My But She's Pretty Child

In all fairness to my Forever Child I have decided to also showcase his brother and sisters.  I am working from youngest (Forever Child) to the oldest (Nobody's Fool Child).  But She's Pretty Child is my second youngest. But She's Pretty Child lives in Nashville with her fiance, who is an attorney for the state. I worry about him because sooner or later there is going to be a formal state dinner they will have to attend and But She's Pretty Child has even less filter on her mouth than I do and will not hesitate to let them all know her opinion on "stuffy" people. I really hope he is keeping his job options open or buys a bedazzled muzzle for her.

This one keeps me endlessly entertained and amused, she says it's her life's calling. She is the most like me, willing to do anything, finds humor in everything, has even less filter than I do, has a filthy mouth, loves giving gifts and has a knack for picking out just the right thing for somebody, the most unselfish person I know , she can make a bad day good in under 5 minutes, we can communicate without saying a word, like me she is blunt and to the point, she is totally devoted to her friends, she can see my ghosts but refuses to speak to them because they "creep her out" and "invade her privacy",  and she loves my Pug. We do not embarrass easily but that doesn't keep us from trying, it's our game and one of our favorite mother daughter activities.

I tell you all of this as a prelude because to me it is totally amazing that she is even here. When she was 18 yrs old while joking around with me she collapsed. This child went from doing a silly dance in the middle of my kitchen to being in a coma and on total life support in 20 minutes. She did not wake up or breath on her own again for 3 months. To this day the doctors, and she had about 30 of them at  one of the largest top rated hospitals in the US, have no idea what was wrong with her. Every test they ran came back negative, as result we will forever be left wondering if it is going happen again. That night her father and I were told she had less than a 1% chance of survival, that they had never seen anyone as sick she was live. Being in the medical field myself, I also had never seen anyone that sick live. The next day and for several weeks after we were advised daily to turn off her life support, that even if she did wake up she would most likely never walk, talk or breath on her own. We refused, if you can't tell me what is wrong with my child then you can't tell me what the outcome is going to be. Thank God we didn't listen to them. Today my "vegetable" is totally normal, no lasting side effects and is in nursing school.

Now before you see But She's Pretty Child as a saint let me quickly point out that sainthood is not in her past, present or future. Her nickname is Griff, short for grifter. She is undoubtedly one of the best grifters you will ever see. I wonder sometimes if I got drunk and fucked a gypsy to have this child. I am probably the only person in the family that she has not been able to run a grift on, I am wise to her.  As for all her intelligence, and she is very intelligent, she can sometimes enter a "Marilyn Monroe State of Mind" that will blow you away.

This conversation needs a little background to understand it.  But She's Pretty Child's best friend in the world is gay and they have been friends since they were very young. He is the only male in the world that regularly had sleep overs with my teenage daughter, he has lived with us for extended periods of time over the years and I consider him one of my children. She would die for him and the feeling is mutual. He is very ill now having been born with only 1 kidney that functioned at 50%. Gradually through the years the kidney declined even more and finally has stopped functioning at all. He is on dialysis and at the top of the transplant list. He has a rare blood type and a match will most likely not come in time. I overheard this conversation between the two of them right after he went on the transplant list when they were about 17 yrs old. This also explains why we call her But She's Pretty Child.

But She's Pretty Child:You can't die on me, I just won't allow it.
BFF: I don't want too but they probably won't ever be able to find a kidney for me
But She's Pretty Child: Yes they will. It's a shame you need a kidney since I only have one of those, if it was a liver I could give you one of mine.
BFF: *looking at her in awe* How many livers and kidneys do you think you have:
But She's Pretty Child: Same as everyone else, except you,  2 livers and 1 kidney.

By now BFF is laughing hysterically and she is totally oblivious as to why. He comes looking for me and tells me the story not knowing I have overheard it myself and am already doubled over laughing. He follows up the story by looking at me and saying "But she's pretty....that's a good thing, she is going to need it" To this day when something like this comes out of her mouth we look at each other and say "But....she's pretty!" Don't laugh people remember this girl is in nursing school and may be YOUR nurse someday. Now doesn't that make you feel better?

One of her favorite things in the world to do is prank call. Harmless pranks. loyal BFF and sometimes Mom at her side:

But She's Pretty Child: "Can you make hamburgers for 1200 guests?", "Is Ronald going to be available to officiate, it wouldn't be the same without him", "You will open all those ketchup packets for me ahead of time, right?", "Well I would like to have the arches set up and the balls from the bouncer spread around the grounds, I want my guests to have the total experience."
She has called McDonald's and ask them if they will cater her wedding.

