My husband was born in a teeny, tiny, town in northern Missouri. According to him the closest radio station that would broadcast to his little radio, in his little town was from Chicago. His team, Da Bears.

Eight years ago I sexually transmitted the bears as my team. Yep. Eight years of being ridiculed. Eights years of living in St. Louis going to the Rams/Bears in full Bears gear. Eight years of being on the other end of smack talk from our male friends. Eight years of learning deplorable stats and telling people to kiss my ass. Eight years of listening to everyones shit has come to end. This is it. This is our time. Please for the love of Ditka...


The Super Bowl Shuffle

This is a question that I have seen a few times, so I thought I would give you the short version.

1. I lost all my quitting smoking weight.
2. I broke my foot going for a head ball in soccer. (go for it, Luke does)
3. Reclaimed my love of the Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream
4. Put on 15 lbs after I broke my foot.
5. Learned that my husband's idea of cooking is bbq pork steaks (yummy) and microwaved pork n' beans (opposite of yummy).
6. Have not been knocked up.
7. Have been cleared by my doctor to start working out again.
8. Trying to find a new doctor who thinks my foot still needs healing.
9. Moved.
10. Became obsessed with the shows Dexter, The Hills (oh my gawd, is Heidi preggers?!), Heros, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, and the Dog Whisperer.
11. Got TIVO.
12. Made the decision to boycott Grey's anatomy until they fire Isaiah Washington or make his character gay so people constantly ask him if he is gay in real life thus making his big, stupid head explode.
13. Found that telling Luke "You are suppose to be CALM assertive" when he is angry with the dog really makes me laugh.
14. Especially when I do it with a hispanic accent.
15. Finally convinced my husband that if we moved to Kirkwood (where I grew up) and not some small town out in the boone docks, our children would grow up in a safe place with a "small town" feel.
16. Drove home from work last Friday to find police swarming 2 blocks from our new home. Turns out our local pizza parlor manager likes to kidnap 11 year old boys. I hope he gets out of solitary real soon. That's my version of the Missouri Miracle.
17. Learned that when you move 5 minutes from my parents that equals feeding my 17 year old brother and his friends who come take Mr. Rock Meyer for "runs" (show up stoned and make him chase his tail)
18. I'm sick of typing, just make up some interesting shit and I'll say that's what I have been up to.

So the hubbo is in Vegas for business. Yep, business. I buy this like I buy that Britney and Paris were just friends. I dropped him off at the airport last night. I was able to enjoy the big TV in all it's wondrous glory. Studio 60 on the sunset strip will be viewed in all it's glorious bigness this evening. Life is good.

In other news I am scared shitless of staying in a house all by my lonesome. I usually chicken out and stay with my parents. Yes, I use to live by myself for many years. Apparently living with a boy has given me some sort of force field from the bad guys. This force field disappears with every business trip and every animal shooting excursion he goes on. Last night I slept with the lights on. Mr. Rock Meyer apparently heard many killers lurking outside my home, as he would arouse me from my slumbering unicorn dream with "I'm gonna eat off your face killer" barking on four different occasions. I could go on a trip with the bags under my eyes. It's official, I'm a huge wuss. DAMN IT!!

This is Mr. Rock Meyer. He wanted to be introduced to you all. He is believed to be between 1 and 2 years old. We brought him into our family 2 months ago. He is a stray rescue dog. He is awesome. Yes, we have independent confirmation of this fact.


He spends his days hiding my spatula's and Luke's Mountain Dew bottles about the house while lounging on the couch we said we would never let him on. His feud with the mail lady is palpable. He spends his nights staring at the food we eat while drooling profusely on the floor and sleeping in our bed that we said he would never sleep in. Eighty lbs of Chocolate Lab has forced us to get a king sized bed. His favorite T.V. show is The Dog Whisperer, we mock the failings of his fellow dogs. He also enjoys Dexter. He is not a fan of I Love New York, he finds the bat shit nuts ladies hard to stomach.


