I've lived in Arkansas for what? Almost five years now?

Five long years.

One would assume that five years of being a transplant hillbilly would be a sufficient amount of time to… Adjust. However, five long years of hillbilly doesn't quite overshadow or replace twenty-three years of coonass.

No matter how hard I try.

"Honey, is it still strange to you not to smell beer at a fair like this? Or are you fully converted at this point?"

He laughs, "It's a church fair, Judith."

"Your point?"

"It's also a dry county, Judith."

"Have I mentioned yet today that Arkansas sucks sweaty monkey balls and that I hate you for moving me here?"

"Twice."

"Good. Because it does, and I do. And I want a beer, demmit."

For the record, when we first moved here, the concept of "counties" as opposed to "parishes" threw me for a bit of a loop.

But the concept of a "dry" county as opposed to a "wet" county still blows my mind.

I mean… I don't get it.

At all.

And I'm a pretty smart gal.

Most of the time.

Yet no one has managed to properly explain to me the benefits of living in a place that neither sells nor serves alcohol in terms that make any sense.

I just don't get it.

"It's a great place to raise children, " they say…

And they may be right.

But I still firmly believe that my children would be much happier if
I were holding one of those giant Styrofoam cups filled with strawberry
margarita while standing in line in the hundred degree weather waiting for them to ride the damn
bumper cars for the fiftieth time.

Don't you?

As the title suggests, I'm finally back.

No, not like "sexy" back.

More like "frumpy" back.

…especially "frumpy" considering that I'm sitting here at my desk all dolled-up in an old-lady nightgown with my hair poking about my head like a porcupine on crack. (Really, I'd put some clothes on if I had any… My mother is a smoker, and while she can be convinced to satiate her little nasty habit out on the patio while we're visiting, all of our luggage smells like a biker bar. All of our luggage- that includes my jeans. Because I only have two pair that I actually enjoy wearing. Why do I only like wearing two pair of jeans, you ask? Hell, I don't know. But I do, dammit, and they both smell like a biker bar and are in the wash along with three other bags full… Which is why I'm sitting here in an old-lady nightgown. Keep up, would 'ya? Sheesh.)

We actually considered staying out the rest of the week… Somehow we all managed to pick up some nasty head colds. I was feeling like shite warmed over the easy-bake oven way, and I'm pretty sure that the babes were too.

But the thought of my own bed and a husband that would rub the two-week long crinks out of my back (my mother's guestbed is the stuff of dungeons, let me tell you), had me sudafed-ing the hell up (like "man"-ing up, with less sweating) and hitting the road.

Peter insists that GPS Betty took me the long way home…

I insist that an "all interstate" trip beats getting lost in places like Earle, Arkansas any day.

Plus, GPS Betty is hawt.

So, we're finally home.

And so are the nasty colds.

OH! And a new gigantic plasma television.

Because my husband wanted to "surprise" me. Something about bigger always being better…

I'll never understand why that man doesn't understand that if it's too damn big to fit [in the entertainment center], then it's no damn good [for my decor].

I am not happy.

OH! And he lost my dog.

HE LOST MY DOG.

Thank God I didn't leave him with one of the kids, eh?

So today's agenda is quite hectic:

• Plow through two weeks' worth of email.
• Print up notices about missing dog.
• Call the newspaper to run ad about missing dog.
• Wash five suitcases full of clothes.
• Dust (why does he not consider dusting part of cleaning?)
• Clean out the fridge (because he obviously doesn't consider that part of cleaning either… And the oranges that I bought a couple of weeks ago have begun discussing the implications of Revelations.)
• Work on three-months of designs. Ugh.
• Say good-bye to my beloved Crackberry and hello to my new Palm Centro. (Not sure how that's gonna play out…But it's got a stylus, and I love me some stylus. Makes me feel all professional and shit.)
• Enjoy my last day of non-dieting. (Frozen pizza and chocolate ice cream, here I come.)

Man, I need a vacation.

A real one this time.

WEEK FIVE

Yes, it's Saturday again.

Bad, bad Judith.

But in my defense, I haven't blogged all week due to just all around suck-iness… And we couldn't have the other weekdays feeling the favoritism, now could we? (Yes, I know I blogged Monday, but I'd already typed out that sentence before I remembered that little fact, and the backspace button is so beyond me at this moment. Much like Beckham's ass. Sigh.)

Of course not.

On the ass shrinkage front, I'm down another three pounds this week which puts me at a grand total of 19… And I'm feeling rather happy about all that considering that I ate a couple of hot dogs and pizza last weekend.

(The thought of adding "Caramel-Mocha Java Chiller" to that sentence kind of makes me seem like a big ol' cheating pig. So I'm not gonna. But I sooooooo did. Oh yes, I did.)

For those of you who do not know, I am doing a combination of Nutrisystem and counting calories.

Yeah, I know that the commercials say that there's no counting calories with the program…

What can I say?

They're FULL OF SHIT.

They give you a list of vegetables that you can eat next to some bold-faced type that says"unlimited amounts"…

And by "in unlimited amounts", they actually mean "1/2 cup". And while I'm sure that 1/2 cup of lettuce seems like all that is the epitome of unlimited to say… Anorexic Fucking Barbie; us real-folk are HU-UN-GRY.

