroom Tim Conway style before I can get everything moving properly. It sucks. And hopefully I only have two more mornings of that.

Are any of you guys watching VH1's World Series of Pop Culture? I am loving this! I get into bed and I sit there for an hour yelling out answers and calling the people who don't get the oh so obvious answers correct "dorks" and/or "nerds." Yeah...they're the nerds....not me. The girl at home in bed yelling "Samuel L. Jackson! SAMUEL L. JACKSON!! You DORK!! COME ON!!!!" because the guy didn't know that it was, in fact, Samuel L. Jackson holding up the McDowell's in "Coming to America." I may have even went on some unrelated tangent about "Snakes on a Plane" but we'll not discuss that at this point....ahem. Anyway, laying in my bed, at home, without a crowd, my hubby and I ROCK this game. If I don't know the answer, he does. We are awesome! Put me on the spot on TV or even just one on one and I'll freeze. Answers will get stuck in my head, never to be released. I wish I were kidding. I wish I had the confidence, or the whatever it is I need, to be calm, cool, and collected in front of people. To be able to shout out "Samuel L. Jackson, bitches!" in a crowd when I know that is the correct answer. But that's a whole other issue right there. Part of my "not enjoying looking foolish so I'll just stand here and not participate" issue. We're not talking about that, are we? No...we're talking about the awesome that is the Pop Culture quiz show that makes me stay up late (11pm...yeah, that's late people!) and act (more) like a dork than I normally do. And say things like "No, no, no! It's not 'Come on Eileen' you IDIOT!!!" Yeah...I'm the coolest!

So I've been thinking about how I call myself Itchy on this damned blog and for the past 2 weeks I've been just that. That seems to be some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy or something, doesn't it? So, I was thinking that I should now start calling myself Winslargelottery. I then wondered if that would have the same effect? Since my luck is not of the good variety I decided that no, it wouldn't work that way for me. So that left me with the name The Blogger Formerly Known As Itchy. Naturally I came up with that on my own and it had nothing to do with Prince whatsoever. But nobody really called him The Artist Formerly Known As Prince did they? No. We all called him Prince. And that means that I'd still be Itchy. And you know what? That's fine. Because I am Itchy. Even when I don't have this god forsaken rash, I'm an itchy person. I just never gave it that much thought. But my allergies make me itch. So maybe I really did know what I was doing when I set this thing up. Who knew? Me. Knowing what I'm doing. Cool. So this is how that feels. Let me sit back and enjoy that for a moment.

I Used To Be A Rolling Stone

I received an email the other day that caught my attention. I didn't even read the message, the subject line was all I took in. What was this crazy subject line? "Nice shoes wanna f#ck." Which leads me to question what shoes I was wearing when they saw me. I realize that a few of my shoes are kinda cute, but I had no idea they had that effect on people. I'm just trying to walk around and not be bare foot and I'm inadvertently making people all hot and horny for me. All this time I've thought I needed to lose weight to feel and look more attractive and the truth is that I just need to wear my fuck shoes.

Do you wanna know what pisses me off? People who cannot follow simple directions. Simple directions that have been given to them at least three times. People who ignore these simple directions and instead do something completely random that was not part of the directions and basically made no sense at all. These people are the ones that make my head throb. These are the people that make me want to freshen up on some death grip moves. These are the people that make me wish I could control them with the powers of the dark side of The Force. Isn't following directions something we learn in grade school?!?!?

OK. So now we are at the last of these vacation story posts. I know you are happy to hear that. In fact I'm happy to hear that. But it had to be done. Tomorrow you'll see. I'll have nothing to say. It will suck and you'll soon wish that I was going on another trip.

So now we leave Salem to head to Philadelphia. During this trip we've been relying on our new friend Garmin to tell us what way to go. She's is powerful and wise. Well, as far as how to get some where. If you want to avoid traffic, she's not that wise. And apparently neither are we. To take us from Salem to Philly she instructed us to get on 95S. So we did. Then I looked at my trusty road atlas that I also packed. OK, so we'll be traveling around New York City. This could be cool, right? Sure it can. We've never been that close to NYC and we may get a glimpse of the tall, tall buildings, right? Right! So there we go on our way. Stupid asses.

