It's raining.

It's hot.

It's hot and raining.

This morning, I made a pot of coffee… except I somehow left out the pot.

Looking in dismay at the puddle forming across my counter and in disgust at the pot sitting in the middle of said puddle, I wasn't really bothered…

Until I realized that that was the last of the coffee.

In the whole house.

This is not going to be a good day.

---

If you happen to be one of the fifteen hundred people that emailed me over the weekend when I was obviously not checking email, I'll get back to you soon.

As soon as I get coffee.

Lots of it.

 

Week Four

So it's actually Saturday and not Friday… But I don't call myself a slacker for the hell of it, you know. It's a title hard-won, I assure you.

And now for your weekly *ahem* scheduled update on the ass shrinkage:

As of yesterday, I am officially down 16.5 pounds.

If I keep this up, I could be Nicole Ritchie before the year is out…

Not that I'd want to be though.

Can we talk television for a moment?

No, not American Idol or Dancing with the Has Beens television…

As in The Tudors television.

As in "Bitch, I Will CUT You" television.

Because I'm kind of upset…

They're going to kill Anne, you know. They're going to lop of her head so that he can marry that silly little blond chit that I've already taken a complete dislike to… (I think it's the whole "blond" thing. Like a re-worked and not so brilliant and all too superficial version of that Ms. Clairol story by that author whose name escapes me at the moment.)

And demmit, I don't want them to do it.

Dear Showtime,

Please don't kill Anne Boleyn. It's just not right.

Thank You,

Judith

Yes, yes, I know that the 'ho has got to go… I know it's all part of the grand scheme of things, yada, yada, yada, blah, blah, blah. And quite honestly, I was rather looking forward to the whole "off with her head" bit last season-

Regardless of the fact that the beautifully brilliant writers did such a fabulous job of divvying up all that delicious hubris amongst our characters.

Regardless of the fact that they didn't heap all of the blame upon her shoulders like others.

I still wanted her dead.

Why, you ask?

Because she's freakin' Anne Boleyn.

Duh.

But then those aforementioned beautifully brilliant writers went and got even more brilliant (they must sell that shit in the lobby vending machines over there) and made her real. All of her action and reactions, motives and fears, scheming and coveting… They make sense. In a real way (not a I drove eight hours in the freezing snow for this?!?!?!? kinda way).

So real, in fact, that this portrayal of Anne Boleyn is now officially my favorite portrayal yet.

That goes for literature/popular fiction/whatthehelleverelse as well.

And they're going to cut off her head.

What a bloody waste.

And I mean that quite literally.

---

History is a pack of lies about events that never happened, told by people who weren't there.

Hi! My name is Judith, and I am a book whore.

(Hmmmm… I really wanted to hyphenate that for some reason. Perhaps I'm a book-whore instead. Or maybe a bookwhore? Dude, it's far too complicated to call oneself disparaging names in type. Makes a girl wanna opt for the golden standard of Goddess instead.)

Hi! My name is Judith, and I am a Goddess.

And now that we've got the introductions out of the way, I thought we'd move on to our regularly scheduled posting- which isn't so regularly scheduled at all. (Did you know that I have an entire category called Excuses,Excuses solely for  posts where I blog about not blogging.  I'm afraid my hypocrisy irony knows no bounds.) Due to a little bit of this and a little bit of that, the design site is terribly behind; and I've been been playing non-stop catch-up… and getting no where.

Hi! My name is Judith, and I am frustrated beyond measure.

So what's a frustrated, book-whorish Goddess such as myself to do? She gives it to you fast and hard, baby, and then promises to come back once you're  able and give it to you long and soft hard… Just like you like it.

And without further adieu, I give you this week's…

Fabulous Judith's Fabulously Short List of Fabulously Short Posts that Never Were (or FJFSLFSPNW for short)

The Women's Studies section of the local bookstore is a sad, sad, little three-inch section that consists of one used copy of The Feminine Mystique and two shiny new copies of The Politically Incorrect Guide to Women, Sex, and Feminism (which I keep moving to the humor section, of course). Yet I return week after week on the off-chance that someone in their little hierarchy may have finally grown a uterus or a pair of decent balls (and to move the guidebook back to humor lest someone actually take it seriously).

