I have a bone to pick.

With the Christmas Day Bomb Fail Dude.

Did you really just bring us back to the days of the homeland security advisory system at the airport? Really? The color coded thingamajig that means absolutely nothing to anyone driving passed it at the airport. “Oh, shit, its at RED today. I better really not leave my bags unattended.” Now I have to be there 2 hours before I wanna fly domestic and I have to get my crotch patted down and felt up by a 300 pound hairy woman with gloves on? That is sooooo college.

Did you really just set the Muslim world that far back again? You just royally fucked all peace-loving (99.9 %) Muslims. Now, all the Ted Nugents of the world are going to start spewing their anti-anything-not-american ignorance all over the place again. Thanks a lot asshole!

I mean, I know we have to be safe and shit. I know we need to be proactive. So, I suppose, if keeping America safe from harm means standing in longer lines at the airport, not being able to watch in-flight movies and/or getting my rocks off courtesy of airport security, then so be it. I guess I can suck it up.

Its just that, I really think we are looking in the wrong place for terrorists. We are all up in the Middle East’s shit. Looking in caves and mountains. Killing innocent people. Meanwhile, the answer is staring us right in our face. I think it’s this dude that is trying to take over America.

Yes, thats right. Buc-ee. He is everywhere I fucking look these days.

You can thank me later Department of Homeland Security. Just go out and stop this beaver before its too late. Trust me on this.

I have a child. I have a dirty car.

Cheerios everywhere – CHECK!
Goldfish with their heads bitten off – CHECK!
Books everywhere – CHECK!
The Spanx that I took off en route to dinner a few weeks ago – CHECK!
My husbands golf clubs, which he will not remove and its driving me CA-RAZY – CHECK!
Some sort of drinking and/or snack contraption and/or 9 – CHECK!
Half empty, Diet Coke mini-cans in 5 out of 6 cup holders (Yes, in the back seat, too.) – CHECK!
3 and a half hoodies – CHECK!
A jean jacket – CHECK!
4,004 CD’s – CHECK! CHECK! CHECK!
Gloss or chapstick that has been melted, frozen and brought back to normal 600 times – CHECK!
Various other items I may or may not feel comfortable talking about with you – CHECK!

So, the other day, after pulling through the drive-thru at Starbucks for a coffee, I realize HOW messy my car is. I had zero free cup holders. Then, I pull up a couple of feet and remember they have this:

Effin brilliant. Not only can I free up some cup holders, but I can totally clean out all the other shit from my car. You have to be fast though. Especially at places like Chick-Fil-A where the service is fast. You never want to be stuck in mid-reach for a wadded up ball of straw wrappers, because the bitch in the car behind you only ordered a Diet Coke. Total blue balls.

Not so long after, I was driving by this Taco Cabana and saw this:

I was all “Hells yeah Luuuca!”, because my car was dirty of course. NOT AT ALL b/c I wanted liquid cheese on the side of anything like chips or whatever.

So, if you see someone in the next few days with a huge belly, a beard and a deep laugh, don’t be fooled into thinking its Santa Claus. It’s just me all roided out and eating too much fast food. All in an effort to keep my car clean, of course.

I have been battling chronic sinusitis for a couple of years now. Blah. Without going into too much detail, my head has been filled with mucus for FOREVER. You should hear some of the sounds I make to try and get it out. Yikes. This is always followed by me quickly telling my husband, “Sorry, sorry, sorry. I can’t help it.” I’m pretty sure I have even done a few herkies on those rare occasions when something actually does come out. It’s bliss.

After many rounds of antibiotics, I was finally referred to an ENT. He put me on 2 weeks of prednisone and 3 weeks of Biaxin, which, if you haven’t been prescribed, makes you wake up in the morning feeling like a monkey shit quarters in your mouth.

The steroids, on the other hand, make me wake up in the morning feeling like fucking superwoman.

It wasn’t love at first fix, however.

I was hesitant when my doc put me on them. I have seen many people struggle with bad side effects while taking them and, lord knows, I am not dealing with an emotional full deck as it is. The thought of being all roided out freaked me the fuck out. The ENT asked me how I felt about it and I told him, “As long as they don’t make me a raging, pimply bitch, I am pretty much game for anything.”

(I even asked him if there was some sort of vacuum they could attach to my nose. Negative on the nose-vac.)

A couple of hours after I took my first dose (4 pills), I began sweating like a Cub Scout at Neverland. It was intense.

The second day I was on them I begin having aches in my legs and lower back. I immediately rubbed Ben-Gay all over myself and curled up in my bed. My dogs would not get anywhere near me. When my husband got home, he could smell the Ben-Gay from the back door. He winced when he saw/smelled me and, really, who could blame him? Even Tiger Woods wouldn’t have hit that shit.

This brings me to day three. The day I saw the light. The day I became “That Mom”. You know? The one that showers, gets dressed, feeds my kid…and all that shit. The day I stopped judging A-Rod. The day a voice came down from the heavens and…. Well, you get the picture. I even started feeling hotter. This part is possibly tied to the fact that I started to shower daily but, whatevs, I still felt hawt.

This is not to say that I am not feel slightly more emotional. And if you know me, you know that I have no room for slight.

I have had a couple of weird episodes.

