Lazy Douche Enablers: Veronica of Sleepless Nights

Lazy Douche Enablers write guest posts for me every other Tuesday. That way, I can be a much better… you guessed it: Lazy Douche. I’ve been such a LD lately, that I hadn’t been posting the LD posts people wrote for me awhile back. One might say I don’t NEED the help. Regardless… Today’s Enabler is Veronica, of Sleepless Nights. In fact, she wrote this for me in March. I had to one-up her to show her that she can’t out-lazy douche me by holding it until September. Yup, I suck that hard.

Holy Crap, It’s Nearly March?

I looked at my calendar today and nearly had a fit. It’s almost March and I promised Lotus that I would guest post for her all the way back in December. I mean sure, there was this little thing like me giving birth in the middle of January, but hell, I should have had something put together by now, right?

It’s not like I don’t have the time or anything, Isaac spends most of his days sucking on my boobs, so surely I would be able to tap SOMETHING out. [Heh, kinda like I am doing now while he feeds.]

Anyway, back to the topic at hand.

I write a blog called Sleepless Nights. I have a toddler who doesn’t sleep very well and a newborn who isn’t much better. The only difference is the toddler learned to sleep without my nipple in her mouth a little while back. Therefore, I feel sort of qualified to talk about lack of sleep.

You know what drives me batshit insane? When I’m sitting on the couch at 8pm, trying to breastfeed a fussy baby to sleep, occasionally stopping to let him bounce on my stomach/suck on my nose, and the news comes on touting some crap about sleep.

‘Lack of sleep can be extremely detrimental to your health…’

[You think I don't know that Jackass? I haven't slept in 24 hours here]

‘…and new studies have shown that sleeping in of a weekend can actually help reduce the harm lack of sleep causes…’

[Keep going idiot. What about those of us WHO HAVE SMALL CHILDREN AND CANNOT SLEEP IN?! Do we not count?'

'...so take the chance to catch up on sleep whenever you can.'

[Splutter cough cough cough curse]

This is where Nathan broke in and nearly cost himself his manhood.

‘See sweetheart? You can’t complain when I sleep in of a weekend now, because they have proved that it has health benefits!’

WTF? So what, I’m IMMUNE to lack of sleep simply because I pushed a baby out of my vagina 5 weeks ago? You know, lack of sleep doesn’t affect me anymore because I am a mother? Seriously, just call me superfuckingwoman. While I’m at it I will just do all the housework and cooking too, because damn if you don’t work! No matter that I am up all night with a fussy baby and awake all day with a whirlwind toddler.

The bitterness. I have it.

And I suspect I am not the only one.

Sleep deprived, with baby vomit caked in the crook of my arm [I suspect there is some in my ear too, but I'm not game to check] and the day stretching before me; an endless stream of feeds and food prep and housework and ohmyholyhell can you pick that back up and DON’T throw that at Isaac and PICK those books back up and if you tip that potty on the floor again I might just LOSE IT, the grass always looks greener over there.

Sure he might get eight hours of uninterrupted sleep, a shower every day and actual conversation with adults, but me? I get to smell the top of my sons head as he nuzzles into my breast. I get to run my hands through soft-as-silk hair. I get toddler kisses and declarations of ‘I love MUMMY!’ I get the soggy cuddles after tantrums and the rare as rare baby smiles.

Even better though? I get to palm off all the crappy toddler nappies ‘because when was the last time you changed one of Isaac’s?’

And that my friends, is priceless and I wouldn’t change it for the world. Sleep or no sleep.

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Veronica is near and dear to my heart. She has been my friend since before the birth of “Sarcastic Mom,” enduring my Myspace Blog posts, and helping me gain the courage to actually start a real website. She was my first commenter, and she has stuck through with me this whole time. She is a beautiful, compassionate, strong, funny, and talented woman. I am honored to call her my friend. Go check in on her at Sleepless Nights – if she’s actually catching a nap for once in a row, just tuck her in, okay?

Lazy Douche Enablers: Shawn of Backpacking Dad

Lazy Douche Enablers write guest posts for me every other Tuesday. That way, I can be a much better… you guessed it: Lazy Douche. I’ve been such a LD lately, that I hadn’t been posting the LD posts people wrote for me awhile back. One might say I don’t NEED the help. Regardless… Today’s Enabler is Shawn, of Backpacking Dad.

