Fuck.

Fuck? Fuck.

1. My voice has been misplaced and throughout this past week, I've sounded like a 13-year-old boy in the pits of puberty, Barry White, and now, today, a pack-a-day-menthol smoker.

2. My basement is flooded with sewer. That's right. Hella duke, toilet water, and mushy paper. Not sure who's ass is being represented on the cement downstairs, mine or the neighbors, but it ain't pretty. I alerted the landlord, so I assume he's got some work ahead of him.

3. I've had a black eye for one week straight, due to a cyst removal. I'm so sick of hiding behind a pile of cover up, I could vomit. But, then I'd have broken blood vessels around my eyes and even MORE reason to apply the tinted face shit.

4. I'm on call for my job and can't leave the area, in the event of emergency. Know what that means? No Halloween party for me in the town where my relatives and the soldier are congregating this weekend. Nope. None of that. Just my ass, a couch, and some cable. Shoot me. I couldn't be more bitter. Trust me.

Holy shit, I'm boring.

Hi, uh, reader.

I'm still alive. Still mouthy. Still watching a ton of cable. Actually, I've become a text messaging sports correspondent for one special someone during his times of need when he's not in front of a television to catch the World Series hoopla. I've never watched more baseball in my life, but interestingly, I'm starting to like it. I understand it, I've got the rules down, that's not a challenge, but I've never really had the attention span to sit through an entire game. I'm thinking that I might actually have a desire to attend a game in '07 for something MORE than the hotdogs and nachos.

My manfriend and his dog stayed here at my methplex last night, and as a result, my pup was locked out of my room because she would have been lunch meat if her and the other pooch were to have made contact. To show her appreciation for eight hours of neglect, she spread the contents of my VERY LARGE purse around my entire house. She ate enough chapstick and gum to keep the mouths of an entire chain gang moisturized and freshly scented. As a result, her soft serve turds have been attractively decorated with silver foil all evening long. I want her dead. Okay, just kidding, but I think I might shake her for a few days. I mean minutes.

My work gig remains entertaining and well, entertaining. I've got a new co-worker who is roughly the same age as me, DEFINITELY the same gender as me, and thankfully, foul mouthed like me. I'm totally digging being Cagney while she's Lacy. Within the first week of being co-workers, we were already comparing notes on our trips to the shitter, so well, duh, she's my kind of girl.

In other news, there is no news, and well, no news is good news. So, there's your news.

Tunage

Do you ever avoid music because you know it'll result in an emotional response?

Let's discuss.

One recent example in MY world is a song by Michael Buble, of all people. Boob Lay has a song called "Home" that I can still barely listen to, but for the past few weeks, as the soldier was getting closer, I couldn't listen to it at all, not even on that fucking Martha Stewart commercial. I knew I'd cry. And, well, that's just not how I roll. But, the words, the music, all of it, it didn't just tug at my heartstrings, it nearly ripped those fuckers out ONE.BY.ONE.

Another song that just about wells my dry eyes up is "Blower's Daughter" by Damien Rice. It transports me back to the exact moment when the movie "Closer" came out, and that song was the one played in the trailer. That time in my life was not a good one, and I associate that movie AND that song with extreme unhappiness and misery. But, naturally, there are times when I sorta kinda wanna feel sorry for myself, just for a little spice in my life, so I listen to that song and tune into a few minutes of the flick when I happen upon it on HBO.

Currently, I can't bring myself to listen to a variety of sappy love songs, because nostalgia will take over and I'll be a real, well, uh, hmm, how do I say this....A REAL GIRL. So, I've been spending my free time listening to a lot of stupid, senseless music that reminds me of dry humping my girlfriends on the dance floor, or American Idol, or elementary school.

I guess I can't imagine people not being able to relate to this sort of thing, but maybe they're out there.

In closing, Jerry Springer should have been voted off of "Dancing With The Stars" six fucking weeks ago. Before the shit even started. That crusty fuck belongs at a polka party. 'Nuff said.

Best night of the year. So far.

Yesterday I talked to the soldier and found out his plans for the weekend had changed, and that he'd be traveling to and spending the night in his hometown, where all of my relatives live, and where he grew up. Now that I've moved, I'm only 2.5 hours from that town, as opposed to 6, when I lived in the city.