But She's Pretty Child: I need a cab.
Other Person: We don't have cabs, this is a restaurant.
But She's Pretty Child: Then why is your name "Yellow Cab"?
Other Person: I don't know, it just is.
But She's Pretty Child: Cool, what time will the cab be here?
Other Person: I told you we don't have cabs, that is just our name, we serve food.
But She's Pretty Child: In the cab?
Other Person: *speaking very slowly to get the point across* No, we don't have cabs and we don't serve food in cabs.
But She's Pretty Child: Oh, Ok, well then could you ask your boss if he can swing by here and pick me up? I'm still going to need a ride.

This goes back and forth for a good 10 minutes. She is talking to the Yellow Cab Diner.

She is driving and we pull up to the Taco Bell window to order. She places a long order....for chinese food.

She told Forever Child when he was 6 yrs old that one day she bit his toe off and the doctors had sewn on another toe that belonged to some dead kid. He cried inconsolably for days wanting us to take that dead toe back off.

She refers to going to the pharmacy for prescriptions as  "making drug run", it took a while to calm down my parents. I don't think my mother has ever really believed she was picking up medication at the pharmacy  instead of out buying drugs.

She lives to embarrass her very religious grandmother. Gram lives in fear of going anywhere public with But She's Pretty Child.  A few of her favorites are:

Waiting until they are in church and announcing:

But She's Pretty Child:  Gram, your going to have to stop asking me for condoms every day, I can't afford to supply both yours and mine.
Gram: Shhh, everyone can hear you!
But She's Pretty Child: Oh Gram, there is nothing to be ashamed of , they probably have sex too.  *pretending she is getting ready to stand up* Do you want me double check with the Priest just to make sure it isn't against our religion?
Gram: Oh Sweet Jesus, NO!

Checking into a motel with Gram

But She's Pretty Child: It is Ok if she has her john's come, isn't it? They won't be here long. We are going to need the money for gas to get the rest of the way home.
Gram: Oh my goodness! I don't know what your talking about, I don't have john's!
But She's Pretty Child: Call them what you want Gram, doesn't matter to me as long as they pay.

At the grocery check out with Gram who had just unloaded all the groceries to find 10 bottles of wine But She's Pretty Child has hidden under all the other groceries. Busy talking to the cashier and not paying attention to what she was getting out of the buggy Gram is holding one bottle of wine in her hands. Gram has never taken a drink of alcohol in her life.

But She's Pretty Child: Gram!!! Are you drinking again? You promised us you would get help.
Gram: *stuttering and close to having a cardiac arrest* I didn't put that in there, I don't know how all that wine got in my cart! *looking around at all the other shoppers* I promise I don't drink, I don't know how this happened!
But She's Pretty Child: Gram, you always say that! Calm down there is no shame in being an alcoholic. Look how good you did getting off of heroin, we can't even see your track marks anymore. You will kick this too, it's just going to take a little longer.

At the car dealer helping Gram pick out a new car. Salesman right there with them.

But She's Pretty Child: Gram, are you sure you want to get a smaller car?
Gram: Yes, I just don't need one that big anymore.
But She's Pretty Child: OK, if your sure, but you're going to have to change some of your habits and start getting a motel room, your not going to have enough room to fuck in that backseat.
Gram: *not realizing what she is saying is making it worse* (to clarify here,"the BJ" is Gram's dog) Would you stop talking like that?! I only need enough room for the BJ.
But She's Pretty Child: Gram, I don't think you can even do blow jobs in that tiny back seat.

Gram brings her home and returns to shop for a new car alone. At a different dealer.

My phone rings at 3 am.

But She's Pretty Child: Mom, one of your ghosts is here, would you tell it to leave.
Mom: You tell it, I am busy, we have trauma's coming in.
But She's Pretty Child: Mom please! You know I don't like to talk to them!
Mom: Griff, seriously, just tell it to leave, I can't deal with this right now, there is too much going on here.
But She's Pretty Child: Ok, but it's going to be your fault if it gets lost, you know I can't give directions.

You have to love this child!