Hot Babysitter

My daughter is almost two years old. During her life we’ve left her with a babysitter exactly zero times, until last week.

A professional babysitter, I mean. We’ve had family or friends watch her while we stole an evening or even a weekend away on our own. But we could never get our act together enough to actually find some high school or college kid to come over after the kid was sleeping to eat all of our food while inviting his or her friends over to engage in hijinks.

At first it was because she was our baby! How can we leave our baby with a stranger? Later it was because, enh, we’d kind of gotten used to only sporadic alone time. And even later it was because how could anyone be competent at this? We’d been training for two years to take care of a kid our daughter’s age; how was some kid who couldn’t even vote or drink going to be qualified to do this job?

It never occurred to me that what I ought to have been worried about was having a hot babysitter. But this is a theme in the suburbs.

Before I do any more typing here I should say that the person about whom I am writing is definitely over 18, and I have every confidence she is also over 21. Not to diminish the general creepy old man factor involved in this post at all, but I hope to at least keep it from landing me in jail. She’s old enough to smoke, and she’s in college. Don’t call the cops.

Anyway….

We had hired her once to help grandma watch the kid at a friend’s house while the friends were also going away for an evening, leaving their daughter in grandma’s care as well. It was a good opportunity to vet a sitter in a controlled environment. But I never met her. My wife took care of the arrangements. Our friends, however, made a point of telling me that she was hot. Because they’re shit-disturbers.

Needing a sitter for an afternoon when our daughter was too sick for daycare we invited her over for a few hours. I was already out of the house when she arrived, but I would be the first one home, so my first meeting with our hot babysitter would be solo.

Well hell.

I walked in the door and my daughter came running over to me, smiling from ear to ear. They’d been watching Nemo and Cars and jumping around the apartment loudly enough that the downstairs neighbour dragged herself out of her sick bed to ask them to keep it down. A grand old time was had by all.

And the babysitter? Yes, hot. Totally smoke-burned voice, though, that I recognized too well from my days of hanging out with the cool kids smoking behind the school.

And the house reeked. It reeked. But not of cigarette smoke.

Not of any kind of smoke. That would have gotten her fired, but I’d at least have understood. Kids are boring sometimes and you just want to help them become interesting by frying your brain a little.

No, the house reeked of a desperate assault on the bathroom. It reeked of gut-rotted, whiskey shits.

Hello babysitter. My my, you are pretty cute. But what the fuck did you do to my bathroom?

I know what you are thinking. You are thinking, “Hey, man. You have a kid. A toddler. She probably just shat herself as she is wont to do, and the sitter just didn’t change the diaper.” But as any parent will tell you, we know what our kid’s shit smells like. We can pick it out in a crowd of toddlers.

It was really hard to reconcile how she looked with how she had clearly violated my plumbing. It was enough to make me suspect that she’d had her boyfriend over and he’d done the number on the pipes.

Guess what. No matter how hot your babysitter is, if you are convinced she has crapped a raccoon you will never be able to have inappropriate thoughts about her.

Damn. Because I’m pretty sure one of the perks of being a dad is the idle, harmless thoughts you’re allowed to have about the babysitter.

No? What are you, an America-hater? Do you want the terrorists to win?

We had a brief introductory conversation about school and the like, but it seemed like she really wanted to get the hell out of there. Wouldn’t you? If you had dropped a deuce in your employer’s can and he’d come home to some ungodly stew of a stench? Yeah, I’d want to leave too. Quickly. And so she did.

Goodbye, hot babysitter. I’m not sure I can hire you again, not because you’re hot, but because oh my god.

After she left I chased my still sniffling daughter around the living room for a while. And I noticed that the smell never dissipated. In fact, it grew stronger.

And sure enough, when I checked the contents of my daughter’s diaper I discovered that I had completely maligned my hot babysitter. Er, her hot babysitter.

Because my daughter was home sick. And part of her sickness was apparently holy Christ on a bicycle what is dying in your intestines? It completely changed the, well, the everything about her elimination, making it totally unrecognizable.

Is this post really about shit? Sick shit at that?

Nope.

This post is about how I have a totally hot babysitter.

Phew.

Although, now I might have to fire her for not changing that fucking diaper before I got home. Jesus. See? Never hire a smoker to babysit; they can’t smell a damned thing.