I decided that there was no way I couldn't be part of his first night back in his hometown, back in the local bar where I manage to get stinking drunk most of the times that I'm within it's walls, so I popped my ass in my car yesterday afternoon and zipped south. He had no idea I was coming, so for the 2.5 hours there, I plotted ways to surprise him with my arrival.

Once I got where I was going, I headed to a cousin's house, and she shoved me in the back of her tinted window Mom Van, and we tore through town in an effort to locate him. After covering the entire town in less than two minutes, my cousin and I spotted the soldier's mom, and we tailed her back to her home, with hopes of finding out where her eldest was at. As we chatted with her, we discovered that the soldier was right behind her, in the house, barely back from an afternoon of hunting. As his mamasita and I discussed different ways of surprising him, the soldier popped his head out of the house and came walking towards the Mom Van, and I promptly ducked and covered. I waited for him to get closer, and when he was finally looking in the passenger side window to talk to my cousin, I popped my head out and surprised the hell out of him.

He had to look at me four times to make sure it was really me. He looked, he looked again, he looked CLOSER, and then he looked AGAIN, before he realized it was truly me. He gave me the longest and warmest hug that I've probably ever had, and in that moment, I knew he was finally home.

We spent the rest of the night just as we've spent so many over the years - laughing, singing, giggling, smiling, celebrating, and just LIVING. On one hand, it felt like he'd never been gone, like we'd just picked up where we'd left off; yet on the other, I had to keep reminding myself that I was finally living out a moment that I'd been dreaming of for months - I was finally IN that dream, and it was real. Today, 24 hours later, I'm thankful for using my camera last night, because I have photographic evidence that those new memories aren't just a figment of my imagination.

Today, as I left to come back home, I got yet another long, warm hug, and the words, "I'll see you soon" were spoken. After sixteen years, today was the first time we've ever been able to make those words come true, and wow, that feels pretty damn good.

Whew!

The soldier is officially home, and within days, the two of us will breathe the same air. FINALLY! The last few days have been pretty exciting, with him getting closer and closer to home. I've been so excited for HIS excitement, it's been nothing short of awesome, and HOLY SHIT, I haven't even seen him yet!

Over the past sixteen years, I'm sure I've seen him hundreds of times, but this time, the one coming up real quickly, it feels like it's the FIRST time. I suppose that's because it will be the most special so far. The nerves and excitement and butterflies that I've been feeling bring back a lot of memories of him, and this week I've felt like a kid, and a teenager, and a young woman all over again - experiences with him carry through all of those phases of my life. Those memories have become very precious over the past few months, and it's been crazy to vividly recall so many of them.

I can't wait to see him, and touch him, and make sure he's real. I'm a toughie, but I can't predict how I'll react when that moment finally arrives. I think I might crack a little! And, well, that just might do me some good. It's been a long time coming.

Return of the Mack

You know you've reached your full sex appeal potential when you almost eject your tampon out of your bear cave while lifting legs at the gym.

I'm not saying it's ever happened to me, I'm just saying that's how you know you've reached your full sex appeal potential. Maybe some of you didn't know WHEN you've reached it, and well, now you know.

Having hot breath that smells almost as bad as your armpits as you're leaving the gym is a pretty quick way to get a dick hard, too. I mean, that's what I've been hearing anyway.

I'm Peaches. He's Herb.

The soldier is officially in the States. I got a call from NY today, from HIS OWN PERSONAL CELL PHONE instead of a fucking can and a string, Iraqi style. He's currently getting closer and closer to his home state, and HOLY SHIT, I'm pumped!!! It's real now, ya know? No more day dreaming and just talking about him being home...it's happening. My anus is working overtime. I can thank my nervous stomach for that. Butterflies are great for weight loss.