"Dude! We're in the Bronx!" Yup, I was excited to be "in" the Bronx. I wasn't excited however to be there for the rest of my days. From seeing this sign welcoming us to the Bronx until we finally saw a sign that we were in New Jersey, a lovely 4 hours had passed. So the next time you are in Salem and you want to travel to Philly, don't take 95S. Whoot, there you'll be forever. The only good thing is that I did see some of the tall, tall buildings and took pictures of road signs for Queens, Manhattan, Yankee Stadium, a NYC Taxi, and the tall, tall buildings in the distance. My own little photo tour of the NYC area.

While sitting in this horrendous traffic it occurred to me that I should let Mac know that our progress was being hindered. We hadn't really made any solid plans to meet up but I had mentioned that I'd be in Philly sometime on Thursday and I don't like to give the impression that I'm standing people up or being a jackass. I'm considerate that way. So I decided to text message her. Now, this was my first text message ever. No lie. But she was at work and I didn't wanna bug her with a call so I got the brilliant idea to just send her a text message. I have time, right? But now she probably thinks that I'm an illiterate dillhole because the message looked something like this, "Not in Philly yet On road in Nyc did notnthinkMthisthroughhopefuljy we can say hi tomorrow before we hit the road itchy." Yup. I'm a text messaging genius!

I mentioned that NY state is a toll road hell, right? Well so is Pennsylvania. It was so bad that we crossed into PA and had to stop at a toll plaza to grab one of those toll card things. Then we took the very first exit that was about, oh I'd say 50 feet from the toll plaza. And guess what!??!? We had to pay a toll. Yup. One dollar. To drive 50 feet. No lie. No kidding. It was ridiculous. I'm glad we didn't stay on that road any longer than that at that rate...

Other than the 4 hour visual tour of I95S around NYC the ride was really nice. The weather was great. Sunshiny, blue skies. That is until we arrive in downtown Philly at our hotel, which I should mention at this point was about 7:30pm. Can you say downpour? I thought you could. Then it stopped as soon as we were checked in and had our bags in the room. Asshole rain. This hotel featured something that I'm not all that familiar with. I'm a simple girl from a small town in West Virginia, right? I enjoy macaroni and cheese and corn dogs, right? So this shouldn't surprise you. Our hotel had valet parking and this just freaked me out. Where are they taking my car? What if I need something out of it? Can I just ask where it is and then go to it on my own? Needless to say the pressure got to me and I didn't get everything I needed out of it but I'm too much of a backwards hillbilly to ask these questions for fear of looking like, well, a backwards hillbilly. So I didn't have my walkin' shoes. All I had was my sandals. Oh well. They've served me well. Let's go look around!

We were hungry and it was late so we decided to go look for Pat's King of Steaks. First we scoped out the building that houses the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall. Both closed. So we walk and we walk and we walk and we walk and then finally there it is. Like an oasis in the desert. Pat's. So we order our cheese steaks but decide to eat them at the hotel for fear of a gastrointestinal disturbance, if ya know what I mean. So we walk and we walk and we walk and then oh crap! I'm getting a blister. Then my bag broke from the gooey cheesy greasy goodness of what it was holding. Then my hubby's bag broke due to the same thing and life was just hilarious. I'm sure we looked like goobers. But I didn't care, nope not at all. I was too tired and hungry to care. And once we were back in the room and I ate that gooey cheesy greasy goodness life was well and good once again. I'm gonna shower and go to bed. Life was that good.

The next morning is when we did the whirlwind tour of the Liberty Bell, the outside of Independence Hall and the meeting of Mac. We checked out of the hotel and found one of those parking lots where you leave your keys with the parking attendant so he can move the cars around since they are parked bumper to bumper. Again, new experience for me. And again, I acted like a goober. I looked over my shoulder at my car as we walked away from it and all of our belongings as if I was leaving my child on someone's doorstop in the middle of the night. I'm sure that made us look very sophisticated and worldly. Gah! I'm such a spaz.