But, she is hot. How much hotness does it take to make up for anosmia?

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Shawn is a dad with a backpack that his kids ride in, yes. Fortunately, his posts are filled with stories and reflections that go far beyond the simplicity of his own self-description. If you haven’t been entertained by him regularly yet, you should make your way over to Backpacking Dad and hang out. He’s often quite brilliant.

Lazy Douche Enablers: Dawn, Alex Year Two

Lazy Douche Enablers write posts for me every other Tuesday. That way, I can be a much better… you guessed it: Lazy Douche. Today’s Enabler is Dawn, of Alex Year Two and Room 704

My little secret…

Men – you need to leave. This is not a post you want to read. Go the place that is else . . . come back tomorrow . . .

I was at work one day and the conversation turned to orgasms.

As they do.

I shared a story that I will share with you here.

Scout and I were laying in bed talking about orgasms. Or my non orgasm during sex, as it were. He says, “Well. I . . . I’ve never had someone …. um …. not . . . before . . .”

I opened my mouth to reply . . .

I took a deep breath . . .

“Well, they, um, were liars, fucking liars, sluts clearly very in touch with their own bodies and and very comfortable with themselves . . .”

I didn’t have the heart to tell them that there were a bunch of fakers in there.

The three of us laughed and laughed. Not at my sweet husband, but at all y’all out there who think a woman has never faked it with you.

Hey dudes, I told you to leave. You didn’t listen. This is what you get.

The next day – one of the girls came to work and immediately grabbed me . . .

She shared a story that I will share with you here.

“So I told my husband about our lunch conversation yesterday . . . he didn’t understand why we laughed . . . he said, “but no one has ever faked it with me before . . . ”

(To this day, hubs still believes in the 100% orgasm rate before me. I like to think of it as a gift from me to his masculinity.)

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When she’s not laughing about fake orgasms, Dawn authors a website about her son and other life topics, Alex Year Two. And if you want to see where Dawn, er, gets real, visit her latest project, Room 704. It’s creating quite a “buzz.” And by this Friday, I’ve heard that a visit there will help you stop being a fakester, too. *ohsnort*

Help me, Rhonda. (and the rest of you, too, please)

Not that long ago, I told you all that I just didn’t have the mojo to write anymore.

And that was true. In fact, for some time now, I haven’t had the mojo to do a lot of things that I used to do. The only thing I’ve really had mojo for is sleeping.

I could sleep for lifetimes.

And while I was half asleep mentally and emotionally, I asked some fabulous bloggers to step up and provide wonderful content for you – and, oh my, they did! I am humbled and amazed at the response I got from those I asked. In fact, there are still guest posts waiting to be published here. I can’t say thank you enough to these wonderful people.

I made a page containing list of past and future guest posters, if you’d like to look them over.

The thing is, lately, I can feel Ms. Mojo poking back around her old stomping grounds. And as I’m waking up slowly from this coma, I’m feeling like things are just not as they should be around here.

I’ve missed PSBN for months. That makes me sad, and I hate it. My blogging schedule has been here, there, and everywhere.

It’s time for me to exert control over mah blawg again. I want to get things back in order so that you don’t come over here feeling like you were heading to a bake sale but ended up in an S&M Bar.

(But don’t think I didn’t see you grinning at the black leather-clad lady holding the whip. Mm-hm. I saw ya. But I won’t tell. Maybe.)

So, I have a handful of plans to get my groove back and have some fun with you guys again. I’d love to get your feedback.

I do this blogging thing for me, but I do it for you, too. If I didn’t, this would all be in a journal in my nightstand. So let me know what you think.

Please vote on the polls that go along with these questions, and I’d love to have any suggestions/elaborations you’d like to give me in the comments on this post!

PSBN starts back up this coming Monday. Will you post along with me?

The “I Wonder” Series has been dead – should I start it up again?

The BEWB Vote was fun – should we do it again?

Would anyone be intersted in a Bi-Annual Photo Contest with prizes?

I still have guest posts to share with you. But to offer some consistency, I’m thinking of starting a weekly Guest Post Day on Tuesdays called, “Lazy Douche Enablers”

*note: this poll allows you to choose more than one answer. you can also choose “other” and write a comment, but keep it to a few words, or it will get cut off and I won’t be able to see it all

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PS: Thank you so very much to all of you who voted on my question about whether I should try to sell my handmade paper.  The response really overwhelmed me – 95% of you chose one of the options that directs me to sell the paper. So many awesome comments and suggestions, too.  Thanks so much, guys! I will let you all know when the Etsy Shop is up and running with product.