Livin' in the Cit-ay

I'm currently in my former city, wrapping up a weekend of photography. On Friday I did ten minutes worth of engagement shots for a couple who probably SHOULDN'T make it to the alter. Within the first sixty seconds, the future groom had spouted off more four letter words than even I manage to spit. He didn't wanna (get your Chris Farley Motivational Speaker on here...) "SIT IN FUCKING GOOSE SHIT". He didn't wanna "TAKE ANY MORE GOD DAMN PICTURES". He didn't want to "TOUCH HIS FIANCE". It was great stuff. My mom stayed at least twelve feet away from our insanity triangle, because she, the woman who wishes I get raped in my ass, was uncomfortable. Supposedly they're getting married in April. Right. We'll see.

I took more wedding shots yesterday, over 800 actually, and will be editing those fuckers for the next week or more. As the bride was about to walk down the aisle, she had to kick out a homeless looking hooker named Desiree who decided to wander into the church and see if her boyfriend was there. I'm talkin, music was already PLAYING, and the bride's mother was walking down the aisle, and Desireenayshay didn't understand that she didn't fucking BELONG THERE. Finally, after that fuck slut left, the bride realized she didn't have her veil on yet. She audibly gasped, "I DON'T HAVE MY FUCKING VEIL ON", and it's amazing to me that the 100+ guests didn't hear her. I'm pretty sure even Desiree heard her on the outside of the church she had no biznass being in.

Last night, after all of the photo excitment was over, I returned to the apartment where I'm staying and drove my friend downtown so that she could tear it up, and avoid parking and driving at the end of the night. I strutted out of the house in hot pink sweat pants, a purple T that screamed "B IS FOR BLING" and animal print ballet flats with a bow on 'em. I fit right in. After I dumped my friend off, I tooled through downtown a bit, taking in all of the sights and sounds that I used to live and die for. In those moments, I realized that I'm an HGTV watchin', perm havin', camel toe in the making. I longed for my couch and the safety of an animal spoon like Desiree longs for dick. My life as a fly girl has officially ended. Sonofabitch. B is now for Bingo.

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Cigarettes

So, I did a good thing yesterday, and it came full circle today.

Over the past few weeks, I've had this nagging THING going on, where I've been motivated to email my old roommate, who was my best friend for years. We've been to hell and back together, each being the support system for the other, and then at times, mutually despising one another. Needless to say, there's been some turbulance between the two of us head strong bitches.

About a year ago, we moved out of our gorgeous house in the hood, and haven't spoken since. Halloween will be one year exactly. It was one of those things where everything we did got on each other's nerves. I was an asshole, she was an asshole, and we ended up pretty much avoiding each other for the last few weeks of the roof sharing. Once we were officially doing our own things, neither of us contacted the other from there on out.

Until yesterday.

Like I said, after a few weeks of this nagging feeling of thinking I should get ahold of her, I finally did it. I considered continuing my bitch streak and upholding my reputation as THE BITCHIEST BITCH OF THE TWO BITCHES, but then I started thinking. I started to consider that karma does catch up with us. I firmly believe that we get what we give. So, instead of maintaining tension and attitude, I decided I'd go soft. Life has been treating me pretty well lately, and with the impending arrival of the soldier (NEXT FUCKING WEEKEND), I don't want to have any surprises jump out of the wood work in the shape of a big fat FUCK YOU from the universe. Ya dig?

I emailed her an update of what I'd been doing for the past year, and simply said that if she wanted to get in touch with me, that I'm now at a point where the past is in the past. Before the day was over, I'd heard back from her, and it was clear that she, too, had come a long way in the last twelve months.

Tonight we talked on the phone, and from the time the call started until 41 minutes later when it ended, we didn't miss a beat. We both said fuck a lot, we talked about our jobs, asked about mutual friends, and got all mushy wushy about the fellas in our lives. Twelve months of no communication felt more like twelve minutes worth. And, for that, I am relieved.

I'm heading to the city where she lives this weekend, because I've got some photography to do, and we've agreed that we'll get together and catch up in person. I think hours will disappear without us realizing it, and that, folks, is going to be a great thing.

Welcome, Muh Fuckas

I couldn't fucking take it. I thought I was going to live blogless, but my life was too empty, much like my underwear for the past several months, and I couldn't take it anymore. I'm back, bitches.

To quickly update, the soldier will be back in less than two weeks. You know what that means. Bow.Wow.Wow.

I'll get after this new site when I have more time, but rest easy. My foul mouth is back on the 'net, baby.