Now, all along the street in front of the visitor's center was anti-abortion protestors with all of their signs and protest chants. That was lovely. My hubby made me ignore them and not give them any attention, since that is what they want. Upon exiting the visitor center some other group was trying to give me some of their literature and I said "no thanks" and he tried again and I again said "no thanks" and he said "We're not with them." Poor guy. I guess it is hard to get whatever their word is out with that other group hanging around.

After we did the few touristy things that we did we realized, holy shit! This is Friday. The Friday before the July 4th holiday. And we're standing in downtown Philadelphia. We need to get the hell outta here! And outta there is what we got. We stopped and said hi to Mac on the way and then hit 95S again.

For some reason someone was looking out for us that day. We decided to stop in Delaware to get something to eat. We chose an Arby's because it was quick and convenient. However, every single last person in this Arby's was weird. And not just a little bit weird. These people were oozing weirdness. It was a bit creepy. But, the good thing is that we noticed Route 13. That's the road that will take us home via the Eastern Shore and the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel. So we thought about it. 95S will take us close to Baltimore, then around DC, Fredricksburg, Richmond, etc. All on a Friday. Before a holiday. No thank you. We'll stick with 13. No traffic. No more weirdness. Just a really nice drive through a lot of really small towns. And then...home.

I love taking trips. I enjoy seeing new places and trying new things. But when it's time to be home, home is it. And our doggies were happy to get home too. Nothing, and I do mean nothing, says welcome home like looking in the back of your car after you've picked up your dogs and you see them smiling. And then you say "Hey BeagleGirl!" and she jumps over the seat and gives you kisses as if she's been lost in the woods without you for a year. That is a welcome home, people. Beagle and Golden kisses.

The rest of my time off was spent lounging in my pool getting a tan and eating hot dogs. That was good times, too. OK. That's it. Tomorrow we go back to incoherent rambling about my pants. Or maybe my hair. Or my weight. Or all of the above. I'm crazy, I may not talk about any of it. You don't know. Hell, I don't know.

Which Old Witch? The Wicked Witch!

Remember how I said my rash was almost gone on Friday and that it was only on my back? Well I must have pissed somebody off because over the weekend it spread to my face, my arms, my belly, my neck (again) and my collarbone. The doctor still thinks that it's contact dermatitis and so I'm on 'roids again and I have this gooey hydrocortisone cream to slather on it and I bought Aveeno bath stuff to soak in on top of the Benadryl cream that I was using. The Aveeno bath stuff smells just like oatmeal, which makes sense since it is oatmeal. But that leaves me feeling like I'm part of a delicious breakfast. This is getting really old, really quick. It's on my nose! I'm gross. And I'm itchy. And I'm seriously thinking about changing this damn blog name...seriously.

While reading the Entertainment Weekly over the weekend I discovered that Pee Wee's Playhouse is now airing on the Cartoon Network. This was the most awesome news I could have discovered while sitting around in my perpetual state of poison ivy gooeyness. I immediately set my TiVo for a Season Pass to record every last episode. I had no idea they were available on DVD or else they'd already be in my possession. Perhaps if I do a nice chant of Mekalekahimekahineyho! they'll magically appear. I love Pee Wee. Even his Big Adventure. Maybe especially his Big Adventure. That cool red bike. His status as a loner. Simone and her big but. Speck. His laugh. All of it. And now my TiVo will be dedicated to Pee Wee and his gang.

OK...where was I? Oh...leaving Niagara Falls to drive to Salem. Here we go.