Dating Women

I am always the new girl.  Having moved five times in the past nine years, I’ve regrettably had to embrace the title and challenges that go along with being the new girl.  Even right now, guest blogging, I’m the new girl, in an unfamiliar place, trying to impress people I don’t know.  Am I being witty enough?  Are they just sticking around because they know I’m alone and would feel bad leaving?  At least here I can’t read your eyes and see that you’d really rather be hanging out with Lotus.

So right now I’m in the market for a lady friend.  I know the hows and wheres to finding new friends.  Most of it involves doing things I’m kind of sick of doing like putting myself out there or being a joiner or being friendly.   I could join a MOMS Club or MOPS, but that would mean lots of fretting about what to wear and what to say.  And there’s the whole “I hate leaving the house with my children” aspect.  Then once I’ve gotten the nerve up to actually get out of the car and walk into a place without knowing a soul and making polite, but awkward conversation, well, it really all sounds like too much effort.

It would be nice if I could just sit back and have new friends come to me for once.  I KNOW that won’t happen, though.  Hello!  I’ve lived in Tennessee for three months and the Friend Fairy hasn’t delivered even one friend to my doorstep.

It doesn’t seem like making friends should be so hard. I mean, I should be able to see a nice mom at the food court in the mall, go up, say “hello,” make small talk about our kids’ poop, exchange phone numbers, meet for lunch with the kids later in the week at that McDonald’s with the clean(er) play area, laugh and gossip, have our husbands meet each other at a bar-b-que on Saturday.  Voila!  Friends!

Or why can’t all of my friends who live in my laptop just magically appear when I need a friend to hang out with on the couch and watch trashy reality TV?

It’s just not that easy when it comes to making friends with women.

Wouldn’t it just be less effort to put an ad in the paper?

33 year old married women with two small children seeks female for friendship ONLY.  Must enjoy some shopping, chatting on the phone, long walks in the park.  Flexibility a must, as shopping will most likely get canceled because of a sick child, chatting on the phone will include many interruptions from said children, and walks in the park will actually be chasing toddlers around the park screaming at them not to eat the discarded goldfish crackers from someone elses picnic.    Picky eaters, close-minded jerks, people I can’t mention my blog to, Cubs fans, Twilight fans who insist I must read the remaining 3 books need not apply.

Hee, hee!  JUST KIDDING about the last two.  See?  Just proves my point that making friends with women is brutal.

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When Jennifer isn’t trolling for hot chicks to date looking for friendly women to pal around with, she’s entertaining all of us virtual friends over at her website, Playgroups Are No Place For Children. I’ve read her posts ever since I started checking out this blogosphere, and she never fails to entertain and inspire me. I’d feel lucky to have the Friend Fairy deliver her to me, any day.

Ask a Lazy Douchebag

Since Miz Lotus so cavalierly announced what a lazy douchebag she was, she twittered some of her buds to guest post so she wouldn’t have to do it her own self.

My response was “Have you READ my blog lately?”

And then she revealed the depths and breadth of her lazy douchebagginess.

Because if she had read my blog lately, she would have seen that I am an even lazier douchebag of late.

Is this what they mean by irony?

Allow me to explain myself.

I work out of my home. It really does pay better than any job I could get where I would have to oh, say, shower, put on the hated bra, appropriate clothing, makeup,and then freeze my lazy arse on a commute.( Even better than the IT career I went to school for three years ago, graduated with honors, and could not land a job. They don’t like anybody over 20, it seems.)

Case in point: It’s 2:45 pm here. Still rocking the jammies.

Are you getting the sense yet just how lazy a douchebag I really am?

I work mornings. If there is something I need to do, errand wise, I screw up my face and try to decide if it is worth it to get dressed and go there. Usually, it can wait. I may cook something for supper or run the dishwasher in the afternoon, but any real cleaning has not been done since Christmas. Really. Sometimes, if there is nothing good on tv, I will work some more, just because it pays so well. I get to set my own hours. If I feel guilty. Like because the tree is still up, and I’m thinking the place is so huge, I could just throw a sheet over it and hide it in a closet, but then where would I store my empty wine bottles? So,basically, I only do extra work that gets paid when I need to justify the “I’m too busy to take down the tree” thing.