Rock wanted to say hi to the blogosphere, but he has mixed emotions about the whole thing. We walk to the computor and when I sit down, he is not thrilled with the lack of attention he receives. Much like his mother, he is reduced to raming his head into me and giving me his best "love me" eyes to get attention. I have taught him well.

1. Make a post on blogger everyday, not like the last time I claimed I was back.
2. Stop telling Luke he is my father after I turn the fan on every night before bed.
3. Do more cooking, cleaning, and sexual favors.
4. Discontinue grabbing friend's children, walking them over to my husband and saying "I wannnt onnnneee!" And then refusing to go off the pill, cause "I will get fat!!!!"
4. Stop asking Luke for imput on self improvement.
5. Stop asking people if they think Britney flashed the cooch on purpose when current events are brought up.
6. Continue trying to read that Anne Rice from the Retard Book Club we tried to start here on blogger last year before I so rudely stop blogging with no explaination.
7. Never again ask a room full of men whether they think Madonna's adopted baby could kick Angelina's adopted babie's asses for what Angie said about the whole "Madonna steals african baby" debacle when they are "discussing" who's Team is going to win the superbowl.
8. The Bears are going to win.
9. It is OUR YEAR!
10. Never again post when Luke is reading over my shoulder and reminded of the *crickets* his wife created in his living room last Sunday.

It's a New Year for Rit. And I have missed you all terribly!

Give up? Yeah, so does Luke. I killed my car. It's a goner. So after the initial, "Shit, I only got to enjoy 5 car payment free months!" I realised that I get to get a new car. Yippee for me!

That is until our real estate agent to us that we need to wait until we purchase a house before we get financed for the big ole SUV my husband thinks we need for all the children that we don't yet have. Luke agreed that we should put the house buying above a pretty new car for me, since that is all that is standing between us and me getting knocked up. I tried really hard to convince him that an infant can totally live in our condo. Really, it could. Then he reminded me that we have already have a truck that collects dust in our driveway because Luke gets a company vehicle. Our agent looked at me and said "you guys have another vehicle and you want to buy a new one?" In my mind I get all whiny and stomp and yell "But I don't WANT to drive a truck!" In reality I am going all red neck woman on y'all. Being an adult sucks!

My stereo in my car stopped working last week, so I just drove around listening to my ipod. Fixed.

Then about 20 minutes into every drive since then the battery light would come on and go off, so I stopped looking at it. Fixed.

Today I am in the turning lane at a busy intersection during rush hour and my car shakes and dies and it won't turn back on, so I stare at my car in shock. Problem.

I turn on my hazards and hear all the honking, so I scream "Hey asshole! See the Hazards!" while motioning wildly. Panic.

I call Luke's cell phone and he does not answer, so I leave a message with words like die, stuck, intersection. Freaking out.

I call the house phone and his cell phone in rapid succession until I arouse him from his nap, so he yells "What do you want!". I scream "HELP ME!" and hang up. Over reaction.

The police come and then the tow truck, and I tell them how mean people honk alot and they just nod their heads. Crazy lady and her pissed off husband.

Get towed to the mechanic and he asks if anything happened prior to my car dying, so I told him nope. Honestly.

Unless of course the stereo dying and the battery light meant anything, so I tell him that. Luke is shamed.

So now I am driving my 17 year old brother's honda since he is grounded from it. The car was passed down from my 21 year old brother. It looks like someone ran around it beating it with a baseball bat and then opened the door up, dumped 10 ashtrays and year old gym socks in it. Of course it was so below empty I coasted into the gas station and had to get a car load of teenagers to help push it to the pump. I called my brother to thank him and to remind him that Luke and I have been commissioned to babysit him while my parents go to San Diego next week. Muy Ah Ah Ah. He said "Whatever. I'm not afraid of you!" I told him that I found his fake ID in the car. "Who's scared now biaotch!" We love babysitting him. The last time he and he friends came home drunk and we had my friend Mike tell him he was a cop. He searched their cars. They almost wet themselves, it was awesome. But anywho. Then I drove to my house praying that if I got pulled over and the police searched the car, that there was nothing in it that would put me away for awhile. Apparently, Luke believes I deserve all this. I mean really, do those lights mean anything anyway?