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!