With all of this time for blogging available to me, I have not updated my own blog very regularly for about a month or so. I thought that if any of you are also lazy douchebags, you would enjoy the following how-to guide, sloppily written by me, because, apparently, sloppy and lazy are closely related.

How to blog when you are a lazy douchebag who seldom leaves the house

1. Bribe twenty-something offspring to do laundry because that? Involves a trip to the basement. My time is far too valuable for all the basement tripping thankyouverymuch.
2. Note that laundry mostly consists of pajamas and socks. There are no bras in my laundry, people.
3. Invite company over so I will have an excuse to cook a nutritious meal. In clean pajamas.
4. Bribe twenty-something offspring to make a trip to the liquor store for wine. I cleverly buy red wine, so that it needs no refrigeration.
5. Note that the dustbunnies are so big that I’m considering giving them names. Make that a big bottle of wine. Not the 4 litre box, that would just be dangerous.
6. Make a nutritious, yummy meal. Everybody has to eat. Even lazy douchebags.
7. Check that the humongous (about 8 oz capacity) wine glasses are clean. That way, there is less getting up and down after the meal to refill glasses. Most of the up and down is to recycle the wine. Even lazy douchebags have to pee.
8. Click one of my playlists on the computer after the meal is eaten. No sense getting up and down to select different music. No.
9. By the second glass of wine, feel somewhat loquacious, and commence telling stories to your guests.
10. Keep a notepad nearby so that the pesky getting up and down is minimized when your drunk arse wants to make a note of a story for a blog post idea.
11. Try to decipher handwriting the next day.
12. Make a judgement call if the handwriting is deciphered, of course. Is it a good enough story for the blog?
13. Lately, the criteria is more like can I read my handwriting?
14. When someone as fabulous as Lotus asks you to guest post, agree because you are too lazy to write a post for your own blog. Blogging for someone else does not make you any less of a lazy douchebag. My blog is being neglected. Since Saturday. That’s what really counts, isn’t it?
15. Hijack host blogger’s claim and trademark of lazy douchebag. Have a pissing contest of it. Show why you are more worthy of the title, even though she totally made it up. Because I? Am living it, baybee.
16. Encourage readers to subscribe because that way they don’t have to visit the blog if I haven’t updated. That is called spreading the lazy around.
17. Feel pressured to update since I am guest posting on a very widely read blog.
18. Look at the Christmas tree as something I could take down before I put up a new post.

I think your education is complete now. You actually can blog when you seldom leave the house. The trick is to be able to find people who will visit you while you are in your pajamas, telling them stories. Getting the blog post written? Sometimes that feels like twenty minutes I will never have again.

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Witchypoo is the winner of the 2008 Blogger’s Choice Awards for Freakiest Blogger.  She feels like an old friend, even though I’ve only known her since I’ve started blogging here.  I suppose maybe when you know someone can read your mind, and shit, you have no choice but to just feel that relaxed with them.
When she’s not challenging me for the Lazy Douche Crown, you can find her blogging at Psychic Geek.  Make sure you say hi to Ass Burger Boy while you’re there.

thepenismightier

The red phone rings.

You do know the red phone, right? It’s the one that all of us A-List rock star bloggers have that automatically connects us with each other.

“This is Avitable.”

“Hi, it’s Lotus.”

“What’s today’s password?”

“Heather sticks her tongue in men’s assholes.”

“Correct. So, what’s up?”

“I need a guest post.”

“I knew you’d call in that favor sometime. I guess I owe you for getting rid of that dead hooker for me.”

“Too bad for you that you didn’t know anyone else with lots of lyme and a chainsaw.”

“True, true. Are there any parameters to this guest post? Restrictions? Demands?”

“Just no full frontal nudity. Everything else is okay with me.”

“Okay, I’ll get right on it.”

“Damn straight you will. *click*”

************

I’ve racked my brain. How do I, of all people, appeal to an audience that reads a blog like this one? She used to have a picture of a fucking pacifier in the header and has a kid and talks about being a mom and baby poop and pregnancy and topics like that. This is all emotional shit here – how can a childless man even understand or empathize? I hear stuff like “You don’t have kids, so you wouldn’t understand” or “You’re just a man, you wouldn’t understand” all of the time. And it’s probably true. I don’t understand babies or the love of them. I don’t understand why people continue to procreate. I don’t understand why children aren’t locked up until they’re 10.

