Sometimes things happen that are just so much bigger than you are that you can't even comprehend the enormity of it all at once. This has happened to my family and we are all dazed and in shock. We lost a very precious immediate family member Thursday night in a horrible car accident. She was one week away from her 26th birthday. It's surreal. Wednesday she is full of excitement for her birthday party and Thursday she is gone. Forever. We have already been down this road, none of us expected to ever have to travel it again, but here we are. You have to face it, you have to live through it. But how? How do we do this again? CAN we do this again? I want a choice, I want to change it, make it so that none of it ever happened. I want us all to be whole again, all of us, I don't want any more people missing at family dinners and holidays. I want to take away her mother's pain and I can't. I know that pain myself, all to well. You never get over it, you just get through it. Some days are better than others, some are worse, either way you have no control over the emotions or when they are going to slam into you and bring you to your knees.
I want to tell her mother what's coming, I want to prepare her but then I think it's better she not know just yet. I know all the pictures running through her head right now, how desperately you try to remember every little thing about your child's life. I know how she is clinging to the sound of her child's voice and praying she won't forget it. But she will, it doesn't stay with you forever, it gently fades with time and the day you realize it's gone and you can't hear it anymore brings on another kind of grief. She will learn soon enough about the times she will hear a child's voice saying "Mom" in the grocery store and for a brief second you forget and turn to answer and then you remember and it's all too much to handle so you leave the cart full of groceries and walk away to your car to cry in peace.... She will learn the sadness that comes when you realize that out of habit you have written that child's name on the shopping list for Christmas and have to cross it out.... She will learn how horrible it is when no one wants to say your child's name in front of you for fear of hurting you never realizing that acting like your child never existed at all hurts even worse.... She will learn how angry she will get when someone, meaning well, says "I know how you feel" and they can't possibly know if they have not been there, losing a spouse, a sibling or close loved one is NOTHING like losing a child....In the overwhelming loss of her child on Thursday I again saw my child. It's been a long, emotional weekend on so many levels.
My heart is breaking for her, she is about to start a journey down a long lonely road that only those who have traveled it before her can understand. A journey with no navigation, you have to find your own way. A journey made harder by knowing there really is no destination or end in sight, only change. Those of us who have been on this journey ourselves can show her where the path is but we can't take the journey for her. I will walk with her as far as the path allows and then she, like the rest of us did, will have to travel the lonely road alone.
We live so far and wide that it takes many days for some of us to travel home so the viewing, funeral and burial will not be until Wednesday. That is a long time when your just wanting something to be over with, she doesn't realize the hardest part is going to come when all the shock wears off, the ceremony is over with and everyone has gone back home. Right now, in this minute, this is the hardest part for her. I don't have the heart to tell her that this is the easiest time.
Now let me leave a warning for all those that drive. This accident was not caused by talking on a cell phone, texting, drugs or alcohol. This accident was caused by a McDonald's french fry. She had just stopped by McDonald's on her way to work and was reaching to get a french fry out of the bag, the car swerved and she over corrected which threw her into the lane of oncoming traffic where she then hit another car head on. Fortunately her passenger and the people in the other car only had minor injuries. How many times have we all done that very thing without giving it a second thought? I know I do, as a matter of fact the very day of her accident I had stopped by Wendy's and grabbed a burger, eating it on the way because I was running late. I won't do it again.
Rest in peace sweetheart, know you were loved dearly and will be missed. When you get to heaven give Tanner a kiss and tell him how much I miss him.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
No Shame In Telling
Embarrassment
I was sitting here last night talking with a friend, we were sharing some of our most embarrassing moments in life and since I think in "blog mode" most of the time I thought this would be a good thing to share. For some reason I have an overwhelming need to share with the world just how stupid, clumsy and inept I can be at times.
April 1972
My graduating class band and dancers went to Washington DC to march in the Cherry Blossom Parade. It was a horrible trip there in a chartered bus with no heat. I did snag a new boyfriend on that trip though,even if it was love born from the need to stay warm. Along the way we were pulled over by state police to inform the driver his 4yr old son had just drown in their family pool. We had to wait along side the road for a replacement driver, who arrived looking like a serial killer on crack. We got there, grateful that we were not murdered by the bus driver in some rest stop along the way and checked into the hotel. I go out on the balcony to take in the view and was looking at the hotel across from us just in time to see a guy jump off the 6th floor balcony to his death. My letter jacket was stolen sometime during the night and I had to have my Mom wire me money to buy a coat with since that was the only one I had brought with me. I woke up the morning of the parade extremely sick with what I found out later was strep throat. But I was not about to miss that damn parade so I decided to march anyway. The freezing temps, ice and snow from the storm the night before and my 103 degree temp were enough to make me want to commit a crime so someone would put me in a warm jail cell for a few hours. For the parade we were not allowed to wear anything but our uniforms and as a dancer my uniform was rather skimpy. Before the parade they ask us to pose by the fountain for pictures, the photographer put all of us short ones up on the fountain ledge behind the others. He gave instructions for those on the ground to take one step back, me being sick and only paying half attention to what was going on around me only heard the "take one step back" part and not the "on the ground" part and promptly fell right into the frigid water of the fountain. There is nothing quite like embarrassing your entire school in front of the President of the US. I did not make parade queen and now understood the reason behind the balcony suicide, he just wanted out of DC as much as I did and felt that was his only choice.
Fall 1980
My son started kindergarten and came home with a list of things he needed for school. We went shopping and got everything on the list. One thing was not mentioned and I thought he might possibly might need it so I sent a note to his teacher the next morning with this written on it: "Does I Did It need to bring rubbers to school this year or do you provide them for the kindergarten students? I noticed they were not on the list and don't want him to need one and not have them." The next morning I was called to school for a conference with the principle. I had no idea what for. I tried my best to explain that where I am originally from a rubber is nothing more than an eraser. I don't think they believed me. I am also quite sure that something was lost in the translation years later while on vacation with some fairly new friends and I offered for my 17 yr old son to go by their 16 yr old daughter's room the next morning and "knock her up." The silence was deafening and I was totally innocent, I really had no idea that it had a totally different meaning here. All I meant was for him to knock on her door and wake the damn girl up for breakfast not impregnate her!
Summer 1983
The day before my wedding funeral. I might add here that I think weddings are the biggest waste of money on the planet second only to elaborate funerals, but they are kind of like the same thing so I am not sure it's fair to put each one in a single category, grouping them seems more appropriate. It took months for me to cave in and agree to one. I participated very little in the planning, it was taking all my energy to talk myself into just showing up for the damn thing and parade myself down that aisle in front of everyone like a trained monkey. I actually spent the entire morning of my wedding funeral on the phone with my fiance trying to talk him into eloping like I did the for my first wedding funeral. If I had known then what I know now I would have been the 80's version of "The Runaway Bride" leaving only a faint dust trail in my wake. Anyway I decided to blow off some steam the night before by going bike riding with my 7 yr old son. Having been hit by a car while riding a bike when I was 9 yrs old I had a fear of bike riding and hadn't been on one since. Why I decided that was the perfect time to get back on one is a mystery. Looking back on it, maybe I was subconsciously hoping another car would hit me and I could escape the whole wedding funeral ordeal. No such luck. But I did manage to go head first into a rose bush at my Grammy's house. My wedding funeral pictures look like I had been in a cage fight the night before. I don't care what anyone tells you, there is no way to cover up that many cuts, scratches and two black eyes with make up and white is not your friend!
February 1986
First off you need to know that I usually avoid any type of confrontation. I was pregnant, this is the pregnancy that was 19 months long. The first four months of this pregnancy was spent trying to adjust to the fact that I was having identical twins and needed two of everything. How was I going to tell them apart, what if they were boys and I had to make one of them wear hot pink nail polish until he was 30 so I would know which one was which? What if they were girls and I had to sit them down and ruin their dreams by telling them they could not both have a $20,000 wedding they were going to have to flip a coin to see who the lucky winner was? I was very sick the last two months and spent most of that time in the hospital or on bed rest. I did not look my best being drained by the parasites on a daily basis. I had just came out of the hospital the day before the "incident" and was suppose to again be on bed rest. My husband came in with the mail, in it was a letter from our car insurance company informing us that we had double paid for the last three years. However,it was not accompanied by a check for that $600 overpayment. I called the office and was informed it was company policy not to give refunds for overpayment and no they would not apply it to the next three years. You just don't mess with an angry pregnant woman. I'm pretty sure that is written in blood somewhere. I got in my car and drove to the office, my husband in hot pursuit in his car as soon as he found I had left the house. I had not washed my hair in days, I was in my pajamas and had on huge English Bulldog house slippers. This little wormy looking guy came out and told us to go back into his office. He tried again to tell us they couldn't refund or credit our money back. I was supposed to just let them pocket our $600? Yeah, that wasn't going to happen. We argued back and forth for a while, me doing most of the talking. He looked over at my husband and with a smirk on his face said "Do we need to call the men in the little white coats? I think she is getting a tad upset!" Wrong thing to say, my husband said I looked like a blur climbing across that man's desk. I grabbed him by his tie and was literally choking the shit out of him screaming "You will give me my fucking money today!", his office staff threatened to call the police. I didn't even flinch at the threat, did they really think I was going to be arrested as pregnant as I was when that company already had an ongoing investigation against them for stealing other clients money? In the end they didn't call and I got my money. But by then I had turned into a power hungry bitch and refused their check, I wanted my money in cash. I have always wanted a copy of that office surveillance video of me and my big ass climbing across that desk and latching onto that little worms tie. They repeatedly refused my request.
Summer 1993
My husband and I are in Hallmark looking for a birthday card. As usual I wandered off. I decided to play a trick on him as payback for the time he came up behind me in the grocery check out and threw a hundred dollars down on the belt saying "Thanks babe, last night was good, I'll call you again the next time I am in town." and then walked out of the store like he had no idea who I was. So I stalked up one aisle and saw him standing with his back to me, I came up behind him and grabbed his balls saying "How about we have some Hallmark love in the aisle", he turned slowly around. It wasn't my husband.
Fall 1994
Texting was still relatively new at that time, dear God I really am a dinosaur! My husband and I were in the mall and I was playing with my new phone, texting back and forth with my friend. Head down not paying a bit of attention to what I was doing. I walked straight into the built in benches arranged around the fountain, lost my balance and knowing I was going to fall reached out instinctively for the nearest object to break my fall. The nearest object just happened to be a little old many waiting for his wife to finish shopping. I took him into the fountain with me. Is it any wonder I now avoid fountains?
Christmas 1995
My husband thought Christmas should be celebrated bordello style and thus decorated our house accordingly. I really have no words to describe how horribly he decorated. I can only compare it to Santa, all the elves and the reindeer flying over our house like giant birds with diarrhea after ingesting tinsel, Christmas lights and fake snow. Let's just say we never made the Best Decorated House list at any point in our marriage. The season of 1995 was the first Christmas for my then 9 month old sons. He decides to "bring Christmas inside" for the babies. I tried to explain that unless he was going to hang some giant milk filled boobs across the fireplace mantel then the babies couldn't care less. Undeterred he decorated and I sat by silently praying that everyone we knew would go out of town for extended vacations and not come by to see it. Then I prayed for God to help me make up a good story (we had the black plague, we had all been felled by typhus, anything, I wasn't choosy at that point) as to why those that didn't leave town could not come to the house that year. One of his "designs" was to string lights all up and down the hallway and set them on the "sequence" setting so they would fade in and out each time showing a different color. The next afternoon I am in the shower while the babies are napping, I get out still wet and naked. Out of the corner of my eye I see a flash of red in the hallway and thinking my house is on fire immediately go into mother bear fireman mode. I have to save my babies from the raging Christmas light fire! Not taking time to even throw a robe on I run into the nursery, grab the sleeping babies and run out the front door. Straight into the mailman who was delivering a package to my door. Once outside I finally realize I had no fire just stupid Christmas lights. I'm already there, wet and naked, no way to explain it so I just decided to just act normal. I smiled as if I were fully clothed and sane, signed for the package and calmly watched the poor traumatized man run back to the mail truck. He never again brought a package to my door for the next 5 years that we lived there, he always left them sitting on the trunk of my car in the driveway. Fear is a powerful emotion.
Fall 2000
Tired of wearing contact lens or glasses I decided to have vision correction surgery. Everything went fine, in and out, patches in place for a few hours. I was told I could remove the patches that night before going to bed, which I did. At some point I woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. As soon as I turned the lights on in the bathroom I realized something was seriously wrong, my surgery had been a major failure and now my vision was actually worse than it was before surgery and it was really bad before surgery. I could barely see anything, it was like opening your eyes underwater in the pool, or in my case usually a fountain somewhere. I screamed and sobbed and called my doctor's emergency service. While waiting on him to call back I screamed and sobbed even louder causing mass hysteria in my house and hating myself for having the surgery. My doctor called and I hysterically told him I was blind, I would never see again and that I only had an English Bulldog and they didn't make good seeing eye dogs. I was seriously off the chain panicked. He calmly told me: "Touch your face." I suddenly realized why the surgery failed....he was an idiot who thought I had magical fingers that would restore my vision and I had let this fool do surgery on me! He then asked me: "What do you feel?" I told him: "I don't feel anything but my glasses." He replied "Exactly, now take them off, you have 20/20 vision and don't need them anymore." It was a miracle, my sight was restored by my magical fingers after all! He told me it was a common thing for patients after surgery to automatically put their glasses on in the middle of the night out of habit. I suggested that going forward he might want to write that in to his post op release papers. I mean what if I had snapped and went after him like I did the insurance man?
I was sitting here last night talking with a friend, we were sharing some of our most embarrassing moments in life and since I think in "blog mode" most of the time I thought this would be a good thing to share. For some reason I have an overwhelming need to share with the world just how stupid, clumsy and inept I can be at times.