My Forever Children

 

 My Forever Child

Forever Child #1 aka Demon Seed

Yesterday I buy $400 worth of groceries. Today my 17 yr old walks into the kitchen and asks "What are you cooking for dinner, we don't have anything here to eat". That comment alone doesn't bother me because he is a teenager and will ignore 800 items of food in the fridge or pantry and pull the Ethiopian Starving Children act if the one thing he wants to eat is not there. What worries me is his ability to read a situation based on the clues around him.  It is 6:30 pm, the lights are off in the kitchen, no little red glowing light coming from either the stove or the oven, the crock pot and electric skillet are unplugged, the microwave is eerily quiet and there are no cooking aroma's coming from the kitchen. What IS prominently displayed on the kitchen island are a large bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken, 2 large containers of mashed potatoes and gravy, 1 large container of slaw, 2 large containers of green beans and 8 biscuits. This he does not see, however he does notice a single package of Ramen noodles missing from the 20 packs I bought yesterday. Did he actually stand there and count to find one missing or is he just so in tune with his Ramen noodles that he immediately felt the pangs of one being gone? The fact that this child was not only with me when I purchased the KFC but he helped carry it into the house only deepens my concern.

Further proof that this is the child that may be with me for the rest of my life, never having developed the ability to live outside a structured environment are:

Mom: *spoken as he is standing on the front porch talking to a friend* Olivia (this weeks flame) called and wants you to call her back as soon as you get home.
Demon Seed: Ok, I will when I get home
Mom: You are home.
Demon Seed: Uh, no not really, I won't technically be home until I come inside the house.

Up until this point I have not been aware that my front porch and yard are a hot vacation spot that is considered foreign territory.

Demon Seed: *calling from his cell phone to the house landline* Where are you?
Mom: If I were not at home then I would not be able to answer the landline, now would I?
Demon Seed: Someone else could be in the house and answering for you.
Me: Using my voice?

Demon Seed: Mom, where are the hair cutting scissors?
Mom: Locked up to keep you from cutting paper with them and dulling the blades again.
Demon Seed: Can I use them to cut this little piece of hair off that is bothering me?
Mom: As long as you don't use them to cut any paper they are for cutting hair only.
Demon Seed: I won't, I promise.

I get the scissors from the safety of the lock box and give them to him. Leaving the box unlocked so he can return them when finished so I wouldn't have to get off my lazy ass and put them up myself.

15 minutes later....

Mom: I haven't heard you put the scissors up yet, don't forget to put them back.
Demon Seed: I will as soon as I finish cutting this poster board.
Mom: I told you not to cut anything else with them!
Demon Seed: No you didn't. You told me not to cut paper with them.

Were my instructions so vague that he couldn't interpret them? Does he really not considered cutting poster board the same as cutting paper? I worry.

Mom: I'm going to bed, don't delete "American Idol" from the DVR in the den, I haven't watched it yet and that is the only television it is set to record on.
Demon Seed: OK, I won't.

The next morning,  I sat down to watch "American Idol" and find it deleted...

Mom: Why did you delete "American Idol", I told you not too.
Demon Seed: I watched it. There was some really bad singers on it so I just figured you wouldn't want to watch it.
Mom: No one watches "American Idol" for it's entertainment or intellectual properties. We watch it so we can see Steven Tyler make passes at underage girls and make fun of the bad singers.
Demon Seed: Who is Steven Tyler and why does he hit on underage girls?
Mom: He is the lead singer of the band Aerosmith. He hits on underage girls because he is older than dirt and any woman in his age range is going to have gray hair, wrinkles and the wrong drug connections, it would spoil his rock star image.
Demon Seed: He does drugs?
Mom: It's Steven Tyler, does he look drug free to you?
Demon Seed: Who is Steven Tyler?

Demon Seed: Will you fix this box of hamburger helper for me?
Mom: No, because I don't have any hamburger meat thawed out. Have a hot dog.
Demon Seed: Can't you make it with hot dogs instead?

Demon Seed: Mom, Chloe (a Mastiff we were babysitting) is on her period, I am not going to the store to buy tampons. That would be embarrassing.
Mom: Ok, I will go buy them if you insert them.
Demon Seed: *no hesitation* Ok

If it had not been for torturing the poor dog I would have let him try.

Demon Seed: Can I use your car to go to Zach's house? (Zack lives about 2 miles from us)
Mom: No because I have to leave early in the morning. I don't want to have to stop for gas that early and I will have to if you use my car tonight.

Demon Seed: Then can I use it to go to Ethan's house? (Ethan lives 10 miles away, just in the opposite direction).