Getting out of Canada was not as easy as getting into Canada. For some reason the two times we've been out of the country we've been pulled to the side and had to go through customs, or whatever you call it. This time we had to park our car and go into this office and wait for about 45 minutes while we watched all these nice customs officers walk around and drink coffee and not tell us anything. Then, they pulled my hubby into an office to ask him some questions leaving me all alone in the main lobby to FREAK THE FUCK OUT! Not kidding. I freaked out. Apparently, I'm a bit dramatic. How did I come to this conclusion? Because I convinced myself that I was going to be stripped searched and I almost cried. Luckily that didn't happen. I didn't even get questioned. Just my hubby. The man with the shady past. Oh he claims that he doesn't know what's going on...but I'm sleeping with one eye open these days...

Our sole reason for going to Salem was the witch museums. Let me tell you...they were not at all what I expected. Someone with some imagination needs to go in there and spruce things up. You basically get the same thing at each stop - the story about the witch trials and the little bitches that caused that whole mess and then some mannequins dressed up in different scenes to depict the story. Yes really. Mannequins*. So that was a little disappointing, but I really liked the area. Except for the apparent lack of central air conditioning in the buildings. I cannot function that way. I don't have it in me. I need my air conditioning.

Hearing the story of the witch trials worked me up and made me angry in a way that I haven't been in some time. These little girls caused several people and two dogs to be hung (Yes, I know the proper term is hanged but I hate it. I don't agree with it and I refuse to bow down to rules that I don't agree with. So there.) and one man to be crushed to death under stones. And from what I learned nothing happened to the girls. Not one thing. They caused this entire mess and then got to continue living their lives. This just pisses me off. I'm not sure why...but every time I think about it I get furious. Like right now.

Now, here is some advice and information that will keep you safe. If you ever stay in a bed and breakfast or find yourself in the room with an evil doll, just roll her over and lay her face down. Evil dolls cannot harm you if they find themselves in that position. Do you know why? I'll tell you. It's because they lack upper body strength, of course. They only have ab muscles so they can raise themselves slowly and menacingly while laying on their backs to scare the bejeezus out of people. But their little arms are weak and therefore they are powerless when laying face down on a dresser, mantle, chair, whatever. Remember this - it may save your life one day. I tested my theory at the bed & breakfast we stayed at and it proved to be true. That evil little doll was unable to bring harm to my person. I showed her!

I already mentioned that I had dinner with Plimco and that we had a fantabulous time. What I didn't mention is that there is photographic evidence of this grand meeting. However we are both shy so that is just for us. So instead I drew a fairly good picture of us. I should have an art show any day now, I'm that damn good.

Two things that I saw in some of the local stores that I feel I should mention. First is this dead duck rubber ducky. I wanted him. I should have bought him. One of my bathrooms is decorated in a cutey patootey rubber ducky theme and the dead duck would just be the final touch that room needs. The other thing just really cracked me up? An Edgar Allan Poe action figure. Who doesn't want one of those? I mean come on! It has a removable raven! A REMOVABLE RAVEN! That's fun for minutes right there...
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*That was supposed to be a picture of mannequins but again Blogger is not letting me upload my pictures and now I'm irritated and refuse to upload them someplace else when I should be able to just do it here. I'm very irritable these days. It could be because of my rash. Or the fact that I put on all of the weight that I'd lost and then some while on vacation which really pisses me off. So...I'm just a bit of a hag these days.

Water On My Brain

Don't think for a second that my rash is gone. Nope. I just haven't mentioned it. To be honest, most of it is. But for some reason the itch has spread to my entire body. Maybe that's what I get for calling myself Itchy...something to ponder, huh? Anyway, the rash is now only located on my upper back right between my shoulder blades. And I try very hard to not scratch it. I figure it's best that I just leave it alone. But when I get in the shower and the water hits it directly, its...orgasmic. Oh yeah. I have tremendous water pressure. And when it hits that spot, I feel the joy rush from there all through my body and I could just stand there all day. In fact I'm gonna go get in the shower now...I'll be with you guys later.