April 1972
My graduating class band and dancers went to Washington DC to march in the Cherry Blossom Parade. It was a horrible trip there in a chartered bus with no heat. I did snag a new boyfriend on that trip though,even if it was love born from the need to stay warm. Along the way we were pulled over by state police to inform the driver his 4yr old son had just drown in their family pool. We had to wait along side the road for a replacement driver, who arrived looking like a serial killer on crack. We got there, grateful that we were not murdered by the bus driver in some rest stop along the way and checked into the hotel. I go out on the balcony to take in the view and was looking at the hotel across from us just in time to see a guy jump off the 6th floor balcony to his death. My letter jacket was stolen sometime during the night and I had to have my Mom wire me money to buy a coat with since that was the only one I had brought with me. I woke up the morning of the parade extremely sick with what I found out later was strep throat. But I was not about to miss that damn parade so I decided to march anyway. The freezing temps, ice and snow from the storm the night before and my 103 degree temp were enough to make me want to commit a crime so someone would put me in a warm jail cell for a few hours. For the parade we were not allowed to wear anything but our uniforms and as a dancer my uniform was rather skimpy. Before the parade they ask us to pose by the fountain for pictures, the photographer put all of us short ones up on the fountain ledge behind the others. He gave instructions for those on the ground to take one step back, me being sick and only paying half attention to what was going on around me only heard the "take one step back" part and not the "on the ground" part and promptly fell right into the frigid water of the fountain. There is nothing quite like embarrassing your entire school in front of the President of the US. I did not make parade queen and now understood the reason behind the balcony suicide, he just wanted out of DC as much as I did and felt that was his only choice.
Fall 1980
My son started kindergarten and came home with a list of things he needed for school. We went shopping and got everything on the list. One thing was not mentioned and I thought he might possibly might need it so I sent a note to his teacher the next morning with this written on it: "Does I Did It need to bring rubbers to school this year or do you provide them for the kindergarten students? I noticed they were not on the list and don't want him to need one and not have them." The next morning I was called to school for a conference with the principle. I had no idea what for. I tried my best to explain that where I am originally from a rubber is nothing more than an eraser. I don't think they believed me. I am also quite sure that something was lost in the translation years later while on vacation with some fairly new friends and I offered for my 17 yr old son to go by their 16 yr old daughter's room the next morning and "knock her up." The silence was deafening and I was totally innocent, I really had no idea that it had a totally different meaning here. All I meant was for him to knock on her door and wake the damn girl up for breakfast not impregnate her!
Summer 1983
The day before my wedding funeral. I might add here that I think weddings are the biggest waste of money on the planet second only to elaborate funerals, but they are kind of like the same thing so I am not sure it's fair to put each one in a single category, grouping them seems more appropriate. It took months for me to cave in and agree to one. I participated very little in the planning, it was taking all my energy to talk myself into just showing up for the damn thing and parade myself down that aisle in front of everyone like a trained monkey. I actually spent the entire morning of my wedding funeral on the phone with my fiance trying to talk him into eloping like I did the for my first wedding funeral. If I had known then what I know now I would have been the 80's version of "The Runaway Bride" leaving only a faint dust trail in my wake. Anyway I decided to blow off some steam the night before by going bike riding with my 7 yr old son. Having been hit by a car while riding a bike when I was 9 yrs old I had a fear of bike riding and hadn't been on one since. Why I decided that was the perfect time to get back on one is a mystery. Looking back on it, maybe I was subconsciously hoping another car would hit me and I could escape the whole wedding funeral ordeal. No such luck. But I did manage to go head first into a rose bush at my Grammy's house. My wedding funeral pictures look like I had been in a cage fight the night before. I don't care what anyone tells you, there is no way to cover up that many cuts, scratches and two black eyes with make up and white is not your friend!
February 1986
First off you need to know that I usually avoid any type of confrontation. I was pregnant, this is the pregnancy that was 19 months long. The first four months of this pregnancy was spent trying to adjust to the fact that I was having identical twins and needed two of everything. How was I going to tell them apart, what if they were boys and I had to make one of them wear hot pink nail polish until he was 30 so I would know which one was which? What if they were girls and I had to sit them down and ruin their dreams by telling them they could not both have a $20,000 wedding they were going to have to flip a coin to see who the lucky winner was? I was very sick the last two months and spent most of that time in the hospital or on bed rest. I did not look my best being drained by the parasites on a daily basis. I had just came out of the hospital the day before the "incident" and was suppose to again be on bed rest. My husband came in with the mail, in it was a letter from our car insurance company informing us that we had double paid for the last three years. However,it was not accompanied by a check for that $600 overpayment. I called the office and was informed it was company policy not to give refunds for overpayment and no they would not apply it to the next three years. You just don't mess with an angry pregnant woman. I'm pretty sure that is written in blood somewhere. I got in my car and drove to the office, my husband in hot pursuit in his car as soon as he found I had left the house. I had not washed my hair in days, I was in my pajamas and had on huge English Bulldog house slippers. This little wormy looking guy came out and told us to go back into his office. He tried again to tell us they couldn't refund or credit our money back. I was supposed to just let them pocket our $600? Yeah, that wasn't going to happen. We argued back and forth for a while, me doing most of the talking. He looked over at my husband and with a smirk on his face said "Do we need to call the men in the little white coats? I think she is getting a tad upset!" Wrong thing to say, my husband said I looked like a blur climbing across that man's desk. I grabbed him by his tie and was literally choking the shit out of him screaming "You will give me my fucking money today!", his office staff threatened to call the police. I didn't even flinch at the threat, did they really think I was going to be arrested as pregnant as I was when that company already had an ongoing investigation against them for stealing other clients money? In the end they didn't call and I got my money. But by then I had turned into a power hungry bitch and refused their check, I wanted my money in cash. I have always wanted a copy of that office surveillance video of me and my big ass climbing across that desk and latching onto that little worms tie. They repeatedly refused my request.
Summer 1993
My husband and I are in Hallmark looking for a birthday card. As usual I wandered off. I decided to play a trick on him as payback for the time he came up behind me in the grocery check out and threw a hundred dollars down on the belt saying "Thanks babe, last night was good, I'll call you again the next time I am in town." and then walked out of the store like he had no idea who I was. So I stalked up one aisle and saw him standing with his back to me, I came up behind him and grabbed his balls saying "How about we have some Hallmark love in the aisle", he turned slowly around. It wasn't my husband.
Fall 1994
Texting was still relatively new at that time, dear God I really am a dinosaur! My husband and I were in the mall and I was playing with my new phone, texting back and forth with my friend. Head down not paying a bit of attention to what I was doing. I walked straight into the built in benches arranged around the fountain, lost my balance and knowing I was going to fall reached out instinctively for the nearest object to break my fall. The nearest object just happened to be a little old many waiting for his wife to finish shopping. I took him into the fountain with me. Is it any wonder I now avoid fountains?
Christmas 1995
My husband thought Christmas should be celebrated bordello style and thus decorated our house accordingly. I really have no words to describe how horribly he decorated. I can only compare it to Santa, all the elves and the reindeer flying over our house like giant birds with diarrhea after ingesting tinsel, Christmas lights and fake snow. Let's just say we never made the Best Decorated House list at any point in our marriage. The season of 1995 was the first Christmas for my then 9 month old sons. He decides to "bring Christmas inside" for the babies. I tried to explain that unless he was going to hang some giant milk filled boobs across the fireplace mantel then the babies couldn't care less. Undeterred he decorated and I sat by silently praying that everyone we knew would go out of town for extended vacations and not come by to see it. Then I prayed for God to help me make up a good story (we had the black plague, we had all been felled by typhus, anything, I wasn't choosy at that point) as to why those that didn't leave town could not come to the house that year. One of his "designs" was to string lights all up and down the hallway and set them on the "sequence" setting so they would fade in and out each time showing a different color. The next afternoon I am in the shower while the babies are napping, I get out still wet and naked. Out of the corner of my eye I see a flash of red in the hallway and thinking my house is on fire immediately go into mother bear fireman mode. I have to save my babies from the raging Christmas light fire! Not taking time to even throw a robe on I run into the nursery, grab the sleeping babies and run out the front door. Straight into the mailman who was delivering a package to my door. Once outside I finally realize I had no fire just stupid Christmas lights. I'm already there, wet and naked, no way to explain it so I just decided to just act normal. I smiled as if I were fully clothed and sane, signed for the package and calmly watched the poor traumatized man run back to the mail truck. He never again brought a package to my door for the next 5 years that we lived there, he always left them sitting on the trunk of my car in the driveway. Fear is a powerful emotion.
Fall 2000
Tired of wearing contact lens or glasses I decided to have vision correction surgery. Everything went fine, in and out, patches in place for a few hours. I was told I could remove the patches that night before going to bed, which I did. At some point I woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. As soon as I turned the lights on in the bathroom I realized something was seriously wrong, my surgery had been a major failure and now my vision was actually worse than it was before surgery and it was really bad before surgery. I could barely see anything, it was like opening your eyes underwater in the pool, or in my case usually a fountain somewhere. I screamed and sobbed and called my doctor's emergency service. While waiting on him to call back I screamed and sobbed even louder causing mass hysteria in my house and hating myself for having the surgery. My doctor called and I hysterically told him I was blind, I would never see again and that I only had an English Bulldog and they didn't make good seeing eye dogs. I was seriously off the chain panicked. He calmly told me: "Touch your face." I suddenly realized why the surgery failed....he was an idiot who thought I had magical fingers that would restore my vision and I had let this fool do surgery on me! He then asked me: "What do you feel?" I told him: "I don't feel anything but my glasses." He replied "Exactly, now take them off, you have 20/20 vision and don't need them anymore." It was a miracle, my sight was restored by my magical fingers after all! He told me it was a common thing for patients after surgery to automatically put their glasses on in the middle of the night out of habit. I suggested that going forward he might want to write that in to his post op release papers. I mean what if I had snapped and went after him like I did the insurance man?
Monday, January 23, 2012
Tainting the Zombie Pool
I don't sleep, hardly ever. Well without medication anyway. Maybe I am afraid that all the people I have made fun of in my blogs are going to all get together and pay me a visit some night seeking revenge. Maybe all the ghosts I have encountered in my years of ghost hunting with my team are finally going to get pissed at being disturbed and gang up on me. Maybe I spent too many years on 3rd shift. What if one of my grown children decides to move back home in the middle of the night, I would need time to make sure all doors and windows are bolted and locked up tight before they gain entrance. What if my Chihuahua snaps and decides to attack me? What if I actually slept for four straight hours and didn't snack, I might die of malnourishment. What if I missed an episode of the Steve Wilkos show? What if a hot vampire shows up and I miss it because I fell asleep? What if my neighbors get into a knock down drag out fight in the parking lot and I don't get to watch it? What if aliens come after my pug? We won't even discuss what Bigfoot could do to me if I am not on guard! All valid concerns.
When I do sleep, it's very lightly. I have to have complete darkness and silence (not a good thing to require when living with a teenage boys). Opening my bedroom door, the heat kicking on, a water drip,a buggy crashing into the parking stall at the Walmart 2 miles away and the ticking of Big Ben in England is all it takes to wake me up. I do not wake up coherent so conversation of any kind with me is a crap shoot and I am not going to remember it the next day. Which is exactly why the Zombies are going to show up here one night to recruit me for their gang. I would make a perfect Zombie. Zoned out, always hungry, prefer the night hours, clumsy and incoherent. Those suckers ever form a group to rid the world of all small children and anyone over the age of 80 still holding a valid drivers license I will be begging them to make me their bitch.
So with all this in mind when they issued tornado warnings last night I had no concern. I figured if I was already on high alert against all the evil night things what was one more? I would be ready to snatch up my Adam Lambert look alike kids, my flat faced pug, my hateful chihuahua, my car keys and take shelter. I have no idea why I always have to take my car keys, odds are if the storm hits and blows everything away my car isn't going to be sitting in the driveway in pristine driving condition. Still I always grab them. The Chihuahua, at only 4 lbs, is of no concern since he is permanently glued to my side anyway I can just tuck him up under a boob and keep him safe. Did I mention I can't pass the pencil test? My loss, the Chihuahua's gain. So I settled down with my Kindle to read for a bit (Chihuahua already in his "safe place") since regular programming was so rudely interrupted by severe weather coverage. The next thing I know I wake up to a barrage of text messages and missed phone calls asking about our safety. I have no idea what they are talking about until I turn on the news. Tornadoes and destruction all around me and I slept through it all. Me who wakes up at the sound of the plants growing at night slept through 60 mph winds, hail the size of baseballs, thunder, lightening and torrential rains. Un-medicated. Amazed I asked one of the Adam Lambert look alikes if he slept through it too. Amazingly he answered no, he was mixing music. I ask why he didn't wake me up and he looks at me dead serious and says "I didn't think it was that bad." Really? What was it that failed to clue you in? Was it the house next door blowing down, the sirens going off, the weather radio blaring, the trees falling down all around or could it possibly be that the weather man on television screaming "Take cover now!" was unclear to you in some way? I think it's safe to say he doesn't have a future in meteorology or emergency management.
Thank God the storm kept all the night creatures from coming after me last night! Then again maybe they missed the perfect opportunity to get me while sleeping because they were afraid that my son inherited his intelligence from me and they didn't want me to taint the Zombie gene pool.
When I do sleep, it's very lightly. I have to have complete darkness and silence (not a good thing to require when living with a teenage boys). Opening my bedroom door, the heat kicking on, a water drip,a buggy crashing into the parking stall at the Walmart 2 miles away and the ticking of Big Ben in England is all it takes to wake me up. I do not wake up coherent so conversation of any kind with me is a crap shoot and I am not going to remember it the next day. Which is exactly why the Zombies are going to show up here one night to recruit me for their gang. I would make a perfect Zombie. Zoned out, always hungry, prefer the night hours, clumsy and incoherent. Those suckers ever form a group to rid the world of all small children and anyone over the age of 80 still holding a valid drivers license I will be begging them to make me their bitch.
So with all this in mind when they issued tornado warnings last night I had no concern. I figured if I was already on high alert against all the evil night things what was one more? I would be ready to snatch up my Adam Lambert look alike kids, my flat faced pug, my hateful chihuahua, my car keys and take shelter. I have no idea why I always have to take my car keys, odds are if the storm hits and blows everything away my car isn't going to be sitting in the driveway in pristine driving condition. Still I always grab them. The Chihuahua, at only 4 lbs, is of no concern since he is permanently glued to my side anyway I can just tuck him up under a boob and keep him safe. Did I mention I can't pass the pencil test? My loss, the Chihuahua's gain. So I settled down with my Kindle to read for a bit (Chihuahua already in his "safe place") since regular programming was so rudely interrupted by severe weather coverage. The next thing I know I wake up to a barrage of text messages and missed phone calls asking about our safety. I have no idea what they are talking about until I turn on the news. Tornadoes and destruction all around me and I slept through it all. Me who wakes up at the sound of the plants growing at night slept through 60 mph winds, hail the size of baseballs, thunder, lightening and torrential rains. Un-medicated. Amazed I asked one of the Adam Lambert look alikes if he slept through it too. Amazingly he answered no, he was mixing music. I ask why he didn't wake me up and he looks at me dead serious and says "I didn't think it was that bad." Really? What was it that failed to clue you in? Was it the house next door blowing down, the sirens going off, the weather radio blaring, the trees falling down all around or could it possibly be that the weather man on television screaming "Take cover now!" was unclear to you in some way? I think it's safe to say he doesn't have a future in meteorology or emergency management.