He wanted some new jeans because his favorite ones had a hole in the knee. So I gave him the money and he set off for the mall. He comes home two hours later with a brand new pair of jeans that have holes in BOTH knees.  He simply does not see the irony in that and thinks it makes perfect sense.

He, along with 3 of his friends decided to walk across the pool cover, as opposed to simply walking around the pool to get to the other side. The outside air temperature was 30 degrees. They were all totally amazed when it sank to the bottom taking them down into the cold water with it. They all declared it a "piece of shit pool cover".

He wants "snake bite" lip piercings and a zombie tattoo. He was advised it would not be in his best interest to hold his breath while waiting for my permission.

He broke his bicycle forks while doing tricks. Then attempts to ride the same bicycle home, only to crash and break his arm.

Mom: Why in the world did you get back on the bicycle knowing that the broken forks are what caused you to wreck the first time?

Demon Seed: *looking at me as if I had just announced I was running off to join the circus sideshow to perform nude with monkeys and midgets* What were the odds of it happening twice in the same day?

Pretty high son, did you miss the part about the forks actually being broken?

Amazingly he is a straight A student. So this people is what all those tax dollars for education is producing. My mother assures me he will outgrow this stage. I need more proof than just her word, after all this is the same woman that declared my sister's newborn son would outgrow that serious case of the uglies he was born with. He didn't. As a result I no longer trust her.

I have visions of this child at age 45 sitting in the recliner in my den.  Proudly wearing nothing but his underwear that has the bottles of Tabasco Sauce imprinted on them, jacked up on Mountain Dew and watching reruns of Beavis and Butthead.  Occasionally he will get up and wander into the kitchen only to stand in front of the refrigerator door he is holding open,  while scratching his ass with the other hand and saying  "There isn't anything to eat in this house".

It frightens me.

Forever Child #2 aka The Devil's Advocate

There are actually two of these. One has ask not to be vilified on my blog so I will respect that. OK, I will not post his picture *hint*he looks just like the other one, but I can't promise not to discuss him in this post.  Since the others don't care I am going to guess that this may actually be the one that has some sense, time will tell. It would pretty much be the same post anyway. They are just alike, act alike and look alike. So just read the post above again and you will know all about this one too. There really isn't that much difference, this one just talks a lot more than the other one.

Messages

 To the lovers today:
So today is Valentine's Day. I hate Valentine's Day. Even in the midst of a love affair with a rich man I would hate Valentine's Day. I rank it right up there with weddings and funerals as a waste of money that would be better spent on something important or at least useful. If you want to impress me it's going to take more than flowers that I am allergic to and a box of candy. I want a valentine that fills my car up with gas and stocks my freezer with filet mignon. You want to show me how much you love me then clean my damn house for me and throw a couple loads of laundry in. Trust me on this guys, because in a few days those flowers are going to start smelling and just be something I have to throw out. The inconvenience of that is only going to make me hate you. The candy?  I have no willpower so I am going to scarf that down the first day and then look at you wishing you would just go away so I can lay miserably on my couch and bloat in peace.

To the policeman on duty last night:
You accompanied a car accident victim  to the ER. While I understand it was a car chase and he was running from you I also understand that he is only a 21 year old kid. This kid is going to die over a chase that should never have been initiated in the first place considering his crime was writing a $65 bad check. You have him handcuffed behind the back and in leg chains,  you refused to remove them so we can work on him. He is in a coma for God's sake, just what kind of danger do you think he presents? Even if he wasn't in a coma he has a broken neck, internal bleeding,  all of his ribs are broken, two broken legs and a broken arm.  How fucking far do you think he would get running? I am pretty sure I can catch him if he makes a break for it. I'm very sorry that pan of his vomit accidentally got spilled on you, sometimes I can be a little clumsy.

To my son:
No I don't feel bad that your girlfriend didn't get to go to Birmingham in my car, on my credit card and have a nice dinner on Valentine's Day. I do, however, feel bad for myself that I had to listen to her whine and take long breaths every 5 minutes to express her deep disappointment.  Get ready for it because in approximately 15 minutes I am going to  fuck up her entire Valentine's Day by announcing I am not cooking dinner for her tonight either. This may be more than she can bear. You might want to start apologizing to her now.

To my dogs:
Seriously Lola you just had to shit in the bathroom doorway last night knowing I never turn a light on early in the morning? While I love you and can appreciate your need to protest being left alone that was a bit much, I was barefooted.

