A varitable thrill a minute.

Last night I picked up Karen and her boyfriend and kids at the airport in her minivan, which is really kind of cool. First thing I did when I opened the garage was say hi to her dogs. When I got in the van and pulled out, I switched on the CD player. I have no fucking clue what Karen's been listening to, but it was all easy listening. WTF? However, CD number 4 was Garbage, which was a plus. When Karen and I were both single, we used to go on road trips a lot. Garbage, The Cranberries, Van Halen (much to Karen's chagrin) and LeAnne Rhimes were sung totally out of tune and very loudly by the both of us.

While I'm passing Factoria, Karen calls because they've already landed and I said "HEY, you have Garbage in your CD player!" and she had no clue what I was talking about.

I got to the airport and everyone piles into the van. Brandan, Karen's 15 year old son (whom I've known for all of the 15 years) said:

Brandan: Tanya! Guess what?

Me: What??! (thought he had gotten his tongue pierced because he's been begging me to take him)

Brandan: I got my nipple pierced!

Me: Ok. Ow. Let me see.

He lifts up his shirt.

Me: OK, OW. How in the hell did your mom let you do that and not get your tongue pierced??

Karen: He didn't tell me about it.

Me: Who did it?

Brandan: A girl at school, she has all the professional equipment.

Justin: Yeah, they did it in the bathroom. Real professional.

I have to say she did a good job.

We interrupt this regularly scheduled program to look up Thompson Contender info for dad.

Ok, I'm done. Did you know that an 18" custom barrel for the T/C Contender, brushed stainless, is around $235? I didn't either.

So today, I wish I had a smoke. Because this is just all driving me nuts.

I'm back now. My dad has left and I can bitch about the fact that my mom relies on me totally to help her with everything. And that's fine, she's in pain, it's just the way she bitches about what I'm doing that drives me up the fucking wall. I was tearing apart a roll and ate the middle out of it, which is what I do. She was totally freaked out by the whole incident. Ok, it's not something I do all the time. But I do it. Find something else to be freaked out about.

I just made a mess of strawberries and poured sugar all over them for strawberry shortcake. I get to make the potato thing next. I have no idea what that is, just that I have to make it. They're having dead pig for dinner tonight. Its dead pig self is sitting in the roaster sizzling away. When my mom cuts it, I'll make sound effects. "Ow ow ow ow!"

She thinks it's funny and spousal gets pretty pissed off at me. I did that at Thanksgiving and he really lit into me. I so enjoy being treated like a kid. Anyway, when I say things like "dead pig", I'm just doing it for the sake of doing it rather than because I'm vegetarian. I've always done that. Even as a kid, whatever dead animal carcass dad was cutting into, I made the sound effects. Sure, it's immature, but no one's ever accused me of being mature. I think it's highly overrated.

So what else. Dead pig's a cookin, strawberries done, mom's a snorin, dad's watchin the news, girlies are arguing. What could be better?

Boo and Auntie C and spousal are at our house right now. Spousal picked his sister up at the airport this morning and she'll be here a couple three days. WAHOO!

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