OK...that was nice. Where was I? Oh yeah...the drive to Niagara Falls. This means driving through Pennsylvania and New York. This means the beginning of some way boring times. These states are so boring to look at. Nothing very scenic to see. Nothing funny to note. Except for the Help Keep Pennsylvania Beautiful road sign that they had on the side of the road next to a huge trash pile! I'm not lying. It was right there. All piled up and trashy. And I saw that a lot. A lot of trailer parks, a lot of trashy areas, and a lot of horses and cows. So I'm thinking that people need to shut the fuck up about West Virginia. Yup...that's what I'm thinking.

Entering Canada was a piece of cake. We were asked how long we're staying, what are we there for, and what are we bringing in. No check of our IDs, no check of the car, no nothing. Just a nice welcome to Canada, now get outta the way. Then things went all freaky on me and miles turned into kilometers and mph turned into kph and I was glad I wasn't the one driving. Even though my speedometer has the kph listed on it...I was still freaked out. Don't show me metric numbers. I'll piss my pants and go crossed eyed. I did change the temperature display to Celsius for fun. It wasn't.

My impression of Niagara Falls? Wet. If you go there, be prepared to just be in a perpetual state of damp. The mist travels forever and is so thick at times it feels like you're in a drizzle. Don't fix your hair. Don't wear makeup. Hell, don't even blow your hair dry. There is no point. You will be damp. Accept it now. I didn't even take my digital camera out into the world with me while we were there for fear of getting him all wet. But I have the gift of thinking ahead and I had some of those waterproof disposable cameras. Go me! Anyway, the falls truly are beautiful and amazing. The rush of all that water falling all day. Nature is awesome. I can go and look at stuff like this all day long.

So since we're cheesy and I'm nerdy we did the Niagara Falls tour package thing that gives you access to the Walk Behind the Falls, The Maid of the Mist*, the White Water Walk, and the Butterfly Conservatory. I wore plastic bags and stood on a deck while the falls fell all around me. The amount of water falling creates quite a bit of wind. Water and mist is all in your face and it's hard to really take it all in. But it was cool. And The Maid of the Mist was really cool, too. I expected the boat to rock a lot and feel really turbulent but it wasn't too bad. But it is really cool being on a boat and looking up and seeing all that water falling all around you. And now you know that I'm one of those cheesy touristy people. And I'm OK with that. It's what I like.

While we were waiting for the incline railway thingy to descend, I noticed that someone had carved the word "nerd" into a post. Being the comedian that I am I pointed at it and said to my hubby "I thought you said you'd never been here" (I really did. I really am that dorky.) and giggled at how clever I am. There was a group of children behind me and I guess my pointing told them that they should look. Then one of them turned to the group and said "Nerd!" and started laughing and then all the kids were laughing. And then I joined in, too. And there really is no point to this paragraph. None at all. Face it. You read it hoping it would get better and it didn't. And yet I'm still adding to it. This could go on all day...

One night we decided to check out this place called Copacabana (and now I'm singing about Lola the showgirl in my head...I shall shake my Mother around the next time I see her for that...) that advertised itself as a Brazilian steakhouse. OMG! This place was awesome. First...sexy dudes all around. Oh yeah...sexy dudes. Second...unlimited meat. Sexy dudes walking around with different types of meat on swords that they present to you at your table. It's like a meatapalooza. And I loved it. You go in and order a drink. Then you go to the buffet and get a salad, bread, veggies, whatever and go back to your table. Then the sexy dudes start coming around and offer you meat. And it was delish! Just so good. Mmmmm....bacon wrapped turkey. That was my favorite. But it was all good. And did I mention the sexy dudes?

I will never, ever use any type of syrup other than pure maple syrup. Those faux syrups need to just give it up. Maple is the way to go. I can drink that stuff straight from the bottle it's so good. And on top of some French toast it's even better. And chocolate with a hint of maple in it is pretty damn good, too. And now I need to diet. I'm not kidding.