To the mailman:
Please don't ever ring my doorbell and let me open it to you cheerily singing "Happy Valentine's Day" again. You really did look like an idiot. Just put my mail in the damn box like all normal mail carriers do. I was up all night, I needed to sleep.  I would have been just fine without your holiday wishes. If you must you can write me a little note next year and put it IN THE MAILBOX.

To the Whitney Houston Facebook mourners:
I really don't want to see another tribute or music video posted on my Facebook timeline about Whitney. She is dead  and not reading your Facebook pages, I doubt her family is either. I am alive and it is irritating the shit out of me having to delete them. I would much rather see clips of the reality show her and Bobby did. Now that was Whitney at her finest! I kind of liked crazy drugged up Whitney, she was far more interesting than the saint everyone is making her out to be now that she is dead.  I will never understand why people do this when someone famous dies.

To the pit bull upstairs:
First I would like to apologize to you for the idiots that think it is OK to keep you shut up on that small patio all the time. Your a beautiful dog and it breaks my heart to see that you never get to go outside to play or exercise. That being said I have a little favor to ask of you. The next time, which actually appears to be tonight based on the sounds coming from upstairs, that your Dad decides to beat the shit out of your Mom can't you attack him or something? You have no trouble acting like your going to eat me every time I step out my front door so it really shouldn't be all that hard for you. I'm starting to look like an idiot for calling the police every time I hear your Mom scream for help. It's not that I mind helping her but she kind of blows it when the police come and she tells them she has no idea what I am talking about. I think it's your turn to protect her. Frankly, I'm getting a little tired of trying. I wouldn't mind if you chewed up the remote control to their stereo either. Just a thought.

To my son's girlfriend:
Yeah, that teary eyed sniffing doesn't work on me either. I guarantee you will give up before I do so save us both some time and just stop it now.


To the makers of Calgon:
What is with this false advertising? I have been a faithful user for years and I'm still waiting for you to "take me away". I think you might be blowing smoke up my ass to make sales.

To the makers of Klonopin:
I hold you in the highest esteem. I need you like I need the air to breath. You and you alone are my Valentine!

To Bojangles Chicken:
I love you. I'm sorry I cheated on you with Ronald McDonald last night.

Romancing the Shrew

Being romantic is just not in my genes. Romantic to me is having your mate hold your hair out of the way while you are in the throes of the flu and vomiting in, on and around the toilet bowl. I unfortunately married a man who could have written Harlequin Romance novels.  He was the perfect accomplice for my then 3 yr old sons.

In early February of 1998 we had moved into a new, what I like to call uppity, subdivision. We had not had time, or probably in my case the inclination, to meet any of our new uppity neighbors before Valentine's Day rolled around.  By the time Valentine's Day was over that year meeting any of our new neighbors was no longer a possibility. I imagine it was something they feared and I could never be sure they had not installed booby traps to prevent me from entering their yards so it wasn't worth the risk.

We live in the south, which means we rarely ever have snow or ice. We live with the constant teasing of the weather service and their dire predictions of "winter weather" that never happens, it only whips the people here into a frantic frenzy of "what ifs". But that year we woke up to ice and falling snow. I am originally from a place that gets regular snow and ice and being someone who loves that kind of winter weather I was excited. Which is probably why I went along with the Valentine's Day debacle without complaining. That and the fact that my 3 yr old's were so proud of everything they had done and I couldn't break their hearts by being grumpy. I put a smile on my face thinking "How bad can it be, I can get through this". I was so wrong, so very wrong.

Demon Seed came bouncing into my room with his gift, beautifully wrapped. My husband had excellent taste so I wasn't too worried until I heard my son say "You have to put it on right now Mommy, I picked it out all by myself!" What fairly intelligent grown man with a college degree lets a child that thinks fluorescent orange matches perfectly with fluorescent red pick out a gift on his own?  I don't even have words to tell you how bad it was but he was so proud and I wasn't going to be the one to tell him he had the taste of a future pimp.

So, I calmly dressed up in my new hooker outfit confident that no one but us would ever see it.   Red silk short, short gown that was NOT tailor made for the size of my ass.  Sheer red silk matching robe with huge white hearts on it. I smiled and put it on. My son thought I was a vision and kept repeating "You look so pretty Mommy, you have to wear it all day!"  I had his eyes examined the following week. In his defense they did find a tiny bit of vision loss in one eye which was later corrected with surgery.