As sad as the above section is, it just so happens to be right next to the reference section where. last week,  I just so happened to come across Classic Clues for Real Life: The Classic Wit & Wisdom of Nancy Drew- which more than made up for its $17 price tag with gems like these:

• • "Red lipstick makes a great window SOS when you've been kidnapped and stolen away on a plane." The Mystery of the Fire Dragon
  • "Keeping an emergency five dollars in your purse is a great idea- until your purse is stolen." The Mystery at the Ski Jump
  • "Be careful around your klutzy friends, you might get dragged over a cliff." The Secret of the Golden Pavilion
  • "You know he's the right guy for you when he can dismantle a mad scientist's powerful transmitter and save the world!" Mystery of the Moss-Covered Mountain

Last Saturday, some dipshit and a half came into the backyard and stole Peter's four-wheeler (I've mentioned that we're hicks, right?). When telling the Middle One about the theft, he says with all seriousness, "I'll need a Spiderman mask and some web."

My ass is seriously out of control (Perhaps because I sit in front of a computer screen all day?). So, I started Nutri-System on Wednesday. I'm down three pounds in two days… The food isn't to die for; but with nifty little packets of powder that magically turn into chocolate cakes and chicken enchiladas, I get to pretend to be an astronaut.  (Which isn't at all as fun as I thought it would be.)

I've suddenly starting receiving CosmoGirl, Latina Magazine, Seventeen, and TeenVogue out of the blue… I have an odd feeling that someone is trying to tell me something, although I have no idea what. But according to the "Find Your Perfect Prom Date" quiz that I filled out, I've been dating the wrong kind of men for years.

It is my firm belief that every woman should know her  correct bra-size. If you don't, I pity you. (Email me and I'll tell you how to fit yourself.)

Finally had the "laminated list" conversation with the husband… Took him four hours to settle on Jessica Biel for all of his five spots. Took me four hours to narrow it down to five (who, unsurprisingly, all have delectable accents). Took us four seconds to narrow it down to who was the more wanton.

Now wasn't that a good idea? :)

P.S. Do I have your address?  I'm also a stationary/notecard whore, ummmmm, stationary/notecard-whore and actually still practice the art of the written word (Oh the horror!). I already send random notes to Qweenie over at Qweenie's Court and Rachel of Monkeys & Princesses. If you'd like a little Shakespearean love of your own, visit my Ask Judith section and leave me your info.

My sister is back in town.

[Insert the Hallelujah-singing choir here.]

You see, she spent the last two weeks visiting our mother… Which means that we've spent the last two-weeks without a babysitter. Two whole weeks of uninterrupted family time is, of course, time to be treasured above all else. Time to appreciate one's fortune. Time to bond. Time to laugh. Time to create memories that will last a lifetime…

It's also time to go completely and utterly insane.

Yes, yes, I know that you "good parents" out there are thinking, WHAT?!?!?!? What kind of mother would go insane from spending a mere two weeks with her children? Our kids are in their late-twenties/early-forties and we've never spent more than one night away from them and that was only because of that nuclear explosion in the neighbor's basement…

Well guess what, my sad little friend, TWO WEEKS OF UNINTERRUPTED TODDLER TIME DRIVES ME INSANE.

We're talking lock me up in a padded-room, weeping into my Cheerios, coo coo for coca puffs Ca-Razy.

But that's all over now.

Because my sister is back in town.

Thank God.

And to take advantage of those I missed your kids so much while I was away… feelings that she could no longer deny, Peter and I ran away last night. Far, far, away. No, not really, we just drove into the city for a nice dinner (extra Chianti, hold the booster seat), some serious shopping (just wait till you see my new shoes), and a little visit to your friendly neighborhood  adult novelty store.

What can I say?

Time away from the kids tends to make us forget what got us into this mess to begin with.

After a lengthy perusal and an inappropriate giggle or two, we settled on a new-fangled type of toy and began our trip back home looking forward to arriving long after the kids had gone to bed. After all, grown-up time is so much more fun when spent with grown-ups, right? And we were very excited for grown-up time.

Now, all of this sounds fine and dandy, doesn't it? Family, craziness, wine, food, shopping, and tiny little allusion to sex. We've just covered everything; a seemingly perfect little blog entry that gives you the highlights of my evening away…

I think that we can all agree, however, that perfection is terribly overrated.

So where did the perfection go wrong, you ask?

Well… if I had to pinpoint it down to one thing, I'd say it started to go south (no pun intended) with the word new-fangled.

Because a two-hour drive home with a new-fangled toy and a box full of batteries is a situation just  begging for trouble…..

 

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