TOLERANCE

No, it wasn't a rough day.  Her hair looks like that 3 minutes after I brush it every day.

As a person who has been called "weird" and "crazy" her whole life, I've done my best to teach my kids a few things:

1. Different isn't a bad thing.  It's okay to be different.  In fact, in this house, it's highly encouraged.
2. Unique and creative are about as cool as you can get.
3. Who gives a turd what everyone else is doing?  If it was all that great, they wouldn't feel the need to recruit.
4. Other people being different is cool, too.  Be it that they look, dress, act, talk, learn, eat, pray, sing, whatever, in a way you don't do yourself, or in a way you don't know, doesn't make them any less "okay" or acceptable that you.
5. Most of the above has been taught in direct reference to the Princess' condition, which is an effort to teach someone with neurological issues.

"It hurts my feelings when you call her Autistic."--a grown member of my family.  IT'S NOT A FREAKIN NAME I'M CALLING HER TO BE MEAN, IT'S HER EFFIN DIAGNOSIS. . . AND IT'S OKAY.  The Princess is learning that Asperger's can actually be pretty cool.  It allows her to do things most kids can't. . .like her whole music savantism.  (That's not a word.  I don't care.)

So, when I was walking through the lobby at work and Tater pointed out her sister's name on the Character Kid wall, I got a bit stupid.

"Anistyn is always understanding of others' differences.  She also appreciates the uniqueness in all people."

Ohhhhh, I'm getting all choked up again.

Seriously, do you people understand just how friggin AMAZING this is?!

This is exactly how I want my children to be.


Excuse me.  I have to go freak out the Princess by attacking her with giant hugs.  And cookies.  Yeah, this def calls for cookies.

COP A FEEL, MY FRIEND

So I was 18 years old, sittin at my friend's house (let's call her Mara), drinkin and chillin and talkin about boobs. I remarked that mine were extremely swollen.  Mara looked at my chest and said, "Damn."  Then she poked my boob, repeated, "Damn," and full-on grabbed it.  Her eyes had never been so wide.  "Damn.  That joker's hard as a rock!"

About an hour later, after a field trip to Wally World to get piss sticks, we found out I was pregnant.

Fast forward 10 years.  I'm at work, concerned just a bit because my boobs are, again, swollen.  But it's different this time.  They're only swollen in certain parts, and they hurt like hell.  Another friend (let's call this one Monique), had had issues in the past with fibrocystic breast disease/condition.  I've talked with Monique about a number of personal, extremely private issues (pretty much everything from farts and poo to boners and the tricks we use to get out of sex) so I didn't feel at all weird with approaching her at the end of the day and asking, "Are we at the point in our friendship where I can ask you to feel my boob and tell me if it's like what you had?"

The look of disgust on her face told me that we are, indeed, not at that point.

Her assistant (who'd been nearby) reacted even more dramatically, screaming, "NO!" and leaving the room.

Okay, awkward.  I was at a loss for words.  I was expecting Monique to laugh and say something smartassed, as is our norm, but this. . . this threw me for a loop.  I was embarrassed and wondering what was so nasty about my body that they were both freakin out at the thought of touching it.

After that initial WTF, the both of them asked how my boobs felt and described what the condition was like for them.  So I guess we're still cool to talk about things, just not come into physical contact with one another, even if it's through 3 layers of clothing.  I even got my bearings back to tease, "Come on, you sure you don't want a little poke here?"

Okay, so am I just that damn weird that I thought nothing of this request?  Did I approach it from the wrong angle?  Did I simply ask the wrong person, or misjudge our relationship?  What's so horribly gross about feeling a part of a friend?  How's what I asked any different than "Dang, my neck's swollen--feel this shit?"

They're just boobs.  I doubt either of us would have enjoyed her poking my lumpy mammies.

And they are seriously lumpy.

Anyway. . . really, what's wrong with me?  Is there such a thing as being too open?  Was Mara just as odd as me that she thought nothing of it, either?  I haven't spoken to Mara in 9 years, but I suddenly have a new-found bondy-type feeling for her.

A few years ago, I was hanging out with a very old, very close guy friend, and the subject turned to moms and changes and stuff.  I lamented how I had never appreciated just how awesome my boobs had been before kids--I'd always bitched about them being so freakin big.  "Now," I bemoaned, "they're like holding up half-filled water balloons by the tied part."

Without hesitating, my friend grabbed one for a second, gave it a good shake, then laughed his ass off.  "Like a baseball in a tube sock."

Again, neither of us got anything from it, didn't think anything of it--had it been a spot on my arm it wouldn't have been any different.

Huh.  I don't speak to that friend any more either.  Maybe my boobs are emitting subtle GTFO signals that I'm unaware of?

Back to the matter at hand.  What's wrong with a little boobage between friends?  Or is it just odd that I found 2 friends who didn't give a shit?

Hawaiian Spinach Bread Bowl thingy recipe

This is more of the kind of thing that exits my kitchen when we ain't been to the grocery store.  It's super creamy, super yummy, and prolly some kind of nutritious, too.


1 King's Hawaiian round bread loaf
2 cans tuna
2 tbsp mayo
2 tbsp sandwich spread
1/2 can Lay's spinach dip
handful of fresh spinach leaves, spun through the food processor
2 tbsp finely-chopped celery

Hollow out the loaf of bread through the middle, leave an inch on all sides.  Cube the cut-out parts of bread.  Put the cubes and what's now a bowl on a cookie sheet and bake at 350 until lightly toasted.  I wasn't paying attention so I have no clue how long that took.

Mix up err-thing else.  Pour it into the baked bowl.  Boom.  Done.

Super Yum Fraptastic Crappucino Recipe

Enjoy this look at my new favorite sipper, courtesy of my
 "you're so wrong for that!" friend, Manda.
 BTW, she's awesome.

This stuff is grrrrrreat.

Start off with 2 cups brewed iced-coffee (go on and make a full pot, you'll be drinking all of it over the course of the day anyway) at triple strength.

hello, friend

Let it cool a bit, then put in a blender and add 1 cup milk.  I used almond milk and YUM.

Then throw in 2-3 scoops vanilla ice cream, a splash of vanilla creamer (if you use real milk, just throw in a capful of vanilla extract) and cover with chocolate syrup.  Blend that shit and voila!  You have some excellent  Starbucks-wannabe slurpsalistic coffee.