Thank God the storm kept all the night creatures from coming after me last night! Then again maybe they missed the perfect opportunity to get me while sleeping because they were afraid that my son inherited his intelligence from me and they didn't want me to taint the Zombie gene pool.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
An Unusual Love Story
Demon Seed asks if his friend can spend the night last night. Usually I don't care but he has two friends that will usually always get a no from me and one that definitely gets a no. It's one of the great mysteries of the world as to why he even continues to ask, but he does. The first of these boys can't stay because my Chihuahua hates the kid with the fire of a thousand suns and will not shut up the whole time he is in our house. Poor kid has never done anything to the dog and we have tried everything to smooth over whatever hurt feelings my Chi has, all to no avail so in the interest of my sanity and the kid's safety they have to be friends outside of my house. This is understood and considering his fear of my 4 lb Chihuahua the kid is more than willing to oblige. The second of these boys can't stay because it is very obvious to anyone who comes into contact with him that he has been raised by wolves that don't have regular access to food and drink and have had very little human socialization. The definate No-No of the bunch is like Eddie Haskell (Leave it to Beaver) who grew up and joined the mob. This kid smiles in your face and let's the compliments flow smoothly off his lips, however, it is important to keep his hands and feet in view at all times because he will steal you blind the first chance he gets. This one has now been banished by all parents and is quickly becoming a distant, if unpleasant, memory.
In a Klonopin induced haze I agreed to let Wolfie stay the night here last night. Wolfie is about 150 lbs overweight, not hard to understand if you ever saw him around food. Maybe I caved because I get such amusement out of seeing him, at 5'3" and 300 pounds standing next to my 6'3" skinny son. Whatever my reason, I soon regretted it, as I always do. But he did bring his own snacks, a lot of snacks. This kid actually came in the house with a large bag of McDonald's fries, burgers and pies, a bag of 12 Wendy's hamburger's, 2 bags from the grocery store full of chips, cookies and candy, a 12 pack of Coke, a 12 pack of Dr. Pepper and a 6 pack of Chocolate YooHoo's to get him through his estimated 12 hour stay here. The first words out of his mouth, before hello, was "You made homemade chicken pot pie!" (it was on the kitchen island cooling off, he probably smelled it when he got out of the car in the parking lot). He puts his stash down, get's a plate and scooped out out half of the 9 x 12 Pyrex baking dish with the pot pie in it. Get's a coke out of the fridge (guess the ones he brought weren't cold enough for him yet) and sits down to eat. About half way through his meal, which in Wolfie time would be about 30 seconds, he finally looks up and says "Where is The Boy?" It was a little hard to answer with my mouth hanging open like it was. My son told me later he knew Wolfie was here when he heard the silverware rattling in the drawer and he was trying to get to him before he got to the food. I told him I understood and not to feel bad because there is no one in the world fast enough to catch Wolfie before he can start on food. It just isn't physically possible. My son escorts Wolfie and his snacks back to his room and it was fairly quite for the next couple of hours. At one point I literally caught myself sneaking around trying to be as quiet as possible in my own kitchen because I knew if that kid heard the sound of a dish clinking he would immediately come running. This was proven a few minutes later when I was putting food in the dogs dishes and he heard the bag rattling and came to investigate. Denied food I don't think Wolfie would hesitate to eat one of my dogs. I slid a plate of cupcakes in Wolfie's direction to confuse him long enough to pick up the Chihuahua and get him to safety out of the kitchen area. The next time I see him he is passing through my den, two cupcakes in one hand, one cupcake in the other hand and visible icing tracks of the one he had stuffed in his mouth mumbling "These are some good cupcakes". His sideways glance at the Chihuahua told me I needed to up the security on the dogs until he left.
I have a rule here, no one sleeps on my sofa but me. I have insomnia and sometimes get up in the middle of the night and wander into the den to watch TV or read. Finding someone on my sofa is like an assault on my personal space to me. I get crabby, it's well known and no one crosses that line. My son has all the conveniences in his room, a bed, a sofa, a big flat panel TV, xBox, Playstation, the wimpy Wii, 2 laptop computers,a desktop computer and a mini fridge. There is no reason any of his friends need to invade my den to sleep, watch TV, scratch their ass or anything else. I didn't sleep well last night, possibly because of the need to guard the dogs, go into the den and what do I find? Yep, Wolfie. But he was smart enough NOT to get on my sofa. Instead he had pulled my comforter (I always keep one on the back of the sofa), the sofa pillows and one of the dogs blankets off into the floor to make himself a "bed", I am assuming he felt comforted by the fact that the den is so close to the kitchen. Now that was bad enough but he actually had his head laying in one of the dog beds! Did he crawl in there in pursuit of one of the dogs, they weren't there so he was laying in wait? I decided to not throw my usual fit and just leave him there, after all when Wolfie is asleep he isn't eating and everyone wins. He is snoring like crazy so I feel it safe to get myself a snack from the kitchen. I put my brownie in the microwave, heat it up and return to the den. When I sat down I looked over at Wolfie to make sure he wasn't awake and going to attack me for the brownie and there he was, still sound asleep. Except his nose was twitching, rhythmically, and then I realized what was happening. This kid apparently can even smell and respond to food odors in a deep sleep state! Amazing, his nose twitched until the last bite of brownie was gone and then suddenly stopped and the snoring resumed. I finally decided to return to the safety of my room in case the genes of his wolf ancestors took over and he decided to come after me. It was no longer just the dogs safety I feared. This kid could eat us all and no one would find us for hours, we would end up on one of those true crime television shows. Worse yet we could be the main focus for a "When Animals Attack" episode. I had visions of this in my head. There I would be in my bloodied living room, all flesh sucked off of my bones and clutching the bones of my Chihuahua tightly to my chest while investigators had a snarling, growling Wolfie trapped in the corner just waiting for Animal Control to get here, my son standing in the hallway screaming "Tranquilize him!!! He will go for us next, he has't fed in two hours!"
I wake up this morning to Wolfie singing happily in the kitchen, he is in his element and it brings him joy. I go in to find my kitchen a disaster area, Wolfie proudly in the middle of it all with a big grin on his face making breakfast burritos. I quickly look around to find my pug, considering her fat rolls, and the unavailability of the Chihuahua, I thought she might have become a target, but she is safe. A deep friendship has formed. Two beings who both have an uncontrollable, all consuming love affair with food have found each other. Kindred spirits. They are one. He shares his burrito with her and baby talks to her. Her fat butt is wiggling in joy and so is his. All is good in their world and everything important to them is present.
For them, at that moment, they need nothing nor anyone else. Just one little fat pug, one little fat boy and that breakfast burrito. A match made in heaven.
In a Klonopin induced haze I agreed to let Wolfie stay the night here last night. Wolfie is about 150 lbs overweight, not hard to understand if you ever saw him around food. Maybe I caved because I get such amusement out of seeing him, at 5'3" and 300 pounds standing next to my 6'3" skinny son. Whatever my reason, I soon regretted it, as I always do. But he did bring his own snacks, a lot of snacks. This kid actually came in the house with a large bag of McDonald's fries, burgers and pies, a bag of 12 Wendy's hamburger's, 2 bags from the grocery store full of chips, cookies and candy, a 12 pack of Coke, a 12 pack of Dr. Pepper and a 6 pack of Chocolate YooHoo's to get him through his estimated 12 hour stay here. The first words out of his mouth, before hello, was "You made homemade chicken pot pie!" (it was on the kitchen island cooling off, he probably smelled it when he got out of the car in the parking lot). He puts his stash down, get's a plate and scooped out out half of the 9 x 12 Pyrex baking dish with the pot pie in it. Get's a coke out of the fridge (guess the ones he brought weren't cold enough for him yet) and sits down to eat. About half way through his meal, which in Wolfie time would be about 30 seconds, he finally looks up and says "Where is The Boy?" It was a little hard to answer with my mouth hanging open like it was. My son told me later he knew Wolfie was here when he heard the silverware rattling in the drawer and he was trying to get to him before he got to the food. I told him I understood and not to feel bad because there is no one in the world fast enough to catch Wolfie before he can start on food. It just isn't physically possible. My son escorts Wolfie and his snacks back to his room and it was fairly quite for the next couple of hours. At one point I literally caught myself sneaking around trying to be as quiet as possible in my own kitchen because I knew if that kid heard the sound of a dish clinking he would immediately come running. This was proven a few minutes later when I was putting food in the dogs dishes and he heard the bag rattling and came to investigate. Denied food I don't think Wolfie would hesitate to eat one of my dogs. I slid a plate of cupcakes in Wolfie's direction to confuse him long enough to pick up the Chihuahua and get him to safety out of the kitchen area. The next time I see him he is passing through my den, two cupcakes in one hand, one cupcake in the other hand and visible icing tracks of the one he had stuffed in his mouth mumbling "These are some good cupcakes". His sideways glance at the Chihuahua told me I needed to up the security on the dogs until he left.
I have a rule here, no one sleeps on my sofa but me. I have insomnia and sometimes get up in the middle of the night and wander into the den to watch TV or read. Finding someone on my sofa is like an assault on my personal space to me. I get crabby, it's well known and no one crosses that line. My son has all the conveniences in his room, a bed, a sofa, a big flat panel TV, xBox, Playstation, the wimpy Wii, 2 laptop computers,a desktop computer and a mini fridge. There is no reason any of his friends need to invade my den to sleep, watch TV, scratch their ass or anything else. I didn't sleep well last night, possibly because of the need to guard the dogs, go into the den and what do I find? Yep, Wolfie. But he was smart enough NOT to get on my sofa. Instead he had pulled my comforter (I always keep one on the back of the sofa), the sofa pillows and one of the dogs blankets off into the floor to make himself a "bed", I am assuming he felt comforted by the fact that the den is so close to the kitchen. Now that was bad enough but he actually had his head laying in one of the dog beds! Did he crawl in there in pursuit of one of the dogs, they weren't there so he was laying in wait? I decided to not throw my usual fit and just leave him there, after all when Wolfie is asleep he isn't eating and everyone wins. He is snoring like crazy so I feel it safe to get myself a snack from the kitchen. I put my brownie in the microwave, heat it up and return to the den. When I sat down I looked over at Wolfie to make sure he wasn't awake and going to attack me for the brownie and there he was, still sound asleep. Except his nose was twitching, rhythmically, and then I realized what was happening. This kid apparently can even smell and respond to food odors in a deep sleep state! Amazing, his nose twitched until the last bite of brownie was gone and then suddenly stopped and the snoring resumed. I finally decided to return to the safety of my room in case the genes of his wolf ancestors took over and he decided to come after me. It was no longer just the dogs safety I feared. This kid could eat us all and no one would find us for hours, we would end up on one of those true crime television shows. Worse yet we could be the main focus for a "When Animals Attack" episode. I had visions of this in my head. There I would be in my bloodied living room, all flesh sucked off of my bones and clutching the bones of my Chihuahua tightly to my chest while investigators had a snarling, growling Wolfie trapped in the corner just waiting for Animal Control to get here, my son standing in the hallway screaming "Tranquilize him!!! He will go for us next, he has't fed in two hours!"
I wake up this morning to Wolfie singing happily in the kitchen, he is in his element and it brings him joy. I go in to find my kitchen a disaster area, Wolfie proudly in the middle of it all with a big grin on his face making breakfast burritos. I quickly look around to find my pug, considering her fat rolls, and the unavailability of the Chihuahua, I thought she might have become a target, but she is safe. A deep friendship has formed. Two beings who both have an uncontrollable, all consuming love affair with food have found each other. Kindred spirits. They are one. He shares his burrito with her and baby talks to her. Her fat butt is wiggling in joy and so is his. All is good in their world and everything important to them is present.
For them, at that moment, they need nothing nor anyone else. Just one little fat pug, one little fat boy and that breakfast burrito. A match made in heaven.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
The Phone Call
I almost hate to share this. I have always considered myself to be fairly intelligent and aware of the world around me, I have lived all over the US, gone to college, had many years as a military spouse, have four children and by no means have I ever been considered good nun material. Today I am having to rethink all of that. There can be no other explanation except extreme stupidity AND it happened before I even took a Valium so I can't even blame drugs.
Last night I am sitting here, just me and the dogs enjoying a TV dinner (because I am on a cooking strike this week) and a Johnny Depp movie. It could be that my mind was so wrapped up in seeing Johnny Depp's ass that I was not firing all neurons, he has that effect on me....well, that and a few others. I'm sure he would be just as attracted to me if he could see me sitting on the couch shoveling food in my mouth and fist pumping every time he comes on screen. It's the most basic of primitive responses.
My phone rings and for once I answer it (I like to throw people off once in a while by actually acknowledging that I do know what it means when the phone rings and am capable of having the correct response as opposed to ignoring it like I usually do). A man asks me if I have a few minutes to answer a few survey questions. Now I get excited because someone is actually asking for my opinion on something and not trying to run in the opposite direction with me hanging onto their pant leg dragging along behind them to make them listen. I tell him yes. He starts with just a few basic questions like name (thank God I only gave him my first name so when my he publishes a book someday about idiots he can't actually use my whole name), birthdate, marital status, etc. Then he tells me he works for a large magazine company that is oriented towards women but if at any time I feel uncomfortable answering any question I have the right to refuse. Not a problem for me, talking about any subject has never been an issue, even though many times it should be. He moves on into his next round of questions, for me still fairly mild. I answer them only to be interrupted once by him to be told I don't have to go into as much detail that the short version would be sufficient. I pout a little over this but agree to do it his way, or at least try. He again warns me that I do not have to answer and can call the survey off at any time and says we are moving into block 3 of the questions and they will be little more in depth. He asks questions pertaining to what I find attractive or unattractive in men. I happily answer, it's not often I have an audience so willing to listen to me ramble so I was taking full advantage of the opportunity. We move on to block 4 and block 5, both with the same warnings and assurances and the questions are now pertaining to my sex life. I admit I had to improvise a little here and did avoid telling him about the cobwebs and vaginal atrophy. Then block 6 happens. He tried, he really did but I guess I was just too much for him. This is when he calls the interview off with this:
"M'am I have been making obscene phone calls for years and I have to tell you, this is the first time I have ever gotten this far without my victim catching on and hanging up. I have never had to actually tell someone they were getting an obscene phone call before now. I didn't even get off."