I think at one point I may have put the moves on my husband and, when he tried to reciprocate, yelled RAPE, picked him up and threw him across the room. He’s fine. This is about me. Focus.

I bawled like a baby during the season finale of Dexter.

I cried at Walgreen’s. In my defense though, its TOTALLY the music in there. It always chokes me up. Its hard to get out of there without wanting to cut myself most times. I caught myself wandering the aisles, singing along:

Look at these eyes
They never seen what mattered
Look at these dreams
So beaten and so battered, hoo… ooh…

I don’t know much
But I know I love you
And that may be
All I need to know

Fucking Aaron Neville. EVERY GOD DAMN TIME with this guy and his voice.

I have one more week of the mommy crack to go. This lands me detoxing off them right around Christmas in Laredo. Awesome. I’ll probably end up eating the entire Turducken and then announcing to the children that their parents are big fat liars and that you know who doesn’t exist. Then I’ll point and laugh. Then I’ll cry. Then I’ll ask for forgiveness, while I am eating the pie straight off the pie plate and washing it down with another bottle of wine.

Until then, I am just going to enjoy these days of showering and being able to breath. Actually, this really could not have come at a better time of year. I already wrapped ALL of Luca’s presents (who cares if some were ones he already had but hasn’t played with in months) and put them under the tree. I put a couple of Hot Wheels in his stocking already, too.

It’s beginning to look a little like Christmas. Love it. Makes me all warm and fuzzy.

Now fuck off and leave me alone.

Seriously, I should totally win a “Mom of the Day” award of some sort. Check out this awesomeness.

8 a.m. Husband turns back up the volume on the monitor before he leaves for work. So totally totally rude and inconsiderate if you ask me! Especially, b/c my child was screaming and I was trying to sleep. A-hole.

8:10: Crawl out of bed and check FB.

8:15: Get my kid out of bed.

8:15: Set the DVR to Sesame Street. Go get “dressed” (hoodie over pajamas, flip-flops with socks, b/c I am one classy bitch).

8:17: Check FB & emails

8:30: Load the Luca in the car and head for some breakfast. I convinced myself I needed to eat a big arse, drive-thru, breakfast b/c I had to take 5 pills for my sinus shit and I obviously could not get out of the car in what I was wearing. I love you rationalizations

8:45: Arrive home with said breakfast. Luca was stoked.

Said breakfast for Luca

9 a.m.: We eat. And eat. And eat. Hey, Judgey McJudgerson! Relax! Its not like the kid was breastfed on quarter pounders or anything. Actually, he wasn’t breastfed on anything.

9:15: Runs to get a diaper for Luca, but really to check my email and Google “prednisone side effects: huge, fat, raging bitch”.

9:20: Come back to den. No Luca. Shit. Turns out my kid took of his diaper pissed all over the kitchen floor and then proceeded to crawl out the doggy door to hang out in the backyard.

I love birthdays. But, what I really mean to say is that I love MY Birthday. Always have, always will. Attention whore? Maybe. Love being spoiled and waited on? Definitely! Pigging out on birthday cake? Is the Pope Catholic? People singing a song to you with your name in it! Eff Shyeah!! Standing on chairs with salt and pepper shakers and shaking your butt? Apparently, a lot.

Only without the meth sores and tacky blanket wrapped around me, and the bad hair. I actually looked pretty damn good that night. Awesome dress, though it was a little too skimpy for jail. Turn up the heat in there yo! Great shoes. I had my hair did and everything.

Yesterday’s birthday was pretty mellow. I had a great dinner Saturday night with family and friends. Drank lots (way. too. much.) wine and was “surprised” (totally knew it was coming) with cotton candy in a HUGE martini glass with a sparkler on top (which I don’t recommend trying to blow out, especially in the direction of your friend sitting to the right of you. It totally does not work like a regular birthday candle).

Went to brunch yesterday morning at Hugo’s with friends. Took a long ass nap. I got some nice things – a beautiful framed picture of Luca and I, a pretty drapey cardigan from Anthropologie, oh, and a really bad cold from my kid and husband. I tried to act surprised when they gave me the cold:

Pretty good, eh? I totally don’t think they could tell I was on to them. Suckas! They are such naive, thoughtful, germ infested, booger covered, coughing, sweethearts.

Yesterday was the big 3-2. And don’t think I didn’t notice all the, “Happy birthday lady”, “Hey lady!”, “Have a great day lady!”, comments. Why the fuck am I lady all of a sudden at 32. I appreciate all the sentiments but I prefer to be called girl, chick, girlie, hottie, fine lookin thang, shit, even bitch is cool. But, I AM NOT A LADY! Understood?

My birthday is over. Another MY VERY OWN DAY has come and gone. I am sitting here with a cold coming on. I am one year older. And I am grateful. For all of it. For my family, my precious baby, my patient husband, my fabulous friends (near and far) who keep me somewhat sane. I am grateful for my jail hooker friends that taught me not to judge others by the tricks they turn, or the platform Lucite high heels they wear, but rather for the way they treat others (especially overly peppy, blonde, first time offenders, that won’t stop crying). I am totally thankful for bad track suits, salt and pepper shakers, and birthdays at Bennigans. Mostly, I am grateful I was able to celebrate another Birthday.

I can’t wait till the big 3-3. An entire year is FAR too long to wait to celebrate ALL THINGS ALLISON.