On a completely unrelated to Niagara Falls note I saw something hilarious yesterday on my way home from work. There was a car with a mattress on the roof beside me. It caught my eye. Then I realized why. Every dude in that car had his arm out of the window holding onto this mattress. It wasn't tied down in the slightest! I thought about following them to see it when it blew off. Going home to eat hot dogs won out, though. Did I mention I need to diet?
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*You would not believe how many people I've encountered that have no idea what the Maid of the Mist is. I knew what it was and I'm just some dumb hick from West Virginia...

Also, I wanted to have the pictures in the post but blogger decided to have other plans today. That's OK. He's allowed I guess. It's his joint. If he doesn't want to upload photos that his business...

Down In A Hole, Feelin So Small

Dudes...did I really see Snoop Dogg in a Orbit commercial yesterday? Really? Snoop Dogg? And Orbit gum? Yeah? OK...glad I got that cleared up.

Our journey started with a stop at Luray Caverns here in the lovely state of Virginia. I gotta tell ya...that was awesome. If you've never been and you are in the vicinity I highly recommend stopping by. It takes an hour to walk through them but it is so worth it. Plus? The stalagmites and stalactites resemble penises (penii?) in some areas. And yes, I am very mature for my age. Shut up.

After spending some more time with my sister and her husband I've decided to just stop being angry at him. No matter how I feel about what he did to her, it's time to move on. I'm not condoning what he did at all, I still hate that. But I've come to realize that there are always two sides to every story. And while I will always see my sister's side first...I can't deny the things that I see. This is just not a healthy relationship and my anger isn't going to help either of them. So I've let it go.

Now, what is it with little kids and running happily through a house the second they are naked? And why didn't I have my camera out? These are the things you need to have around when said child is 16 years old and trying to be cool. You whip out the pictures and remind them of the time they were two and they shook their little naked behind for a crowd. Without much prompting. It just cracks me up. The pitter patter of the little feet running joyously here and there while the tub fills up. I gave it a go. It just reminded me that I need to lose some weight...

After that we traveled to the middle of no place in Pennsylvania. Good lord that place is remote. And the hotel we stayed in sucked major ass. The bed was so hard that my back cramped up the second I laid down in it. And then some dude brought some chick back to his room and he thought she'd stay all night but apparently she only wanted some sex and then to go home so they argued about it right outside our door. I can't blame her. The bed did suck. And the shower! Oh...I forgot about the shower. That thing was a danger to my well being. It's ice cold. It's scalding hot. Oh look, it's ice cold again. What a piece of crap.

The reason for this stop was a party for my father to celebrate his retirement. And that was really nice. And weird. Like...my Dad has this whole entire life that we're not a part of. We didn't know any one in that room. And yet they all know my Dad. And apparently think very highly of him. They've golfed with him. Had lunch with him. Shared jokes with him. And we're not part of that. It was just strange to realize that. We fully realize that our parents aren't part of our new lives that we've started for ourselves with our husbands and our jobs in our new places to live. But that's expected. Kids grow up and leave and start lives for themselves. But you expect your parents' lives to continue as they were. They're not supposed to have to take a position in the middle of no place Pennsylvania with all new people and have this whole new life that you know nothing about. You knew the people he golfed with in West Virginia. You would know the faces at a retirement party held there. This party, which was really very nice, was just surreal for my sister and I. But it was very evident how much these people appreciate and like my Dad. And that's a good feeling. And now he gets to live at home in West Virginia in the life that I know him to have. And that's a good feeling, too.

This also marked the end of my being able to have sweet iced tea for a beverage. I don't know if I've ever fully expressed how much I love the sweet iced tea...but just know that I do. A lot. And it was hard for me, even though I knew ahead of time, to not ask at every stop "Do you have sweet ice tea?" hoping that they'd say yes...instead of looking at me as if I had a horn growing out of my forehead. If I was going to start a business and make my mark on the world, it would be a place where you can go and get sweet iced tea no matter where you are. Itchy's Sweet Tea Joint. Anybody wanna give me a loan? I just need a store front, some Mr. Iced Tea pots, some tea bags, and some sugar. Put some rocking chairs out front and there you go. Damn...I think I'm on to something here!