Guess he has never called anyone high on Johnny Depp before.
Last night I am sitting here, just me and the dogs enjoying a TV dinner (because I am on a cooking strike this week) and a Johnny Depp movie. It could be that my mind was so wrapped up in seeing Johnny Depp's ass that I was not firing all neurons, he has that effect on me....well, that and a few others. I'm sure he would be just as attracted to me if he could see me sitting on the couch shoveling food in my mouth and fist pumping every time he comes on screen. It's the most basic of primitive responses.
My phone rings and for once I answer it (I like to throw people off once in a while by actually acknowledging that I do know what it means when the phone rings and am capable of having the correct response as opposed to ignoring it like I usually do). A man asks me if I have a few minutes to answer a few survey questions. Now I get excited because someone is actually asking for my opinion on something and not trying to run in the opposite direction with me hanging onto their pant leg dragging along behind them to make them listen. I tell him yes. He starts with just a few basic questions like name (thank God I only gave him my first name so when my he publishes a book someday about idiots he can't actually use my whole name), birthdate, marital status, etc. Then he tells me he works for a large magazine company that is oriented towards women but if at any time I feel uncomfortable answering any question I have the right to refuse. Not a problem for me, talking about any subject has never been an issue, even though many times it should be. He moves on into his next round of questions, for me still fairly mild. I answer them only to be interrupted once by him to be told I don't have to go into as much detail that the short version would be sufficient. I pout a little over this but agree to do it his way, or at least try. He again warns me that I do not have to answer and can call the survey off at any time and says we are moving into block 3 of the questions and they will be little more in depth. He asks questions pertaining to what I find attractive or unattractive in men. I happily answer, it's not often I have an audience so willing to listen to me ramble so I was taking full advantage of the opportunity. We move on to block 4 and block 5, both with the same warnings and assurances and the questions are now pertaining to my sex life. I admit I had to improvise a little here and did avoid telling him about the cobwebs and vaginal atrophy. Then block 6 happens. He tried, he really did but I guess I was just too much for him. This is when he calls the interview off with this:
"M'am I have been making obscene phone calls for years and I have to tell you, this is the first time I have ever gotten this far without my victim catching on and hanging up. I have never had to actually tell someone they were getting an obscene phone call before now. I didn't even get off."
Guess he has never called anyone high on Johnny Depp before.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Don't Mix The Coffee Mate!
I have never been coffee drinker, having missed the opportunity years ago to develop a taste for it. It surely has to be an acquired taste. I love the smell of brewing coffee but I have just never cared for the taste. So after getting tired of hearing "You don't drink coffee, are you human?" so many times I have decided to prove that I am human (coffee may be my only shot at proving this). It has proved to be at best tolerable.... if....I put in enough sugar to put me into a diabetic coma and enough Coffee Mate to disguise the taste of the coffee. I thought I was doing good and had finally joined the ranks of coffee drinkers world wide. My son proved to me today that I am living in a dream world, I am not a coffee drinker. I am a Coffee Mate drinker. This was decided when I had a Coffee Mate melt down this morning. I don't have any idea what brand coffee I have in the kitchen since I have tried so many different brands thinking I might find one that I actually think tastes good. I have not and most likely by now there are many different brands mixed together in that canister. I can't tell the difference, they all taste the same to me. BUT...dammit I know what brand of coffee creamer I like and nothing else will do. I send Demon Seed to the store to get Coffee Mate so I can torture myself with a cup of coffee because I am told all coffee drinkers have to have coffee first thing in the morning. I am having a little problem with that considering I have spent years thinking Coke was the "morning drink" of choice, at least it is in my world. He comes back and asks if I want him to fill the canister with the creamer. I say yes not really pay attention to him because he is a teenagers and if you pay too much attention to what they are saying it makes you suicidal or homicidal. Both unattractive traits in a mother. I walk into the kitchen to see him commit a crime, punishable by death. He is putting an off brand creamer in my Coffee Mate cannister and mixing it together! I immediately had Coffee Mate Meltdown. I whined and I yelled and he is standing there looking at me as if I just told him I was running off and marrying a minister and he was going to be forced to live in a church rectory. He tells me to calm down, it's only coffee creamer. Did he really just say that? Only coffee creamer! For God's sake he is fucking with my Coffee Mate and I am suppose to smile and be happy? I pour the mixed together creamer out in the trash and refill the canister with my beloved Coffee Mate. To calm me down he offers to make me a cup of coffee. I agree but I have to get my cup ready, put my own sugar and creamer in. I no longer trust this child to handle my creamer with the respect it so deserves. I get my cup ready, the coffee finishes brewing and he goes to pour me a cup. In disbelief he turns and asks me just where the coffee is suppose to go because there is so much Coffee Mate he doesn't have room to put more than about a 1/4 cup of coffee in my mug. When I tell him that yes, that is the correct coffee calculation he realizes the seriousness of my addiction and of his earlier crime. He then tells me that I am not even really drinking coffee I am drinking Coffee Mate. Of course I am drinking coffee, there is some in that cup! There is no scientific formula for the correct amount of coffee vs creamer. I am within my legal rights to drink it any damn way I want!
I need to ask for a moment of silence and if it's not too much trouble lighting a candle would be appropriate. We are in deep mourning at our house today. I fear The Devil's Advocate will not recover from this devastating blow. The unthinkable has happened. The XBox has passed on. His social life and sense of self worth is severely affected now that he is cut off from his online gaming community. Tonight I will not hear the occasional, but so comforting, screams of "Die, motherfucker!" coming from his bedroom. Without that how will I know he hasn't climbed out his window and joined an armed street gang? I hope we survive the next two days until the new one is delivered. Expensive? Yes, but it keeps him off the streets and you can't put a price tag on that!
Poor child has also suffered another blow this week. He broke up with this week's girlfriend. She was "getting to clingy", which loosely translates to "she thinks I need to call her every day". I don't know this one's name. I don't feel too bad about this since when I ask him what her name was he replied "Jessa...no wait that was the last one!" I don't even try to remember their names anymore, I just call them all "hon", it's easier that way. I suggested he might want to try that tactic too. With my Fibro it takes me longer than a week to memorize their name and by then they are already gone. It doesn't help any that he goes for the same "look", all brunettes with brown eyes. This kid can go from single to committed and then back to single again faster than I can swallow a Klonopin. He can literally go to the grocery store for me and come back with a newvictim girlfriend. Eventually we will have to move, sooner or later he will run out of girls in our city and if I am ever going to have hopes of getting rid of him him becoming a responsible adult and moving out I will have to take him to a larger hunting ground. One "where no one knows his name".
I think McDonald's tried to sabotage us last night. The Devil's Advocate sent me a text from his bedroom(it's hard for him to hear me with the Turtle Box headphones that are permanently attached to his head) about midnight saying "We should go to Sonic and get some ice cream". When there is fast food involved it doesn't take much to convince me and at the time going out in 17 degree weather for ice cream in the middle of the night made perfect sense to me. After fighting off my hysterical pug, who has major separation issues, to get out the door we made a break for it. We didn't turn the outside lights on, just made a run for the car. to get out of the cold. We didn't get far, the next thing I see is my son flipping in the air and landing on the sidewalk. Some idiot had put a table, yes a table, at the edge of our porch leading to the sidewalk. After a few choice words from the both of us we move the table to the side (nothing stops me on a fast food run) and continued on our way. We come back and again make a run for the door, this time to the warmth of the house. Again, my son is ahead of me and does another mid air flip. Whoever the idiot is has moved that table right back into the same spot. Thank God I was carrying the food, if my fast food had scattered all over the porch I would have been going door to door hunting the idiot down with a plastic knife. Nothing comes between me and my fast food! Not being in a hurry and being motivated by the bright lights of a fast food restaurant this time we weren't so nice and threw the table out in the middle of the yard. I get up this morning and there is the table again. Right back in the same spot. I did go door to door this time and no one claims to know anything about this table or who it belongs to. Several also fell over the silly thing last night and this morning, they have also been moving it out of the way. This time my neighbor carries it to the dumpster and shoves it in. My son left a few minutes ago, he probably heard about a new neighborhood he hasn't trolled for girls in yet, and called me on his cell to tell me the table is back again and in the same spot. Not a single person in this complex has seen anyone near this table so we have no idea who is doing this or why. I personally think it is McDonald's. They got wind that we were going to Sonic instead of our usual midnight run to them and this is payback.
Can someone explain to me why men can't just get up and go to bed (better yet, go home) when they are sleepy? Why do they feel the need to lay on the sofa and snore so loudly that I can't even hear NeNe Leaks screaming on The Real Housewives of Atlanta? Do you realize how loud that has to be to drown out NeNe? Why did he even come over here? I was rude, I didn't put out, didn't cook anything, refused to watch stupid combat movies or hunting reality shows, talked to him through a haze of Valium and let my pug climb all over him in the hopes that he would leave and go home. But did he? No, instead he laid on my sofa and irritated me with his snoring and ball scratching. Tonight my phone is on silent and I will pretend to be out of town. If that fails and I get caught I do have several episodes of Toddlers and Tiara's I can force him to watch.
I need to ask for a moment of silence and if it's not too much trouble lighting a candle would be appropriate. We are in deep mourning at our house today. I fear The Devil's Advocate will not recover from this devastating blow. The unthinkable has happened. The XBox has passed on. His social life and sense of self worth is severely affected now that he is cut off from his online gaming community. Tonight I will not hear the occasional, but so comforting, screams of "Die, motherfucker!" coming from his bedroom. Without that how will I know he hasn't climbed out his window and joined an armed street gang? I hope we survive the next two days until the new one is delivered. Expensive? Yes, but it keeps him off the streets and you can't put a price tag on that!
Poor child has also suffered another blow this week. He broke up with this week's girlfriend. She was "getting to clingy", which loosely translates to "she thinks I need to call her every day". I don't know this one's name. I don't feel too bad about this since when I ask him what her name was he replied "Jessa...no wait that was the last one!" I don't even try to remember their names anymore, I just call them all "hon", it's easier that way. I suggested he might want to try that tactic too. With my Fibro it takes me longer than a week to memorize their name and by then they are already gone. It doesn't help any that he goes for the same "look", all brunettes with brown eyes. This kid can go from single to committed and then back to single again faster than I can swallow a Klonopin. He can literally go to the grocery store for me and come back with a new
I think McDonald's tried to sabotage us last night. The Devil's Advocate sent me a text from his bedroom(it's hard for him to hear me with the Turtle Box headphones that are permanently attached to his head) about midnight saying "We should go to Sonic and get some ice cream". When there is fast food involved it doesn't take much to convince me and at the time going out in 17 degree weather for ice cream in the middle of the night made perfect sense to me. After fighting off my hysterical pug, who has major separation issues, to get out the door we made a break for it. We didn't turn the outside lights on, just made a run for the car. to get out of the cold. We didn't get far, the next thing I see is my son flipping in the air and landing on the sidewalk. Some idiot had put a table, yes a table, at the edge of our porch leading to the sidewalk. After a few choice words from the both of us we move the table to the side (nothing stops me on a fast food run) and continued on our way. We come back and again make a run for the door, this time to the warmth of the house. Again, my son is ahead of me and does another mid air flip. Whoever the idiot is has moved that table right back into the same spot. Thank God I was carrying the food, if my fast food had scattered all over the porch I would have been going door to door hunting the idiot down with a plastic knife. Nothing comes between me and my fast food! Not being in a hurry and being motivated by the bright lights of a fast food restaurant this time we weren't so nice and threw the table out in the middle of the yard. I get up this morning and there is the table again. Right back in the same spot. I did go door to door this time and no one claims to know anything about this table or who it belongs to. Several also fell over the silly thing last night and this morning, they have also been moving it out of the way. This time my neighbor carries it to the dumpster and shoves it in. My son left a few minutes ago, he probably heard about a new neighborhood he hasn't trolled for girls in yet, and called me on his cell to tell me the table is back again and in the same spot. Not a single person in this complex has seen anyone near this table so we have no idea who is doing this or why. I personally think it is McDonald's. They got wind that we were going to Sonic instead of our usual midnight run to them and this is payback.
Can someone explain to me why men can't just get up and go to bed (better yet, go home) when they are sleepy? Why do they feel the need to lay on the sofa and snore so loudly that I can't even hear NeNe Leaks screaming on The Real Housewives of Atlanta? Do you realize how loud that has to be to drown out NeNe? Why did he even come over here? I was rude, I didn't put out, didn't cook anything, refused to watch stupid combat movies or hunting reality shows, talked to him through a haze of Valium and let my pug climb all over him in the hopes that he would leave and go home. But did he? No, instead he laid on my sofa and irritated me with his snoring and ball scratching. Tonight my phone is on silent and I will pretend to be out of town. If that fails and I get caught I do have several episodes of Toddlers and Tiara's I can force him to watch.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Celebrity Wife Swap
Last night, being the reality TV whore that I am, I watched the new show "Celebrity Wife Swap". I'm sure the neighbors can still hear my hooting and hollering resounding in their ears today. I want to personally meet the warped mind that put this episode together, he/she could possibly overtake Judge Judy as my new hero! I want to meet the person that was sitting there and all at once said "Hey, I know, we will have Gary Busey swap with Ted Haggard, that will get us millions of viewers!" Besides myself, just who's mind works in that way? Seriously, besides over sized teeth, goofy grins, and super inflated egos just what do these two men have in common that would even lead your mind to put the two of them together in a single thought?
The look of horror on Gayle Haggard's face when she realized just what she had gotten herself into was priceless. I suspect she would have felt safer with a serial killer. I totally expected her to pull out an electric drill and install a lock on the bedroom door to keep the devil out. But she took it like a champ and decided she could "enlighten" Gary Busey. Obviously she doesn't watch a lot of television and missed "Celebrity Rehab" and "Celebrity Apprentice". She is upset because Gary won't listen to her story, she wants to tell him about the scandal and how they handled it and all he wants is to know what sport she played as a child. Gayle honey, just because you choose to believe Ted, who confessed that all was true and now wants to back pedal and call the guy "his accuser" instead of "his meth using lover" that doesn't mean everyone wants to sit and listen to it. Go into Gary's light and enjoy life for a bit, it's quite obviously a pleasant place to be, just look how happy Gary is there.