Then The Devil's Advocate proudly hands me gift #2. A small box. I was thinking since it was so small if it was something else I had to wear then at least it wouldn't be so noticeable. Earrings, but earrings that came down past my shoulders, three huge red enamel hearts. At least they matched the hooker outfit.  I smiled and put them on.

He then gives me gift #3. After having been tricked into false hope with the small box I admit to a tiny bit of fear upon seeing this box was larger. Shoes. But wait...not just any shoes...nope, not my son!  Bright red slip on high heeled slippers with feathers and rhinestones across the top. I smiled and put them on. I was now ready for the street corner.

Since my husband was cooking breakfast when one of my Siberian Huskies(who was in the house while the kennels were being built) had to go outside to potty I volunteered.  I hooked his long lead on, cracked open the door and still standing inside out of the cold and snow let him out.  Normally he would have just ran down the deck, done his business and run back in.   But that day, it was a Sunday morning, he sees a squirrel and being a Husky it was on!  He took off after the squirrel, I was still attached to his lead so out the door I flew too, across the icy deck.  I fell and he drug me across the deck, down the steps and out into the middle of the yard.  Now this dog's call name was Demon (compliments of my daughter) so the whole time I was yelling "Stop Demon, your killing me"!  When we finally stopped I looked up to see my very religious, staid neighbors getting in their car to go to church, elderly mother in tow.  The shocked look on their faces was something I will never forget.  Nor will I forget the look on the paramedic's faces who had to be called because of my severely broken ankle.

I retired my lovely outfit after that day and threatened my husband if he ever let that particular child pick out anything else for me again there would be hell to pay.  The whole 3 yrs those neighbors lived in our neighborhood they never once spoke to us.  I might not have helped things by opening the back door and yelling "Demons!" every time I saw them outside, it was fun to see how fast they would run back into their house. I really don't think they ever made the connection that the dog's name was Demon and that I wasn't really being attacked by the legion of demons they were sure lived in my house.

Since my sons, who are now 17 yrs old, are such a giving children and constantly bringing me in some kind of gift,  I thank God that their tastes have improved. I think I got them away from their father just in time.
 

The World According To My Mother

 I love my Mother dearly, she has always been there for all of us 100 %. Sometimes getting her to that 100% can drive you crazier than the problem you started out with. It's a cross we happily bear for her devotion.

If there was ever anyone that lives in a world of nothing but black and white it is my mother. No grays, not even the slightest hint of color.  There are only two ways to do things, two ways to see things and two ways to feel about something.  Her way and the wrong way. If it wasn't her idea then it was a silly idea. If it is not her explanation for the way things are then it makes no sense which instantly makes it unbelievable.

If she forgets something she will deny to her death that she ever knew it in the first place and say we are trying to keep things from her.  Because, of course, it is to all our benefit to NOT tell her about changing the brand of laundry detergent we use. That knowledge in the hands of the wrong people could alter the course of history. If you forget something it is either because you are on drugs that have destroyed all your brain cells and now she will have to raise your children during the upcoming apocalypse or because you never pay attention to her when she talks so she doesn't know why she even bothers to tell you anything.  She is right on that last part, I admit I don't always pay attention to what she is telling me. Mainly because I really don't care that she saw a stray cat in my aunt's yard last Easter, that the woman in front of her in the check out at the grocery was wearing clothes that didn't match,  the paper lady delivered the paper 15 minutes late last night, that my nephew spit on the sidewalk and is now doomed to grow up a delinquent because of it, her neighbors fed their dog table scraps last Tuesday night at 7 pm sharp (this type of info is always preceded with "I'm not a gossip but...."). You want my attention then bring me the goods. I want to know who is fucking who and who found out about it, tell me about the neighbors knock down drag out fight last night in their driveway, tell me my uncle ran off and left my aunt(Please God, tell me that someday! I like him and it would be nice to know he escaped). Why does she not share these little tidbits of information? Her answer to that is always because she doesn't "notice that type of thing"...because...well...she isn't a gossip.