And half a fucking cup of lettuce is but the first bite towards "unlimited" if  you know what I mean.

So I've been sticking to under 1200 calories a day.

Except when I'm eating hot dogs and pizza, of course.

I'm sure that I could do the same without forking over the dough (hmmmmm, dough) each month for  the astronaut fare, but the fact that I'm actually forking over that much dough (hmmmmm, dough) each month actually keeps me on track.

Except when I'm eating hot dogs and pizza, of course. :)

Now on to other things…

I'm leaving this morning to visit my mother.

It's a seven hour drive.

I'm taking the children.

By. Myself.

Oh God.

I'm taking the children.

BY.MYSELF.

And I can't find that happy little band of Valium Fairies anywhere.

But Typepad put out a great little app for my Blackberry, so I'll keep you all updated on my decline into insanity.

I'm sure there will be cursing…

And lots of typos.

This kind of panicked deer in the headlights, make no sudden movements, look?

We call that the "Oh my Goober, my mom has been stuck in this house for two solid weeks with us with no relief and has started wearing panties on her head and holding conversations with her coffee pot again" look around these here parts.

And it's a look that we've been seeing a lot recently.

Probably because I'm getting the the point of being insane enough to start wearing panties on my head and holding conversations with my coffee pot… again.

Peter has been working late what seems like every night.
The Cynical Sister done lost her marbles and moved to Alabama.
The air conditioner in my car isn't working because it's 90 degrees outside- and that's my luck.
I have friends all over the world- just none here in Hillbilly Hell.
And for some odd reason, I can't seem to find 'Double Bloody Mary' anywhere on my list of low-calorie drinks.

Sigh.

So it's been two days since I've cleaned up a pile of puke… Two whole days! I'm actually rather excited about that, kind of feels like Christmas in an odd sort of disgusting way. Of course, as my luck would have it, I've probably totally just jinxed myself in a major way- much like that time that I laughed at that friend for getting knocked-up so quickly after having her last baby… Only to find myself pissing on plastic stick myself a week later.

And yes, I know the meaning of the word 'karma'. Just as I know the meaning of the word 'bitch'. I also can write-up an extensive list of applications for both.

Anyhow, instead of regaling you all with a vomit-fueled post detailing all of the most memorable moments of the past couple of weeks spent waist-deep in the trenches of HELL; I'd thought I'd simply share with you a few of the impressively random odd thoughts that have flitted through my mind.

We'll call it the "Butterflies on Crack" list… Because I'm pretty sure that they flit as well.

Always keep foods that tastes equally good coming up as well as going down in stock. If one must vomit, one should always vomit chocolate ice cream. Orange sherbet isn't so bad either (although it does burn the nose a bit).

When I finally have enough and run over my husband with my car, I'm pleading insanity due to the unavoidable stress brought on by his never-ending insistence on buying grape juice for toddlers. GRAPE JUICE FOR TODDLERS. What parent in their right mind buys GRAPE JUICE FOR TODDLERS?

Starbucks is trying to kill me. And I'm okay with that.

Starbucks is trying to kill me. Yes, I just said that… but I thought it several times during the week. Matter of fact, I'm thinking it right now as I type with one hand and pop a chocolate espresso truffle in my mouth.

One day I shall write a novel about a forgotten load of laundry in the washer that suddenly comes to life to walk the Earth in search of sacrificial children. It will be auto-biographical.

One day I follow-up the above novel with a story about how,a couple of years ago, pouring half a bottle of detergent into the washer would have been enough to vanquish the beast ; but now, thanks to the nifty "fifty times more concentrated" theme flowing through the household cleaning industry, it only serves to make for a very messy floor… and soapy children.

I just used both 'nify' and 'fifty' in that last sentence. And that makes me happy.

Okay… which one of you sadists painted the bulls-eye on my chest? Because I'm seriously tired of little people yakking down my shirt.

Bribery = Happy Mom. I'll give you $100 to puke on your dad this time. Okay, fine, I'll give you $10 and a new Power Ranger. Here, have some spaghetti.

Dust will not kill you. But it'll drive you INSANE.

No, I do not want to have sex. Although I can see how that green tinge about my face is appealing…

"I'd rather be shopping." is officially the understatement of the year.

Rapacious is a great word, I'll give you that. But I really think that using it five times per page is a bit excessive even in a romance novel, don't you?

Watching Super Nanny makes me appreciate my children more. Watching Wife Swap makes them appreciate me more. Watching Extreme Makeover: The Home Edition makes me want to cut off Peter's leg then make him cry for the camera.

It's definitely possible to sleep with five people in a full-sized bed. Although I wouldn't recommend it.

It's definitely possible to walk around with three children and a husband all up your ass. Although I wouldn't recommend that either.

Oh! And Starbucks is trying to kill me. And, yep, I'm still okay with that.

***Now… if the above list wasn't quite "enlightening" enough for you, feel free to ask me a question- ANY QUESTION- in the little "Ask Judith" box in my FAQ section. You just may learn things about me that you could have gone your whole life without. I'm too broke to blackmail, but it may be interesting nonetheless.