Then we havesmarmy poor Ted who had to deal with Gary's "wife/girlfriend/but we are married spiritually" live in love, who I might add here can rival Gary in the extra teeth department. But then so can Ted so he probably didn't even notice. Hell, I'm not even sure Ted notices the world around him. He seems to think every comment made to him by anyone requires a fake ear to ear grin and head nod and is totally oblivious to the world around him. But it's OK because he lives in the light and love of the Lord and that is all the guidance he needs! At least that was his feeble explanation. Now Gary and his live in "wife/girlfriend/but we are married spiritually" think they have lived 30 something past lives together, in one of them he was Constantine's dad, and she is pretty sure she lived a past life with ole' Ted too. Who knows? Maybe they did. She wants to free the Haggard's and their children, teach them to enjoy each other and to remember all their past lives together. Then all will be right with the world. Maybe she is right, with their ability to sugar coat his scandal and the fact that they have so many fully grown children still living at home I think they could use her free spirited help.
I want to dislike goofy Gary and his "wife/girlfriend/but we are married spiritually" Stephanie, but I can't. He has no filter and I have no filter. We are kindred spirits, we may have even been Cleopatra's parents in a former life. I found I actually like their crazy ass life and them. For all of his goofiness he does have lucid moments of pure brillance. Their ramblings make me happy because watching them you can see that they are happy, and that is all that really matters. Maybe it's a special talent of the Haggard's that a few minutes of them on my TV screen can make anyone, even Gary Busey look normal. I would much rather live in the Busey's world of confusion and in your face happiness than the world of denial the Haggard's live in.
The look of horror on Gayle Haggard's face when she realized just what she had gotten herself into was priceless. I suspect she would have felt safer with a serial killer. I totally expected her to pull out an electric drill and install a lock on the bedroom door to keep the devil out. But she took it like a champ and decided she could "enlighten" Gary Busey. Obviously she doesn't watch a lot of television and missed "Celebrity Rehab" and "Celebrity Apprentice". She is upset because Gary won't listen to her story, she wants to tell him about the scandal and how they handled it and all he wants is to know what sport she played as a child. Gayle honey, just because you choose to believe Ted, who confessed that all was true and now wants to back pedal and call the guy "his accuser" instead of "his meth using lover" that doesn't mean everyone wants to sit and listen to it. Go into Gary's light and enjoy life for a bit, it's quite obviously a pleasant place to be, just look how happy Gary is there.
Then we have
I want to dislike goofy Gary and his "wife/girlfriend/but we are married spiritually" Stephanie, but I can't. He has no filter and I have no filter. We are kindred spirits, we may have even been Cleopatra's parents in a former life. I found I actually like their crazy ass life and them. For all of his goofiness he does have lucid moments of pure brillance. Their ramblings make me happy because watching them you can see that they are happy, and that is all that really matters. Maybe it's a special talent of the Haggard's that a few minutes of them on my TV screen can make anyone, even Gary Busey look normal. I would much rather live in the Busey's world of confusion and in your face happiness than the world of denial the Haggard's live in.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Labor and Delivery...You want me to name it too?!
As one of my howler monkey's birthday is coming up soon I decided to take a trip down horror memory lane and revisit the day of his eviction. All of my children were born in the early morning hours, which proves they were out to get me from day one. Labor and delivery should only commence in the afternoon hours after Mom has had time to knock back a few drinks and the Valium has released it's rosy glow.
It was cold, rainy and still dark out when I felt the contractions start. Hell, I don't get out of bed that early when it's warm, sunny and light out. I could hear the Birth Gods laughing as I stumbled around trying to find clothes in the dark and wake up my sperm donor. We get outside to the car and I froze. I was NOT going in my snazzy new red sports car and take a chance on getting any type of birth juice on the fine leather seats that cost me a small fortune. I quickly rerouted to the sperm donor's car, he grumbled and moaned but by that time I was firmly planted into the passenger seat and one look at my face told him it would be in his best interest to just get in and drive. We had to stop and get gas. What?! I have been nine months pregnant for the last 17 months and you don't have gas in your car?! I calmed down some when the smell of fine cuisine coming from the gas station dining area wafted across my nose. A sausage and egg biscuit was just what I needed. The sperm donor informed me I wasn't suppose to eat anything. I informed him he was an idiot who had contributed very little to this whole ordeal and that I would have cheese with my biscuit too. Finally we were gassed up, sausaged up and ready to roll.
We went in through the emergency room because even hospitals don't have all their doors unlocked at that ungodly hour. I brushed the crumbs off my face and informed them I was in labor. The triage nurse looked at me and ask: "Are you due yet?" Fighting the urge to rip her face off Imaybe not so kindly informed her that since my water had already broke,I was having contractions 5 minutes apart and I was finished with my sausage biscuit that I was more than ready to get this blood sucking leech out. She quickly ushered us upstairs.
Upstairs they felt the need to ask more questions and wanted me to fill out paperwork, I felt the need to do neither and asked for drugs. It's was a standoff. One of the idiots told me they couldn't deliver the baby if didn't fill out their paperwork. Really? We shall see. They finally caved, as if they had any other choice and took me to my room. I called my best friend, I needed someone there who felt and thought like I did, I needed someone not to terribly attached to this child yet. I wanted someone that could sneak in the nursery if it was ugly and swap it for a cute one. I had not held out much hope since seeing the sonograms pictures. Plus she had flask of wine and snacks in her purse. Did I mention I love this girl? Several trips to the "bathroom" with my best friend later and I felt as if I could birth a small elephant while applying make up and planning a vacation. Then they told me I was too far into labor for an epidural. Now for most that would have been devastating news, not so much for me, I was prepared for this situation. I had wine!
The baby decided he wasn't too sure about coming out since by now he was pretty sure his mother was a wino and his Auntie was a nut case so he refused to budge. He could not be convinced, coaxed or bribed, to come out and held his ground. I could visualize his tiny hands, both clutching the placenta for dear life and screaming "NO! Let me stay, please just let me stay in here, these people are crazy!" Not in my womb boy, you are officially evicted, not get your shit and get out! He refused. I asked for my doctor and informed him that one of us was taking that baby out of there and it was his decision as to whether he did the C-Section or I did it, but it was getting done. Wine gives you a wonderful sense of bravado. He thought it might be better if he did it and off we go.
An epidural? An hour ago they tell me I am too far into labor for an epidural and now they wanted to give me one? If it wasn't going to work the hour before, I had no faith it would work then either. No thanks, I wanted them to put me to sleep. After 5 minutes of listening to my drunken whining they agreed and happily knocked me out with the warning: "You realize you won' t see your baby right away, don't you?" Uh...yeah...they don't age that quick, can you push that medicine in a little faster?
Out of recovery and back in my room they came in to remind me I had not signed any papers before delivery and it was important that I signed them right that minute. I asked them exactly what the papers were for and they told me it was to give them permission to deliver my baby. I swear it was like manna from heaven for a sarcastic bitch like me! I asked her what would happen if I refused to sign those papers considering they had already split my stomach open with a rusty chainsaw and delivered said baby. She spit and sputtered and then said: "Well, you HAVE to sign them now", I replied: "Hmmm....no right now I feel a little hungover and something doesn't "feel right", I need to sleep", at which time I rolled over and went to sleep. I didn't sign those papers for the next 3 days, I did however receive excellent ass kissing care for the entire time of my hospital stay.
On the second day they came in and ask if I wanted a set of newborn photo's made of my baby for the low, low amount of $150.00. The hospital photographer was entirely too chipper for me. I was in pain and still in the throws of a hangover having finished the rest of the wine sometime after midnight the night before to relieve the original hangover symptoms. Wine-it's a viscous cycle. I let him go through his whole sales pitch, looked at all his pictures and then informed him that since this baby didn't look all that much different than the other 3 had at birth that we had decided just to recycle one of their newborn photos, that people usually just commented on "that massive glob of long, thick black hair" and from the distance those photo's were taken they all looked like baby chimpanzee's anyway (I swear my kids all looked like they skipped a few links in the evolution chain at birth) so we didn't think anyone would notice the difference. Poor guy didn't even know how to answer me. I didn't bother to tell him my husband had already bought 2 of those photo packages earlier that morning. So if any of you readers are designing brochures for a local zoo and you don't need close-ups we have plenty of left over pictures you can use.
My sister came a few minutes after the photographer left and my next assault was a nurse wanting information for the birth certificate. More manna from heaven! She wanted to know the parents full names. I turned to my sister and asked which one of the men at the party she thought the baby looked the most like and we would just go with that one. I did in the end give her my husband's name but her looks of pity every time she saw him after that were enough tomake you laugh break your heart. Next she wanted to know what we were naming him. After 15 minutes of throwing really atrocious and possibly illegal names back and forth between us, and with straight faces, my sister looks at her and says: "This is so hard, we didn't know we were going to have to name him AND take him home". We finally told her his name, which I might add here that I promptly forgot two weeks later when taking him in for an X-ray guaranteeing that I was NOT going to be nominated for the Mother of the Year award that year. I don't know what happened, I mean I had actually been calling him by that name for two weeks, it should have been fresh on my mind. But I literally, in that second, had no idea what that child's name was. Today, 17 yrs later, I still am not always spot on with any of their names. They have adjusted and will usually answer to anything, the only time they get a little testy about it is when I call them by one of the dogs names. Which is why I always give my dogs human names. Strangers never pick up on the fact that I have no fucking idea what the kids names are, not like they would if I was calling one of them "Spot" or "Checkers".
The third day was fairly uneventful. By now most of the nurses had learned to stay out of my room unless I asked them to enter. They knew it was only going to frustrate them and I was not going to sign those papers until I was good and ready and the legal department came to suck up some more. The only time it was safe to enter and not be harassed in some form was when it was time to dispense the pain medication. I am also fairly certain their libral use of the pain medication was their vain attempt at keeping me pleasant.
On the fourth day, and much to the relief of staff, we were discharged. I did finally sign those papers that morning before leaving, after all I wasn't going to be there to watch them squirm, which was my only reason for not signing up until then. I did however appreciate the balls one of the nurses showed when she told me that if I ever got pregnant again that the rival hospital across town had an excellent OB department.
Sidenote-I am reasonably certain that my friend did not have to switch my baby for a cuter one. We never speak directly of this. There have been a few times over his years with us that have given me pause for concern. Based on the actions of my others, he did exhibit foreign behaviors that made you wonder if he could possibly have been the love child of Martha Stewart and Mr. Clean. I don't care how many times someone tells you it is OK, you have to worry about a kic that cleans his room.
It was cold, rainy and still dark out when I felt the contractions start. Hell, I don't get out of bed that early when it's warm, sunny and light out. I could hear the Birth Gods laughing as I stumbled around trying to find clothes in the dark and wake up my sperm donor. We get outside to the car and I froze. I was NOT going in my snazzy new red sports car and take a chance on getting any type of birth juice on the fine leather seats that cost me a small fortune. I quickly rerouted to the sperm donor's car, he grumbled and moaned but by that time I was firmly planted into the passenger seat and one look at my face told him it would be in his best interest to just get in and drive. We had to stop and get gas. What?! I have been nine months pregnant for the last 17 months and you don't have gas in your car?! I calmed down some when the smell of fine cuisine coming from the gas station dining area wafted across my nose. A sausage and egg biscuit was just what I needed. The sperm donor informed me I wasn't suppose to eat anything. I informed him he was an idiot who had contributed very little to this whole ordeal and that I would have cheese with my biscuit too. Finally we were gassed up, sausaged up and ready to roll.
We went in through the emergency room because even hospitals don't have all their doors unlocked at that ungodly hour. I brushed the crumbs off my face and informed them I was in labor. The triage nurse looked at me and ask: "Are you due yet?" Fighting the urge to rip her face off I
Upstairs they felt the need to ask more questions and wanted me to fill out paperwork, I felt the need to do neither and asked for drugs. It's was a standoff. One of the idiots told me they couldn't deliver the baby if didn't fill out their paperwork. Really? We shall see. They finally caved, as if they had any other choice and took me to my room. I called my best friend, I needed someone there who felt and thought like I did, I needed someone not to terribly attached to this child yet. I wanted someone that could sneak in the nursery if it was ugly and swap it for a cute one. I had not held out much hope since seeing the sonograms pictures. Plus she had flask of wine and snacks in her purse. Did I mention I love this girl? Several trips to the "bathroom" with my best friend later and I felt as if I could birth a small elephant while applying make up and planning a vacation. Then they told me I was too far into labor for an epidural. Now for most that would have been devastating news, not so much for me, I was prepared for this situation. I had wine!
The baby decided he wasn't too sure about coming out since by now he was pretty sure his mother was a wino and his Auntie was a nut case so he refused to budge. He could not be convinced, coaxed or bribed, to come out and held his ground. I could visualize his tiny hands, both clutching the placenta for dear life and screaming "NO! Let me stay, please just let me stay in here, these people are crazy!" Not in my womb boy, you are officially evicted, not get your shit and get out! He refused. I asked for my doctor and informed him that one of us was taking that baby out of there and it was his decision as to whether he did the C-Section or I did it, but it was getting done. Wine gives you a wonderful sense of bravado. He thought it might be better if he did it and off we go.
An epidural? An hour ago they tell me I am too far into labor for an epidural and now they wanted to give me one? If it wasn't going to work the hour before, I had no faith it would work then either. No thanks, I wanted them to put me to sleep. After 5 minutes of listening to my drunken whining they agreed and happily knocked me out with the warning: "You realize you won' t see your baby right away, don't you?" Uh...yeah...they don't age that quick, can you push that medicine in a little faster?
Out of recovery and back in my room they came in to remind me I had not signed any papers before delivery and it was important that I signed them right that minute. I asked them exactly what the papers were for and they told me it was to give them permission to deliver my baby. I swear it was like manna from heaven for a sarcastic bitch like me! I asked her what would happen if I refused to sign those papers considering they had already split my stomach open with a rusty chainsaw and delivered said baby. She spit and sputtered and then said: "Well, you HAVE to sign them now", I replied: "Hmmm....no right now I feel a little hungover and something doesn't "feel right", I need to sleep", at which time I rolled over and went to sleep. I didn't sign those papers for the next 3 days, I did however receive excellent ass kissing care for the entire time of my hospital stay.