My mother has no concept of lying, to her that is a crime worse than murder. Lie to keep someone's feelings from being hurt? Never!  They should be strong enough to handle the truth, they appreciate her telling them that the new house they so proudly built is put together so shoddily that it will most like cave in within three years. My aunt appreciated being told her then 6 yr old son was dumber than a box of rocks(in my Mother's defense here, he was and still is), that way they could get him in better schools before it was too late. My 40 yr old cousin appreciated being told that she looks like a 70 yr old woman, after all she did give her a gentle suggestion for a good wrinkle cream and she was so thankful that she tried to squeeze the life out of hugged her. Back in the day when you could still return empty bottles for a  deposit when buying Coke I went to the store with my Mother while home visiting one summer. I never bothered to take those bottles back, that 30 cents for the whole six of them wasn't enough to make up for the aggrevation to me. I didn't put the bottles in the car and since my Mother could not even fathom someone not taking them back when ask at the check out if she had returned any bottles she told them she had and they credited her for that 30 cents. When we got home and she saw the empty bottles still in the pantry where I had left them and had a total melt down because she had told a lie at the grocery store. The woman actually got back in the car and drove 12 miles one way back to that grocery store to give them the bottles.  Crying and profusely apologizing as if she had just run over one of their children in the parking lot. They looked at her is disbelief and told  her she could have just brought them the next week when she came to get groceries. She told them she would never have been able to sleep knowing she had those stolen bottles in the house. She was telling the truth.

In my Mother's world she is the only person capable of having someone of the opposite sex as nothing more than a friend. For the rest of us we are automatically doing the rabbit dance between the sheets each and every time we get together. There is no such thing as "just friends" between the opposite sex, it isn't possible, people don't think that way and your only fooling yourself if you try to say differently. Except, of course, for her. SHE can do it.

My Mother and cell phones do not mix. I am still trying to figure out why she even has one, she claims she got it for emergencies. I keep telling her that I think in order for it to perform in the way she intends it would necessitate her actually taking it with her. It's not that she doesn't know how to use it, it's just that she refuses to use it. The phone was in the top of her closet, still in the box it came in for over 3 months when she first got it. She finally got tired of hearing about it from all of us and took it out. It now is in the nightstand drawer beside her bed, nestled softly under the perfectly working land line phone. She had a flat tire and when ask why she didn't call someone to come help her she said because she didn't have the phone with her because it was only for emergencies. She was in Amish country(she goes every week to buy whatever you buy from the Amish) when a family emergency came up and we needed to get in touch with her. Unsurprisingly she didn't answer her phone because again she didn't take it with her..... it is only for emergencies. Yet this same woman will sit in her bed every night and text the hell out of all of us, sending us pictures of the Amish goods she has purchased that week, cute pictures of the dog, videos of my snoring father, pictures of the flowers she got for whatever occasion it is at the time, recipes she has found on the internet, etc. Retaliation doesn't work. We spent one whole evening trying to show her how irritating this can be when your trying to sleep, have a nice dinner out or watch a movie by texting her pictures of nonsense. I sent a picture of my toe, my dog's ass, a kernel of corn on my dinner plate, the door knob on my bedroom door, the leg of my coffee table, my toilet, my carpet, the moon and a nail clipping. I have no idea what the others were sending, but three of us sending this type of picture for hours on end only resulted in a text back to all of us saying "It looks like your having an enjoyable evening, love the pictures!" So now thinking this is the type of pictures we like she is sending us the same type of photos. Every night. When she thought there was something wrong with her landline instead of using her own cell phone to call the landline to check it she called and had me call her to check it. Because, and she doesn't know how many times she has to tell me, that cell phone is only for emergencies! This all makes perfect sense to her.

My Mother has four sisters and the five of them are always taking sides and arguing with each other. But it is never the same ones on the same side. For variety they swap it up. This week A and B are not talking to C and D and E is in the middle hearing it from both sides. Next week C won't be talking to A and E and D and B will be in the middle hearing it from both sides. This list constantly rotates and we never know who is mad at who. We don't even try to figure out why they are mad in the first place, it will all be over with next week anyway when it's time for the new cast of characters to be announced. They all highly amuse me with this. It is very important to remember that, according to them, not a single one of them are gossips.  Unless you ask the two that are mad at the rest of them that week, they will always tell you it is because "those other sisters" are gossips. They also can't stand the way "those other sisters" act and they are so glad they are different. In reality the problem is they are all exactly alike and all of them are gossips, which is why they fight.

My Mother hates a hypochondriac and can bitch endlessly about someone calling her to talk about all their illness. She called me this morning to tell me she thinks she is coming down with a cold but it's hard to tell because she already has a sore throat and that migraine from last week is still lingering. If her knee is better in the morning so she doesn't have to worry about it giving out and causing her to fall which will only make her back ache worse she is going to the doctor.