I said I was going to mix things up and talk about things all out of order and it was gonna be wild! but I can't do it. Well, talking about meeting Plimco and Mac yesterday, in my mind, qualifies as talking about the trip out of order. Yes it does. Leave me alone...I'm set in my ways.

Of Travel I've Had My Share, Man

Alright. I'm back. I don't like it, but here I am. And this feels....um...weird. And that in and of itself is weird. This wasn't the first break I'd taken from this thing. But the act of sitting down here and writing this out feels weird. So bear with me, OK.

I'm sure you are all just dying to know all about my vacation aren't you? Like the way visitors to your home love to look at all 268 pictures and the two hours of video of your vacation. But that's all I've got to talk about. What I saw. My stupid thoughts about what I saw. A few pictures. All that jazz. But that's what you get. I go on vacation and this is what I brought home for each of you. "Itchy went on vacation and all I got was this stupid blog." Welcome to the next week of posts...

To mix it up, I'll talk about things out of order. Talk about wild! Actually, if you really, really knew me you'd know that me talking about things out of order is like....HUGE! I'm the girl that will get bent out of shape if even one of her pictures is out of order. My scrapbook isn't designed by theme...it's in 100% chronological order. So, I'm twitching just a bit at the thought of doing things out of order. But I'm doing it dammit. And I'll survive. Here we go...

Apparently I have had to accept one simple truth. I have a Southern accent. There. I said it. I don't like it. But it's true. I've lived for almost 34 years believing that my accent does not exist. But there it is. All Southerny and apparently cute. That's the word that was used by two of the people I spoke to on my trip. I have a cute little voice that's surrounded with an accent. Dammit.

But that leads me to Plimco. I gotta tell you. I love her. She is beautiful and she is funny and she made me feel comfortable and she was on time and she said lots of nice things about me on her blog and she has a great smile and she can tell a great barf story. I have to admit that I am so happy that her and my hubby got along and were able to keep conversation going because apparently I am just too backwards to start a topic on my own. But if you hit on the right thing...off I go on and on and on. And if you laugh, like she did, I'll keep on going. Then after dinner, after you drive away, I'll ask my husband in every conceivable manner if I was "normal" during dinner, if I was OK, cool, and all of that stuff. Or did I come across as a huge wanker. And I'll even feel a little sad as you drive away. Like after you see someone that you haven't seen in a long time and you get to spend a little time with them and then they leave. Sad like that. And yet, here I am not able to really convey our time together in an adequate manner. Not the way she did. Which is weird...because I enjoyed that evening more than any other evening on my trip. So, thank you Plimco. I hope we have that opportunity again.

Now jumping over to Philly for a few minutes. While I was there I got to meet Mac in a whirlwind five minutes in a busy city street. And I was a wanker during that meeting. I had my camera right in my hand...no picture. My hubby was sitting right there behind the wheel of the car...no introduction. Just me and Mac on the side of road saying hello. Her description of it is perfect so I'll not even try to top that.

One common thing I saw in all the states I traveled through was graffiti. Of a religious nature. You know "Jesus Saves" "Jesus is Coming" "Got Jesus" all that stuff. So...does that mean that if you vandalize in the name of Jesus that it's not illegal? When I think of vandals I normally imagine teenagers in the dark of the night drawing pot leaves on water towers or some guy proclaiming his love for some girl on the side of a bridge. Now I've got this image of older church ladies sneaking about town to spread the word. A band of roving blue hairs in a huge old Cadillac with cans of spray paint who just love the Lord. This is boring me.

OK...tune in tomorrow to hear about the first stop of my trip. I know you can't wait!

Happy July 4th

I hope everyone is enjoying their 4th of July celebrations. It's way too damned hot at the moment so I am attempting to cool myself in the awesomeness that is central air conditioning. I may just have to get back into the pool and eat hot dogs on my float. Whys it gotta be so hot? This sucks a little bit. And back to work tomorrow. Gah! OK...not thinking about that. I'm still on vacation! Woo!!