On the second day they came in and ask if I wanted a set of newborn photo's made of my baby for the low, low amount of $150.00. The hospital photographer was entirely too chipper for me. I was in pain and still in the throws of a hangover having finished the rest of the wine sometime after midnight the night before to relieve the original hangover symptoms. Wine-it's a viscous cycle. I let him go through his whole sales pitch, looked at all his pictures and then informed him that since this baby didn't look all that much different than the other 3 had at birth that we had decided just to recycle one of their newborn photos, that people usually just commented on "that massive glob of long, thick black hair" and from the distance those photo's were taken they all looked like baby chimpanzee's anyway (I swear my kids all looked like they skipped a few links in the evolution chain at birth) so we didn't think anyone would notice the difference. Poor guy didn't even know how to answer me. I didn't bother to tell him my husband had already bought 2 of those photo packages earlier that morning. So if any of you readers are designing brochures for a local zoo and you don't need close-ups we have plenty of left over pictures you can use.
My sister came a few minutes after the photographer left and my next assault was a nurse wanting information for the birth certificate. More manna from heaven! She wanted to know the parents full names. I turned to my sister and asked which one of the men at the party she thought the baby looked the most like and we would just go with that one. I did in the end give her my husband's name but her looks of pity every time she saw him after that were enough to
The third day was fairly uneventful. By now most of the nurses had learned to stay out of my room unless I asked them to enter. They knew it was only going to frustrate them and I was not going to sign those papers until I was good and ready and the legal department came to suck up some more. The only time it was safe to enter and not be harassed in some form was when it was time to dispense the pain medication. I am also fairly certain their libral use of the pain medication was their vain attempt at keeping me pleasant.
On the fourth day, and much to the relief of staff, we were discharged. I did finally sign those papers that morning before leaving, after all I wasn't going to be there to watch them squirm, which was my only reason for not signing up until then. I did however appreciate the balls one of the nurses showed when she told me that if I ever got pregnant again that the rival hospital across town had an excellent OB department.
Sidenote-I am reasonably certain that my friend did not have to switch my baby for a cuter one. We never speak directly of this. There have been a few times over his years with us that have given me pause for concern. Based on the actions of my others, he did exhibit foreign behaviors that made you wonder if he could possibly have been the love child of Martha Stewart and Mr. Clean. I don't care how many times someone tells you it is OK, you have to worry about a kic that cleans his room.
Friday, January 6, 2012
For God's Sake, Get My Socks!
Why can I not remember there is a baby gate in the door between the den and the kitchen? How many times do I have to fly face first over this baby gate before it finally registers that it's not only there now but has been there for a year? Why can I not master the art of reading my Kindle while walking in the house? Just why will that same baby gate not crash down upon contact from both knees of a fully grown human yet my much smaller pug can knock it down with one head butt and go on about her business? Why do I even insist on the damn gate still being there since it obviously doesn't stop the pug for whom it was intended? Is this baby gate filling some deep seated (and for my lovely teacher fan who feels the need to correct me, look this one up, I assure you the correct terminology is not "deep seeded") need I have to be punished? That would explain my reluctance to remove it.
Why do I bother to put coffee in my creamer and sugar? It's not like there is enough coffee to taste or even give a caffeine rush. My friend says I only use the coffee to dissolve the creamer and sugar, you see I don't really like coffee but I love the creamer. People look at you funny if you just drink creamer. So I front and pretend I am a coffee drinker. Is there a special place in this coffee driven world for those of us that openly admit to not liking coffee? Will we someday be forced to wear a scarlet C on our clothing?
Why do I never have a bout with Irritable Bowel Syndrome until I hear the word "go"? Is this word nature's very own laxative? I can be here all day just lounging in my latest cartoon couture pajama's and my ever present snowflake robe and never once feel that twinge. But let someone say "Hey, let's go _________" and upon finishing getting dressed and picking up my car keys will immediately be hit with a severe bout of IBS. Could this be a psychological problem and I have an unconscious desire to make people wait on me? I always admired my ex (and you can be the judge as to what kind of person he turned out to be if this is the only thing I can think of to admire him for) for his ability to "shit on command". It really was amazing to watch. Me: "Kathy and John want us to go out to dinner with them at 5:00" Ex-Louse: "It will have to be at 5:30 because I plan on shitting at 4:45 and we can't possibly make it to the restaurant in 15 minutes " or Me: "You have an appointment tomorrow morning at 8:00" Ex-Louse: "Your going to have to call and reschedule the meeting for a later time, my morning shit is already planned for 7:20, if you had told me sooner I could have planned it around the meeting". But you have to remember this is the same guy who thought that if he didn't do three scheduled shits a day he would either explode or the shit would back up causing him severe brain damage. I have always wondered just which day it was he was off schedule because he obviously has some form of brain damage. Was it my fault? Could it have been the morning I was in that bad car accident and he was called to the hospital or the morning I went into labor and he missed his 7:20? I live with the guilt.
Why do I think I always have to wear socks with jeans/pants and they MUST be put on before I put my jeans/pants on? If I forget and put my pants on first it can cause a total meltdown, I can't then just put my socks on. No, I have to take my pants back off and do it the "proper" way. Could this be signs of early OCD? I have visions of my house catching fire in the middle of the night and all I have time to do is throw my pants on before racing outside to safety. As soon as I am outside I realize what I have done and then have to be held back by four strong fireman (you realize this story could go a whole different direction at this point, don't you?) while fighting to get back inside and screaming "Where are my socks! OMG I have to get back in there and get my socks!" or upon seeing them bringing my son out to safety I scream at them "Oh please, please tell me you got my socks too! For God's sake man lay him down under that tree and get your ass back in there and find my socks!" I need a window sticker, but instead of saying "Pets Inside" or "Children Inside" mine will say "Socks Inside".
Why do I feel an almost uncontrollable desire to commit murder on any man beside me gently snoring yet at the same time find it so endearing when my pug snores and rattles the windows? This one is a no brainer. I simply like pugs better.
Why do I think that everything my Chihuahua or Pug do is so wonderfully cute and make excuses for their bad behavior? I mean if I took one of my children to someone's house and they started circling and sniffing butts I just know in my heart I would not stand there with a silly grin on my face and say "He's just getting to know you", or if one of them dropped a log or peed on someone's floor I would not say "he gets nervous in a new environment". I would never grab one of my children after they just destroyed the TV remote and say in a high pitched demented voice "How could I get mad at that itty bitty squishy wishy wrinkly poo face!". I would draw and quarter that child!
Why do I obsessively record things on my DVR knowing I will never watch them? What satisfaction do I get out of having 27 episodes of Reba reruns recorded and why do I cuss each time I sit down to delete those same 27 episodes that have been on my DVR for months? Then when they are deleted immediately think "Hey, now I have room to record all the Two and a Half men reruns from the last five years!" Knowing I have never seen one single episode of that show and don't intend to start now. I justify this by telling myself that if I am ever in a major industrial accident and lose both arms, both legs and the ability to talk then I will have something to occupy myself with. Never once stopping to rationalize that being "trapped" with Charlie Sheen would make me suicidal which would only compound my problem necessitating the need for heavy medication. Then again, heavy medication would probably make me understand Charlie Sheen, kind of like we would be kindred spirits and share a bond. Winning!!!
Why does a police cruiser pulling up behind me at a stop sign or on the open road turn me into a quivering bowl of jello with thoughts of jail time flying through my addled brain? I have never had a speeding ticket, not even a parking ticket in my entire life. Never been arrested or done anything that could even remotely be considered illegal. Half of my immediate family are lawyers, police officers, FBI agents so it isn't like I fear the badge. It isn't even like I don't know that if I did somehow slip up and go 2 miles over the speed limit that I couldn't get out of that ticket with my connections. I did feel better when my________, the FBI agent, told me he had the same reaction. Seriously dude, they scare the bejeezus out of you too? Do you also have IBS, I mean these could be inherited traits.
Why am I even wondering about these things? I am pretty sure there are some old Friends episodes I could be recording instead.
Why do I bother to put coffee in my creamer and sugar? It's not like there is enough coffee to taste or even give a caffeine rush. My friend says I only use the coffee to dissolve the creamer and sugar, you see I don't really like coffee but I love the creamer. People look at you funny if you just drink creamer. So I front and pretend I am a coffee drinker. Is there a special place in this coffee driven world for those of us that openly admit to not liking coffee? Will we someday be forced to wear a scarlet C on our clothing?
Why do I never have a bout with Irritable Bowel Syndrome until I hear the word "go"? Is this word nature's very own laxative? I can be here all day just lounging in my latest cartoon couture pajama's and my ever present snowflake robe and never once feel that twinge. But let someone say "Hey, let's go _________" and upon finishing getting dressed and picking up my car keys will immediately be hit with a severe bout of IBS. Could this be a psychological problem and I have an unconscious desire to make people wait on me? I always admired my ex (and you can be the judge as to what kind of person he turned out to be if this is the only thing I can think of to admire him for) for his ability to "shit on command". It really was amazing to watch. Me: "Kathy and John want us to go out to dinner with them at 5:00" Ex-Louse: "It will have to be at 5:30 because I plan on shitting at 4:45 and we can't possibly make it to the restaurant in 15 minutes " or Me: "You have an appointment tomorrow morning at 8:00" Ex-Louse: "Your going to have to call and reschedule the meeting for a later time, my morning shit is already planned for 7:20, if you had told me sooner I could have planned it around the meeting". But you have to remember this is the same guy who thought that if he didn't do three scheduled shits a day he would either explode or the shit would back up causing him severe brain damage. I have always wondered just which day it was he was off schedule because he obviously has some form of brain damage. Was it my fault? Could it have been the morning I was in that bad car accident and he was called to the hospital or the morning I went into labor and he missed his 7:20? I live with the guilt.
Why do I think I always have to wear socks with jeans/pants and they MUST be put on before I put my jeans/pants on? If I forget and put my pants on first it can cause a total meltdown, I can't then just put my socks on. No, I have to take my pants back off and do it the "proper" way. Could this be signs of early OCD? I have visions of my house catching fire in the middle of the night and all I have time to do is throw my pants on before racing outside to safety. As soon as I am outside I realize what I have done and then have to be held back by four strong fireman (you realize this story could go a whole different direction at this point, don't you?) while fighting to get back inside and screaming "Where are my socks! OMG I have to get back in there and get my socks!" or upon seeing them bringing my son out to safety I scream at them "Oh please, please tell me you got my socks too! For God's sake man lay him down under that tree and get your ass back in there and find my socks!" I need a window sticker, but instead of saying "Pets Inside" or "Children Inside" mine will say "Socks Inside".
Why do I feel an almost uncontrollable desire to commit murder on any man beside me gently snoring yet at the same time find it so endearing when my pug snores and rattles the windows? This one is a no brainer. I simply like pugs better.
Why do I think that everything my Chihuahua or Pug do is so wonderfully cute and make excuses for their bad behavior? I mean if I took one of my children to someone's house and they started circling and sniffing butts I just know in my heart I would not stand there with a silly grin on my face and say "He's just getting to know you", or if one of them dropped a log or peed on someone's floor I would not say "he gets nervous in a new environment". I would never grab one of my children after they just destroyed the TV remote and say in a high pitched demented voice "How could I get mad at that itty bitty squishy wishy wrinkly poo face!". I would draw and quarter that child!
Why do I obsessively record things on my DVR knowing I will never watch them? What satisfaction do I get out of having 27 episodes of Reba reruns recorded and why do I cuss each time I sit down to delete those same 27 episodes that have been on my DVR for months? Then when they are deleted immediately think "Hey, now I have room to record all the Two and a Half men reruns from the last five years!" Knowing I have never seen one single episode of that show and don't intend to start now. I justify this by telling myself that if I am ever in a major industrial accident and lose both arms, both legs and the ability to talk then I will have something to occupy myself with. Never once stopping to rationalize that being "trapped" with Charlie Sheen would make me suicidal which would only compound my problem necessitating the need for heavy medication. Then again, heavy medication would probably make me understand Charlie Sheen, kind of like we would be kindred spirits and share a bond. Winning!!!
Why does a police cruiser pulling up behind me at a stop sign or on the open road turn me into a quivering bowl of jello with thoughts of jail time flying through my addled brain? I have never had a speeding ticket, not even a parking ticket in my entire life. Never been arrested or done anything that could even remotely be considered illegal. Half of my immediate family are lawyers, police officers, FBI agents so it isn't like I fear the badge. It isn't even like I don't know that if I did somehow slip up and go 2 miles over the speed limit that I couldn't get out of that ticket with my connections. I did feel better when my________, the FBI agent, told me he had the same reaction. Seriously dude, they scare the bejeezus out of you too? Do you also have IBS, I mean these could be inherited traits.
Why am I even wondering about these things? I am pretty sure there are some old Friends episodes I could be recording instead.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Emails To Me and My Answers
It never ceases to amaze me when people actually take time to send you an email and critique what you have written in a blog when it is so obvious the writer does not give one red cent about offending anyone or they wouldn't have written it in the first place. At the same time I can NOT stop myself from answering some of them, it's my entertainment. This blog while new here, is not really new, I recently moved here and frankly I was to damn lazy to move all the posts from the other one here. Someday I may get around to it, but more likely than not I won't. I just have to share a few of them with you. I have removed all identification from these emails and will only give you their question and my answer.
Q Don't you think it's mean to talk bad about your children like you do? Your always talking like you don't like them.
A I can not help the fact that I have children that are not loving and sweet on a daily basis. My children are human (although we are still debating that fact) and that makes them, by nature, only tolerable on good days. They have even been known to tell me not to forget to blog it when one of them does something incredibly stupid, which on average is at least once a day. Someday I will turn one of them loose to blog for me, just not the one I suspect is possessed, then you will see that it is ME that is truly the victim in this house.
Q Do you really have cats? You only show pictures of your dogs. I love cats, show me more of your cats!
A I have never, in any post, stated that I have cats. I am allergic to them, not to mention they are sneaky little creatures that bore me. There are only so many times I can watch a cat swat something across the floor or sharpen their nails on the furniture before I want to poke my eyes out with the closest sharp object.
Q Don't you feel bad when you talk about people? I bet they cry.
A Not in the least. I live for talking about people. I go on people watching trips so that I don't miss any really dumb ones. Where did you say you lived?
Q I was reeding your blog today about the fat woman in the maull. You upset me every day when I reed your blog.
A Then for your health I would suggest you NOT read my blog every day. It's not required reading you know. Oh and at the risk of offending you once again, may I suggested you use a good spell checker program when sending emails?
Q Are you as hateful in person as you are on the blog?
A No, sometimes I am much worse. Depends on how much pug snot I have had to clean up on any given day. Seriously? You don't think I have a sweet, loving personality?
