I'm sleeping alone.

The husband is out of town on business.

So the Queen has the bed all to herself for seven nights.

You know what sucks? Having a husband-less bed. You know what sucks worse? Having a husband-less bed for seven nights.

One night? Okay. Doable.

Two nights? Sure. It gets lonely, but not achingly so.

Three? That's pushing it. That's when the familiar smell of him starts to be overtaken by my shampoo.

But seven? Seven is a number of bad shit. Seven deadly sins. Seven years of bad luck. 7-11.

I should go to bed. But that Queen-size is looking really really big without my king in it.

The Queen is a little bitter.

The problem is that the Queen doesn't want to complain too much about the situation because she tries really hard to keep the personal life (and blog) separate from the professional life.

Granted, the two can't help but cross once in a while. But for the most part, names and specific situations are kept mum.

So the Queen is forced to sit and stew and is unable to vent in the written word on this blog. Like she so needs to do.

Should've worked a little harder at that anonymity thing.

Congratulations are in order.

I admittedly have no idea who (still) reads this blog.

But there's one person who (when we are lucky enough to see each other) never fails to tell me she still reads it. And she makes me feel awesome.

Well, that lucky lady and her love just had their first baby. And as the Queen of Awesome, I must say that having a little baby is pretty awesome.

Congrats, K. Your son is lovely (And I hope he eventually gives you the time to stop by the blog and read this!).

I thought this was a family friendly affair.

I went to a MLB game with the majority of my family last night. And it was pretty fun.

We ate peanuts. It was dollar hotdog night (and my husband probably downed five of the things).

And I always get a kick out of the animated videos that play on the big screen. Especially when the pindrop music they use is the same music that HBO's Real Sex documentary series uses for their opening sequence.

Pair that with suggestively dancing CGI ball caps, the racing red dot/period, and those throat-plunging hot dogs, and I start to doubt the wholesomeness of major league baseball.

At least that splash I felt on my back was some drunk girl's beer instead of ... well, I don't even want to think about that.

I love this video.

A few years ago, my buddy (who always find cool things before I do) sent me this link:
http://www.duelity.net/

It's two separate videos. It's creationism presented scientifically. And also evolution presented in story fashion.

And then you can watch them side by side. It's awesome. If you have a few moments, I suggest you watch it.

Some things just stay with you forever. 2.

Eighteen years ago ...

... I was nine and in the fourth grade. Although this might have happened when I was ten. Because I turned ten halfway through fourth grade.

At my elementary school, kids who came early went to the gym. And we sat in long lines. Each grade had a different line.

That morning, many many kids were early. And the fourth grade line became two lines. And a boy ended up sitting next to me.

Also that morning, our P.E. teacher (who always watched us before school started) was absent. I think she had had a baby. Or maybe she was just sick. But I loved her. She was amazing and fun and full of energy. Her sub wasn't very nice.

And she was watching us that morning.

And she told us all to be quiet. And she shouted it to us.

You couldn't hear any noise in the gym except for the lights. They would buzz.

And I was bored and I wanted to draw. I unzipped my backpack to get some paper and a pencil. And I had to take out my garage door opener to get to my pencil.

"What's that?" the boy asked me.

I didn't know what to do. The mean lady told us not to talk. No matter what. And I never broke the rules and I never got in trouble. But I didn't want to be rude.

"What is that?" the boy asked me again.

I pointed to my big grey garage door opener and looked at him. I wanted to make sure that was what he was asking about. He asked me again.

I put my finger to my mouth. I wanted to tell him to be quiet. I wanted to warn him to be quiet.

And then I heard shouting. "What did I say!" the voice asked. And then there were dirty sneakers in front of me.

I looked up and saw the mean lady. I opened my mouth. I wanted to tell her I didn't say anything, but my mom and dad had always taught me to not talk back to grownups. Was this talking back?

"Go sit under ORANGE," she demanded. I looked around. Several kids were sitting under COLORS against THE WALL. When kids were bad before school in the gym, they had to leave their lines and go sit under a COLOR. They were the last to leave the gym and go to class. That day, more kids were under COLORS and against THE WALL than any other day.

Was I really being sent to a COLOR?

I looked up at her again. "GO!" she shouted at me.

I grabbed my bag. I grabbed my coat. I grabbed my garage door opener. And I looked at the boy. He looked sorry.

And I went and sat under ORANGE. And I cried. Because I was embarrassed and sad and I knew that I didn't talk. I stayed quiet. But I was sitting where bad kids sat and I wasn't bad. And I felt so small against that big cold WALL.

And I watched all of my friends get up and leave and go to class. And then one by one, us bad kids were sent off. And I was the last kid to show up in class. And by that time, my favorite teacher had heard that I sat against THE WALL that morning.

"Why were you sitting against the wall, Veronica?" she quietly asked me so no one else could hear.

"I don't know," I told her. And I didn't.

And I thought about that stupid garage door opener in my backpack. I only had that stupid thing because our front door lock sometimes didn't work. And my mom gave me the opener so I could let my sister and me into the house. And I only had to do that because my mom had to work and couldn't be at home because my parents had just gotten divorced.

And right then I hated that garage door opener. And I hated our stupid front door lock. And I hated divorce. Because it all made me sit under ORANGE against the WALL.

Some things just stay with you forever.

Twenty-one years ago...

...I was six years old and in first grade. I loved my teacher. She was the sweetest, prettiest, and kindest lady in the entire world and I wanted nothing more than to be her favorite student.

And I was. I was one of those genuinely good, kind-hearted little kids that just wanted to please please please everyone.

I kept my desk neat. I turned in my papers early. And I was quiet unless addressed. Because that's how mom taught me to be.

One day, my wonderful teacher was out. And the vice principal subbed in. She was notoriously mean, not very pretty, and not very kind.

We were working on a spelling worksheet. It was early in the morning--I think around ten-thirty or so. I can't be sure. We didn't know how to tell time yet.

But we had recently learned about drugs. And I found an odd object in my desk that I thought might be a drug. It was a small black pill. It looked like a little space ship. And it smelled bad.

I didn't want a drug in my desk. I couldn't have a drug in my desk! So I picked it up and took it to the trash can.

"What is your name?" the assistant principal screeched at me.

Shocked at her tone, I meekly responded. "Veronica."

She went fishing through THE ENVELOPE where THE WORMS were kept. Kids who did bad things got WORMS.

"Why don't you have A WORM in here," she hissed.

Completely confused and caught off guard--how could I be getting A WORM?--I said to her, "Because I have never got A WORM before."

So the evil assistant principal grabbed a BLANK WORM. And she wrote my name on it in permanent marker. And she taped THE WORM to THE BOARD.

And I quietly cried at my desk as the other kids stared and whispered in shock. "Veronica got A WORM."

And the next day, my favorite person, my first grade teacher was back. And I was so happy, I gave her the biggest hug ever. And after class started, she saw THE BOARD and I heard her say to herself, "Veronica got A WORM?"

And she quietly came to me, crouched down, and asked me, "Veronica, what did you do to get a worm?"

Confused and ashamed, I almost silently answered through my tears, "I threw away a piece of trash."

And my wonderful teacher removed THE WORM. And it was never seen again.