But I’m still a sensitive, emotional guy. I use Aveda moisturizing face wash and I love the Gilmore Girls. I can talk on the phone for hours and think most men have a short circuit in their brains. I notice when my wife gets her hair cut or wears a new outfit. So I know I have it in me to convince you, dear reader of Sarcastic Mom, that I am one of you.

Then it hit me. Last year, to show solidarity for all of the women who wrote letters to their bodies as part of that BlogHer initiative, I wrote my own. What better way to show my sensitive side, to fit in with the Sarcastic Mom readers, than to repost it here?

Dear Body,

I love you.

I knew that a steady diet of cheeseburgers, french fries, pizza, and butter would make you into an object of desire and affection.

I love that you can displace all of the water in a pool with one cannonball.
I love that your pants would feed a largish village in Africa.
I love that I get to use a mirror to see my penis and feet, since that lets me just gaze at myself.

Your breasts started out firm, but after having many Baby Ruths, they have become a bit saggy, but that’s okay. I’d never be able to lick my own nipples otherwise.

Your stomach, pregnant with many, many food babies, has expanded, but that’s okay. It’s a good place to sit a book or balance a tray.

Your thighs, once glistening pillars of steel, now brush together, but that’s okay. If I get trapped out in the wilderness, I can just wear corduroy and walk around to start a small fire.

Your penis, a mighty warrior of slightly above average size, has now hidden itself among your girth, but that’s okay. The smaller size makes it easier for smaller hands, say that of a high school aged girl.

Your butt, once shapely and taut, has become completely flat, but that’s okay. Now I can drop my pants easily without worrying about snags.

Your hair still covers every inch of you, except on the top of your head, but that’s okay. I enjoy being able to explore fashion trends with different types of hats.

Being the size of six normal people just means that you are six times as awesome! Being able to ride in solace in an elevator because you meet the weight limit alone is gratifying. Bringing your own titanium chair to restaurants allows you to protect the environment, and buying four seats on an airplane before you board gives you the comfort that none of those other passengers will ever experience.

Body, you’ll never understand how important I feel when the people at the Burger King drive-through know me by name. And that’s all thanks to you. And having the city of Altamonte Springs offer me my own roving zip code – that just warmed the cockles of my heart. When cars move out of the way as I cross the street because they don’t want to hit the large zoo animal who has clearly escaped, I always nod my head and secretly thank you. For I truly am special.

I love you, Body.

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When Avitable’s not busy smearing his asscrack across other people’s websites, he welcomes you to his with the flick of his bird. If you, too, believe that “tact is for pussies,” you’ll be kicking yourself in your own mightypenis if you don’t head over. *snicker*

Age of Aquarius

Hey there, remember me? I’m Dawn from Alex Year Two.

No?

Let me remind you:

Riiight. Now you remember them me.

I am in desperate need of your help. It’s vital people. VITAL.

It’s even more important than (then?) when I asked for advice about what color to paint my toenails.

This is about hair.

Once upon a time, I was featured on Hair Thursday. (You’ll have to click over for this – kinda like a scavenger hunt – I’m on the bottom.)

Now the beautiful Sarah gave me great advice, then my life blew up and I am just now ready to tackle this here hair situation.

Kicked in the ass by this photo taken by my husband, Scout.

 

I’ve worked on taking better care of it so it looks less frizzola.

(hotel wallpaper – NOT my own bathroom.)

 

Sarah gave me conservative cutting advice (because I came off like a chicken shizzle in my email) – and I totally trust her. But then I found out about Pantene’s Beautiful Lengths …. 8 inches off my hair …. hm ….

I found someone to cut my hair, she’s never touched my hair before. This makes me a little nervous.

I’m committed to coloring my hair – it’s a good change. I’m waffling on whether or not I should follow my Hair Thursday advice to the letter or if I should chop off a big ole pony tail for the greater good.

First 100 voters get a chance to control my destiny! Big reveal will be at BlogHer!

 
When Dawn isn’t flashing her BEWBS over here, she struts her stuff over at Alex Year Two. After you vote about her hair, hop over there and read her adventures with Alex, Scout, and… drunk santa?  Hm….