Q I don't think you should talk about Jim Bob and Michell Duggar the way you do, it's not nice. It might hurt their feelings.
A Well, I wouldn't lose any sleep over it if I were you, I don't think either one of them is smart enough to read a blog. But if it would make you feel better the next time I write a blog about them I will post NIKE in big letters at the beginning to warn them. Better yet how about BIRTH CONTROL IS YOUR FRIEND!, that would probably turn them away faster.
Q Would you write a blog about Jim Munroe?
A I don't know who Jim Munroe is but if you will send him to my house to do something crude, dumb, rude or to just piss me off in general I will be happy to write about him. Unless of course Jim use to be Jill then I could probably whip something up without the visit. Let me know when he will arrive.
Q Do you make money blogging?
A Yes, last week was my biggest check yet, I spent both dollars at the Dollar Tree.
Q Were you funny when you were a little girl?
A Well my Dad thought so, my Mom not so much. I honestly don't think I'm funny now, it's the world and people around me that are funny.
Q Do you know that you used your instead of you're in paragraph 3 of your I Hate Public Schools post?(this one was from a teacher, my foul language in that post was horrible and this teacher was only concerned that I used the wrong word, proving my point that F U C K is alright as long as you don't misspell it)
A Obviously you were not educated in the public school system. Had you been you would never have been able to pick that out. I am so sorry, I will turn my Ph.D in immediately, I so clearly don't deserve it!
Q Do you really wear a snowflake robe all the time?
A Not always when I know guests are coming I wear the Daffy Duck one. That's my "dressy" robe.
Q Is your dog's face suppose to be flat like that or is something wrong with it? (this was about my pug)
A Flat face? I didn't notice a flat face. I hope she didn't do that running into walls all the time. I will be making an appointment with the Vet today to have this checked out, thank you for bringing it to my attention. Do you think there could be something wrong with her tail too since she won't straighten it out?
(He writes back)Your welcome, I'm glad your taking her to the doctor some owners would just let something like that go and the dog might die. I'm not sure about the tail. Your doctor can probably answer that when he checks out her face.
Q Hey, didn't you write a book once? I think I read it.
A No, but I have read several People magazines over the years so I'm pretty smart.
Q Why didn't you answer my last email? (this from a southern baptist woman that had spent weeks sending me mail and calling me a heathen because I am Catholic)
A I'm sorry, I didn't have time. We had several rituals to perform and since it was my child we were sacrificing I had to wear the black robe. Good thing I had four children, it took us two tries to get it right. Of course this now only leaves me one child for the big spring sacrifice coming up in April, that's a bummer. (I never heard from her again)
Q Don't you think it's mean to talk bad about your children like you do? Your always talking like you don't like them.
A I can not help the fact that I have children that are not loving and sweet on a daily basis. My children are human (although we are still debating that fact) and that makes them, by nature, only tolerable on good days. They have even been known to tell me not to forget to blog it when one of them does something incredibly stupid, which on average is at least once a day. Someday I will turn one of them loose to blog for me, just not the one I suspect is possessed, then you will see that it is ME that is truly the victim in this house.
Q Do you really have cats? You only show pictures of your dogs. I love cats, show me more of your cats!
A I have never, in any post, stated that I have cats. I am allergic to them, not to mention they are sneaky little creatures that bore me. There are only so many times I can watch a cat swat something across the floor or sharpen their nails on the furniture before I want to poke my eyes out with the closest sharp object.
Q Don't you feel bad when you talk about people? I bet they cry.
A Not in the least. I live for talking about people. I go on people watching trips so that I don't miss any really dumb ones. Where did you say you lived?
Q I was reeding your blog today about the fat woman in the maull. You upset me every day when I reed your blog.
A Then for your health I would suggest you NOT read my blog every day. It's not required reading you know. Oh and at the risk of offending you once again, may I suggested you use a good spell checker program when sending emails?
Q Are you as hateful in person as you are on the blog?
A No, sometimes I am much worse. Depends on how much pug snot I have had to clean up on any given day. Seriously? You don't think I have a sweet, loving personality?
Q I don't think you should talk about Jim Bob and Michell Duggar the way you do, it's not nice. It might hurt their feelings.
A Well, I wouldn't lose any sleep over it if I were you, I don't think either one of them is smart enough to read a blog. But if it would make you feel better the next time I write a blog about them I will post NIKE in big letters at the beginning to warn them. Better yet how about BIRTH CONTROL IS YOUR FRIEND!, that would probably turn them away faster.
Q Would you write a blog about Jim Munroe?
A I don't know who Jim Munroe is but if you will send him to my house to do something crude, dumb, rude or to just piss me off in general I will be happy to write about him. Unless of course Jim use to be Jill then I could probably whip something up without the visit. Let me know when he will arrive.
Q Do you make money blogging?
A Yes, last week was my biggest check yet, I spent both dollars at the Dollar Tree.
Q Were you funny when you were a little girl?
A Well my Dad thought so, my Mom not so much. I honestly don't think I'm funny now, it's the world and people around me that are funny.
Q Do you know that you used your instead of you're in paragraph 3 of your I Hate Public Schools post?(this one was from a teacher, my foul language in that post was horrible and this teacher was only concerned that I used the wrong word, proving my point that F U C K is alright as long as you don't misspell it)
A Obviously you were not educated in the public school system. Had you been you would never have been able to pick that out. I am so sorry, I will turn my Ph.D in immediately, I so clearly don't deserve it!
Q Do you really wear a snowflake robe all the time?
A Not always when I know guests are coming I wear the Daffy Duck one. That's my "dressy" robe.
Q Is your dog's face suppose to be flat like that or is something wrong with it? (this was about my pug)
A Flat face? I didn't notice a flat face. I hope she didn't do that running into walls all the time. I will be making an appointment with the Vet today to have this checked out, thank you for bringing it to my attention. Do you think there could be something wrong with her tail too since she won't straighten it out?
(He writes back)Your welcome, I'm glad your taking her to the doctor some owners would just let something like that go and the dog might die. I'm not sure about the tail. Your doctor can probably answer that when he checks out her face.
Q Hey, didn't you write a book once? I think I read it.
A No, but I have read several People magazines over the years so I'm pretty smart.
Q Why didn't you answer my last email? (this from a southern baptist woman that had spent weeks sending me mail and calling me a heathen because I am Catholic)
A I'm sorry, I didn't have time. We had several rituals to perform and since it was my child we were sacrificing I had to wear the black robe. Good thing I had four children, it took us two tries to get it right. Of course this now only leaves me one child for the big spring sacrifice coming up in April, that's a bummer. (I never heard from her again)
Suddenly Gone
What do you do when your life gets turned upside down in five minutes? When all you have known is gone in a split second. When the person you have loved more than life itself, the person who knows all your secrets, the person who was always suppose to be there to protect you, the person you had a past with and looked forward to a future with is suddenly gone. How can a beautiful sunny summer morning turn gray and dark so fast?
He calls on his way to work to remind me to pick something up, asks what I'm cooking for dinner that night and tells me he loves me and will see me at 5 and then the world as I have known it for so long crashed around me. I hear it, but I don't want to believe it. I can't breath. I hope against hope that I'm still asleep and it's just a nightmare. That I'm going to wake up, all of this was only a dream and life is still normal. But it's not, it won't ever be normal again and I don't know if I'm strong enough to handle this alone. It slowly seeps in and I try to get my thoughts together. I make the phone calls and listen to the silence. Why does this silence seem more profound, it's the same silence I have every morning after he leaves for work, but it's not the same. It's deeper. It feels heavy. Then I hear a scream, a distant far off scream. A gut wrenching scream like I have never heard before. Then I realize it's me. I'm screaming from a place deep inside that I didn't know existed. So many things to do, so much to take care of but all I want to do is lay down, curl up, cry and remember. Remember the good times, the happy times, all the things large and small that we shared. Even the bad times become good memories. So that's what I do because at this moment in time it is all I have the strength to do. People come and people go and I'm somehow amazed at how normal everything around me is, how life is still going on outside of my heart. Can these people not see that it's all over, that life is different now? Can they not see that I will never feel like smiling again? OMG somebody make them stop, I want them all to leave! I don't want them telling me it will get better, I know it won't. I don't want them telling me they know how I feel, they don't. I want them to stop telling me I need food, I just need him. That's all, just him. Night comes and I realize I will be sleeping alone in that bed and I can't do it. The couch becomes my bed. The sounds of night start to invade my thoughts, ordinary sounds I have heard a million times before, but this time I pay attention to them. The hum from the air conditioner, a dog barking in the neighborhood, the neighbor returning from work, the ticking of the clock his grandfather made, crickets chirping and I don't know it yet but those sounds are now burned into my brain, and any one of them will forever trigger the memory of this first night alone. I just want sleep because sleep is normal and I know I won't have to feel while I'm asleep. Finally it comes.
Morning comes and for a minute it seems like every other morning and I wonder why I'm on the couch. Then I remember and this morning takes on new meaning, it's the first morning I wake up alone. But something is missing, something was here all day yesterday and last night. The tears. The tears are gone, replaced by anger. Why did this have to happen? I don't deserve this! How could you leave me alone like this? How dare you leave me to face all this alone! What gives you the right to screw up my world? I take back my prayers from yesterday God, I don't believe in you today! I can handle today because I am pissed and I want to hold on to this anger, I don't want to feel what I felt yesterday ever again. Anger is easier. Somebody tells me we have to go now, what clothes do you want to take? I can't do this, it's too hard. But I do because it's the last thing I will ever get to do for him. Do I let him take his wedding ring or do I keep it? It's his but I need it. It can't be found and I am devastated. I just want to go back home. I can still feel and smell him at home. He doesn't seem so far away there. I sleep in the bed with his shirt.
It's morning again and the anger is gone. Replaced by panic. I feel like a lost child, I can't function on my own. It's too much. I need help. I need someone stronger than me to walk me through this. I want to see him but at the same time I don't. I don't want to paint over that picture I have of our last happy morning together. I want to remember his eyes, his smile and the wink he gave me as he went out the door. At least let me keep that, I've lost enough. The pills take affect and the panic eases, I float through the rest of the day. I am there but I'm not, I convince myself that this is all happening to someone else, I'm just watching. God, just let this be over with, I want to go home! Too many people staring at me, too many questions, too much pain. I need to be alone, I want to be alone. I'm so afraid.
For months the emotions rotate between sad, anger, confusion, panic, guilt and fear. I'm sad because I have a lifetime of days without him and I can't change this. I'm angry when someone tells me to snap out of it or it's time to move on. I will know when it's time. I'm confused over what to do with myself, the house, his belongings. I panic because I have to make these decisions and I'm never sure I'm making the right one. I feel guilty for laughing or for enjoying anything. I'm afraid of the future without him. I'm afraid I will never feel happy again. I'm afraid I will never love again. So much fear.
Then one day I realized I had smiled without guilt. I felt the sun on my face again. I was no longer afraid and healing had begun. It never "got better" like so many promised me it would during those dark months but it did "get different". I can bring the memories out now and look at them with only the smallest twinge of sadness for what was suppose to have been. I still don't like when people invade those memories with questions, they are mine. I feel very protective over them and I don't like to share them. Maybe someday I will be ready for that, just not yet.
He calls on his way to work to remind me to pick something up, asks what I'm cooking for dinner that night and tells me he loves me and will see me at 5 and then the world as I have known it for so long crashed around me. I hear it, but I don't want to believe it. I can't breath. I hope against hope that I'm still asleep and it's just a nightmare. That I'm going to wake up, all of this was only a dream and life is still normal. But it's not, it won't ever be normal again and I don't know if I'm strong enough to handle this alone. It slowly seeps in and I try to get my thoughts together. I make the phone calls and listen to the silence. Why does this silence seem more profound, it's the same silence I have every morning after he leaves for work, but it's not the same. It's deeper. It feels heavy. Then I hear a scream, a distant far off scream. A gut wrenching scream like I have never heard before. Then I realize it's me. I'm screaming from a place deep inside that I didn't know existed. So many things to do, so much to take care of but all I want to do is lay down, curl up, cry and remember. Remember the good times, the happy times, all the things large and small that we shared. Even the bad times become good memories. So that's what I do because at this moment in time it is all I have the strength to do. People come and people go and I'm somehow amazed at how normal everything around me is, how life is still going on outside of my heart. Can these people not see that it's all over, that life is different now? Can they not see that I will never feel like smiling again? OMG somebody make them stop, I want them all to leave! I don't want them telling me it will get better, I know it won't. I don't want them telling me they know how I feel, they don't. I want them to stop telling me I need food, I just need him. That's all, just him. Night comes and I realize I will be sleeping alone in that bed and I can't do it. The couch becomes my bed. The sounds of night start to invade my thoughts, ordinary sounds I have heard a million times before, but this time I pay attention to them. The hum from the air conditioner, a dog barking in the neighborhood, the neighbor returning from work, the ticking of the clock his grandfather made, crickets chirping and I don't know it yet but those sounds are now burned into my brain, and any one of them will forever trigger the memory of this first night alone. I just want sleep because sleep is normal and I know I won't have to feel while I'm asleep. Finally it comes.
Morning comes and for a minute it seems like every other morning and I wonder why I'm on the couch. Then I remember and this morning takes on new meaning, it's the first morning I wake up alone. But something is missing, something was here all day yesterday and last night. The tears. The tears are gone, replaced by anger. Why did this have to happen? I don't deserve this! How could you leave me alone like this? How dare you leave me to face all this alone! What gives you the right to screw up my world? I take back my prayers from yesterday God, I don't believe in you today! I can handle today because I am pissed and I want to hold on to this anger, I don't want to feel what I felt yesterday ever again. Anger is easier. Somebody tells me we have to go now, what clothes do you want to take? I can't do this, it's too hard. But I do because it's the last thing I will ever get to do for him. Do I let him take his wedding ring or do I keep it? It's his but I need it. It can't be found and I am devastated. I just want to go back home. I can still feel and smell him at home. He doesn't seem so far away there. I sleep in the bed with his shirt.
It's morning again and the anger is gone. Replaced by panic. I feel like a lost child, I can't function on my own. It's too much. I need help. I need someone stronger than me to walk me through this. I want to see him but at the same time I don't. I don't want to paint over that picture I have of our last happy morning together. I want to remember his eyes, his smile and the wink he gave me as he went out the door. At least let me keep that, I've lost enough. The pills take affect and the panic eases, I float through the rest of the day. I am there but I'm not, I convince myself that this is all happening to someone else, I'm just watching. God, just let this be over with, I want to go home! Too many people staring at me, too many questions, too much pain. I need to be alone, I want to be alone. I'm so afraid.
For months the emotions rotate between sad, anger, confusion, panic, guilt and fear. I'm sad because I have a lifetime of days without him and I can't change this. I'm angry when someone tells me to snap out of it or it's time to move on. I will know when it's time. I'm confused over what to do with myself, the house, his belongings. I panic because I have to make these decisions and I'm never sure I'm making the right one. I feel guilty for laughing or for enjoying anything. I'm afraid of the future without him. I'm afraid I will never feel happy again. I'm afraid I will never love again. So much fear.
Then one day I realized I had smiled without guilt. I felt the sun on my face again. I was no longer afraid and healing had begun. It never "got better" like so many promised me it would during those dark months but it did "get different". I can bring the memories out now and look at them with only the smallest twinge of sadness for what was suppose to have been. I still don't like when people invade those memories with questions, they are mine. I feel very protective over them and I don't like to share them. Maybe someday I will be ready for that, just not yet.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
10 New Year Resolutions I Don't Intend To Follow
I have compiled my list of this year's New Year resolutions. Keep in mind that since this is not a legal binding contract I usually feel no obligation whatsoever to actually do any of these things. I look at it more as a form of cheap entertainment and a way to use up some of those seemingly endless yellow legal pads I bought just because they were on sale a few months back.
1. Resolution: Lose weight. I always put this one at the top of the list because everybody else does. I think it is a requirement. I'm pretty sure even anorexics are required to add this one to their list.
Reality: This is definitely one I won't follow. I am not about to give up my homemade carrot cake, Ding Dongs, Chili Cheese Fritos, fast food fetish, cream cheese (the dairy world's contribution to condiments in my book), Coke, etc. Let's just say I'm not giving up ANY food, snacks or drinks. It's easier to just buy bigger clothes than it is to suffer through a diet. The fact that I am writing this while eating an English muffin slathered in cream cheese shows my dedication to this first item on my list.
2. Resolution: Be kind toidiots people who get on my nerves. This is also a required resolution and not one that would ever enter my mind. If you do something stupid or irritating the odds are I'm going to tell you off.
Reality: I will be louder when I tell theseidiots people off so that everyone around me can also have the satisfaction of knowing that at least someone is saying what they are thinking. It's never wise to ask me what I think. I am going to tell you and it probably isn't going to be in your favor. It is not my job to make you feel all warm and cozy or to build your self esteem. That's what Oprah and Dr. Phil are for. You can watch them for free on the new OWN network as my television blares out at least a hundred times a day. I just love how all the commercials on that network are in some way promoting Oprah and how wonderful she is. My favorite is "Lifeclass With Oprah", I really worry about the people that use Oprah as their bible to living life. She has a history that has had her in therapy for years, has been engaged to a man for even more years than she has had therapy because she is afraid of commitment, does serious yo-yo dieting which is dangerous to anyone's health, has serious attachment issues to her friend Gayle and thinks Tom Cruise is a good guest. I'm suppose to take advice from her? I don't think so. I'm waiting on Judge Judy to have a Lifeclass.
3. Resolution: I will clean my house daily and cook nutritious meals for my family every day.
Reality: I will still eat at any fast food joint I pass, sometimes more than once a day. The only way my house will get cleaned every day is if faeries turn out to be real and I somehow luck into getting one that sprays Pledge out her nose and has feather dusters for hands. Which reminds me of something I saw in the devil's playground aka Walmart recently. Helper Elfs to make cleaning fun (their promo words not mine). Some idiot has come up with the idea of putting covers over bottles/cans of cleaning supplies that make them look like little elfs. Why? Are there really people that would think it is now fun to clean your house just because you have a ridiculous elf cover over the Lysol bottle? Maybe it's just me, maybe I missed the point when one of my aunt's went on a crocheting spree a few years ago and crocheted all those toilet paper roll covers that had Barbie doll's sticking out the top. Was I suppose to change my bowel habits because I now had Barbie staring at me every time I went in the bathroom? Was shitting suppose to be fun? Oh well, at least my English Bulldog enjoyed chewing off Barbie's head.
4. Resolution: I will take my Christmas tree down before February.
Reality: It will be a good year if I take it down before March. I like the twinkly lights and I don't care how many I throw on the plants it doesn't give the same effect. I will however take it down before my daughter takes hers down. Which is the 5th of never. Last year I ask her if she had forgotten to take her tree down. I could think of no other plausible explanation as to why it was still up in June. I had concerns that the neighbors would start to call her the "Crazy Christmas Lady" and not knowing that she accidentally murdered one of her cats by running it through a wash cycle, might start dropping stray cats off at her house. Her answer was not only a simple one but also one that she wholeheartedly saw "reason" in. She couldn't get it through the door in the den without taking all the decorations off. Exuse me? Upon seeing she was serious and not being a smart ass like her mother, I ask her if she had considered taking the decorations off first. She looked at me like I had sprouted another head and it was vomiting all over her new carpet. Her answer was that she would then have to put them back on the next year. Keep in mind that this is the same child who told her best friend that she would gladly give him one of her kidney's(he is on the transplant list)if she had two of them and it was a shame it wasn't his liver that failed because she did have two of those. Oh well, at least she's pretty.
5. Resolution: I will not text and walk again. The public service announcements never mention the dangers of texing and walking. They should.
Reality: I will probably continue to text and walk and will most likely end up in yet another fountain at another mall somewhere in the United States before the year is over. I do know it won't be in the same mall, I haven't been back to that one. I can't be sure that the old man I grabbed on to in an effort to break my fall and took into the fountain with me hasn't filed charges. He didn't find it near as funny as I did.
6. Resolution: I will keep a straight face when I tell my children I love them all equally all the time.
Reality: That's not even remotely likely to happen. They are smart children, they would know I was lying. I might possibly be able to pull it off with the Christmas Tree child, but the others would call me out in a heartbeat.
7. Resolution: I will get rid of the snowflake robe and wear the brand new one my daughter bought me for Christmas.
Reality: Never! No way, no how! I am going to be buried in that robe, with a Coke in one hand and my cell phone in the other. I want a bag of Chili Cheese Fritos and a Taco Bell burrito in the casket with me and if possible someone needs to figure out a way to put a flat panel TV in the lid. I see no reason to change my lifestyle just because it finally killed me. I also want my best friend to stand at the head of my casket and every time someone says "She looks so good!", she is to respond "No bitch, she doesn't, she looks dead!" In the event she goes first I am not to attend the viewing or the funeral, I am to sneak back to her house and clean out the safe so no one sees the paper trail of the many things no one knows about but me.
8. Resolution: I will not make excessive fun of immediate or extended family members.
Reality: You did notice that key word "excessive", didn't you? If some of these people did not live the lives of ghetto wolves in heat then I would not have material to work with. They don't get that. They also don't get that there are only two reasons I attend family reunions, the food and the total guarantee that at least one of them, if not more, are going to do something that is outrageous and/or beyond belief stupid. Forcing me to take notes on my cell phone until I can get home to blog it and share their ignorance with the world. I feel it my duty to record family history.
9. Resolution: I will not face every situation with humor.
Reality: Yes, I will. Enough said.
10. Resolution: I will give up all my reality TV shows.
Reality: What and not watch the next trainwreck?! I HAVE to hear about Kim's vagina, Nene's money, Sheri's wonderfulness(according to her), Taylor's lips, the mean girls Kyle and Kim, Vicky's screaming woo hoo fits, Alexis's world of God, Tamra's skankiness, Teresa's world of illusions, and Caroline's obsession with her sons. Of course another big draw is the music video's they release. Is there not one of the Housewives franchises that can come up with even one mediocre singer? I really NEED to know how Todd is going to tolerate another second of whiny Laura and what foolish thing they spend money on next. I HAVE to see what little ugly child is going to be painted up and paraded out next on Toddler's and Tiara's while crazy Mom is in the background gyrating and yelling "Sparkle baby, sparkle!", I NEED a weekly fix of Troy on the bayou catchin' gators, I may be in love with that man. Would my Mob Wives really be able to get by without my watching them? The Bad Girls Club would not run right without me sitting at home on the couch screaming "Smash her head up against the wall, she won't get back up then!". I am truly addicted to any show on the telly that has the word "reality" attached to it. I suck them up like a sponge. I could possibly miss the next child that Michelle Duggar, aka Uber Uterus gives birth too. I mean it's not like I won't get to see it repeated again in 9 months.
1. Resolution: Lose weight. I always put this one at the top of the list because everybody else does. I think it is a requirement. I'm pretty sure even anorexics are required to add this one to their list.
Reality: This is definitely one I won't follow. I am not about to give up my homemade carrot cake, Ding Dongs, Chili Cheese Fritos, fast food fetish, cream cheese (the dairy world's contribution to condiments in my book), Coke, etc. Let's just say I'm not giving up ANY food, snacks or drinks. It's easier to just buy bigger clothes than it is to suffer through a diet. The fact that I am writing this while eating an English muffin slathered in cream cheese shows my dedication to this first item on my list.
2. Resolution: Be kind to
Reality: I will be louder when I tell these
3. Resolution: I will clean my house daily and cook nutritious meals for my family every day.
Reality: I will still eat at any fast food joint I pass, sometimes more than once a day. The only way my house will get cleaned every day is if faeries turn out to be real and I somehow luck into getting one that sprays Pledge out her nose and has feather dusters for hands. Which reminds me of something I saw in the devil's playground aka Walmart recently. Helper Elfs to make cleaning fun (their promo words not mine). Some idiot has come up with the idea of putting covers over bottles/cans of cleaning supplies that make them look like little elfs. Why? Are there really people that would think it is now fun to clean your house just because you have a ridiculous elf cover over the Lysol bottle? Maybe it's just me, maybe I missed the point when one of my aunt's went on a crocheting spree a few years ago and crocheted all those toilet paper roll covers that had Barbie doll's sticking out the top. Was I suppose to change my bowel habits because I now had Barbie staring at me every time I went in the bathroom? Was shitting suppose to be fun? Oh well, at least my English Bulldog enjoyed chewing off Barbie's head.
4. Resolution: I will take my Christmas tree down before February.
Reality: It will be a good year if I take it down before March. I like the twinkly lights and I don't care how many I throw on the plants it doesn't give the same effect. I will however take it down before my daughter takes hers down. Which is the 5th of never. Last year I ask her if she had forgotten to take her tree down. I could think of no other plausible explanation as to why it was still up in June. I had concerns that the neighbors would start to call her the "Crazy Christmas Lady" and not knowing that she accidentally murdered one of her cats by running it through a wash cycle, might start dropping stray cats off at her house. Her answer was not only a simple one but also one that she wholeheartedly saw "reason" in. She couldn't get it through the door in the den without taking all the decorations off. Exuse me? Upon seeing she was serious and not being a smart ass like her mother, I ask her if she had considered taking the decorations off first. She looked at me like I had sprouted another head and it was vomiting all over her new carpet. Her answer was that she would then have to put them back on the next year. Keep in mind that this is the same child who told her best friend that she would gladly give him one of her kidney's(he is on the transplant list)if she had two of them and it was a shame it wasn't his liver that failed because she did have two of those. Oh well, at least she's pretty.
5. Resolution: I will not text and walk again. The public service announcements never mention the dangers of texing and walking. They should.
Reality: I will probably continue to text and walk and will most likely end up in yet another fountain at another mall somewhere in the United States before the year is over. I do know it won't be in the same mall, I haven't been back to that one. I can't be sure that the old man I grabbed on to in an effort to break my fall and took into the fountain with me hasn't filed charges. He didn't find it near as funny as I did.
6. Resolution: I will keep a straight face when I tell my children I love them all equally all the time.
Reality: That's not even remotely likely to happen. They are smart children, they would know I was lying. I might possibly be able to pull it off with the Christmas Tree child, but the others would call me out in a heartbeat.
7. Resolution: I will get rid of the snowflake robe and wear the brand new one my daughter bought me for Christmas.
Reality: Never! No way, no how! I am going to be buried in that robe, with a Coke in one hand and my cell phone in the other. I want a bag of Chili Cheese Fritos and a Taco Bell burrito in the casket with me and if possible someone needs to figure out a way to put a flat panel TV in the lid. I see no reason to change my lifestyle just because it finally killed me. I also want my best friend to stand at the head of my casket and every time someone says "She looks so good!", she is to respond "No bitch, she doesn't, she looks dead!" In the event she goes first I am not to attend the viewing or the funeral, I am to sneak back to her house and clean out the safe so no one sees the paper trail of the many things no one knows about but me.
8. Resolution: I will not make excessive fun of immediate or extended family members.
Reality: You did notice that key word "excessive", didn't you? If some of these people did not live the lives of ghetto wolves in heat then I would not have material to work with. They don't get that. They also don't get that there are only two reasons I attend family reunions, the food and the total guarantee that at least one of them, if not more, are going to do something that is outrageous and/or beyond belief stupid. Forcing me to take notes on my cell phone until I can get home to blog it and share their ignorance with the world. I feel it my duty to record family history.
9. Resolution: I will not face every situation with humor.
Reality: Yes, I will. Enough said.
10. Resolution: I will give up all my reality TV shows.
Reality: What and not watch the next trainwreck?! I HAVE to hear about Kim's vagina, Nene's money, Sheri's wonderfulness(according to her), Taylor's lips, the mean girls Kyle and Kim, Vicky's screaming woo hoo fits, Alexis's world of God, Tamra's skankiness, Teresa's world of illusions, and Caroline's obsession with her sons. Of course another big draw is the music video's they release. Is there not one of the Housewives franchises that can come up with even one mediocre singer? I really NEED to know how Todd is going to tolerate another second of whiny Laura and what foolish thing they spend money on next. I HAVE to see what little ugly child is going to be painted up and paraded out next on Toddler's and Tiara's while crazy Mom is in the background gyrating and yelling "Sparkle baby, sparkle!", I NEED a weekly fix of Troy on the bayou catchin' gators, I may be in love with that man. Would my Mob Wives really be able to get by without my watching them? The Bad Girls Club would not run right without me sitting at home on the couch screaming "Smash her head up against the wall, she won't get back up then!". I am truly addicted to any show on the telly that has the word "reality" attached to it. I suck them up like a sponge. I could possibly miss the next child that Michelle Duggar, aka Uber Uterus gives birth too. I mean it's not like I won't get to see it repeated again in 9 months.
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