My Mother has no patience for those(like me) who like or need to sleep late. If you sleep late your just being lazy. She doesn't care if you have worked in a busy emergency room for a straight 16 hrs or not, if it is past 8 am and you're in bed she can carry on about it for a week. Telling everyone who crosses her path that someday you will get bed sores from laying in bed so long. I called her yesterday at 11 am to tell her something only to be told that she had left instructions to not be woke up for anything short of a fire and could I call back after her nap. In her world a nap is not really sleeping. You can take 20 naps a day and not be lazy as long as you don't get under the covers. Once you pull those covers down and get under them you automatically pass from "beauty nap" to "lazy bum". This is why it is important to always keep a folded up extra comforter on the sofa and the foot of the bed.

My Mother doesn't understand why people try to cover up that beautiful natural gray hair as they age. It's a badge you should wear proudly to show you have weathered all life has thrown your way. She tells this to the hairstylist every month while getting her color treatment.

My Mother has beautiful china. We have never eaten off of it because she is saving it for a "special occasion". We are excited for this special occasion to come, it is going to be a glorious celebration, because to date weddings, births, deaths, engagements and holidays have not made the "get out the good china" list. I'm sure she will call us on her cell phone when the day comes.

If you came right out and asked my Mother to buy you something she would look at you as if a demon had just popped out of the top of your head and was giving birth to baby demons in your hair. You have to make her think it is her idea. It's really easy, just look longingly at something and say "Someday I am going to buy myself one of those". It's a guarantee it will be yours before the day is over.

My Mother hates soap operas. She sees no reason for their very existence, they are nothing more than a waste of time and no self respecting woman would watch them. Over the years she has been a faithful, never miss an episode, fan of "Dallas", "Sex in the City", "Dynasty", "Nip/Tuck", "The Sopranos" and "The OC" and "Beverly Hills 90210". When questioned about this double standard she will quickly inform you those are not soap operas because they come on a night. Glad she cleared that up for me!

I can see now that it is impossible to wrap up a post when writing about my Mother so I think the best thing is just to stop.

I love you Mom!

Is The Will Signed?

Two posts in one day can only attest to the fact that I am bored as hell today. Or quite possibly drunk from lack of sleep. Actually while making my blog run this afternoon a post over on Cowgirl's blog, Left Alone With A Full Moon, reminded me of something I was going to blog about last week and then forgot about in all the shock surrounding the death in my family.

Dating. Not my favorite thing even as a teenager. I am not good at going through the motions required to get to know someone. It bores me to tears. Well that and the fact that I have to actually get out of my pajamas and leave the house to date.

I can just imagine my profile on one of those dating sites Cowgirl mentions:

Shea

 Looking for a sugar daddy who has enough money to support me in a lavish lifestyle and take me on extravagant vacations. Preferably in bad health or terminal and willing to name me in your will.

Sturdily built, sometimes described as fluffy.

I am 5'1" tall so if your over 5' 5 " please bring a step stool before coming to pick me up. I like to be eye to eye when someone pisses me off, and you will eventually piss me off, people always do.

Must love pets. Given more room to house them I could easily become the "Crazy Pug Lady" that you remember from your childhood.

Must love children. I have children, three of which are grown and gone from the house. The last two may be with me forever since we don't live in a country that supports a dowry. Without that, I fear I won't be able to bribe someone to put up with them.

Not into someone who wants to be stuck up my ass all the time. Please have your own set of friends and hobbies.

No snorers please. If you lie to me about this I will slit your throat while you sleep.

You must have the ability to wipe your ass thoroughly and not leave skid marks in your underwear. This is negotiable if you're near the end of your life and have already signed the will.

Sane relatives are a must. My own are crazy enough I don't want to have to take on yours too.

You must address me as "Queen" at all times, "Queenie" is acceptable in times of intimacy.

I do not share the television remote with a smile on my face.

Last week a friend fixed me up with a guy her husband works with. I really didn't want to go but she happened to catch me on a day when my fibro was acting up and I didn't have the strength to bitch slap her. The date started out nice enough. He was very good looking and he took me to an expensive restaurant. We were sitting there just chit chatting and suddenly out of the blue he looked at me and asked if I had ever had sex with an animal. Me thinking he meant a man that acts like an animal replied that I had been married to a guy like that. He quickly informed me that he didn't mean that, he meant four legged animals. I'm sure the view he got of the chewed up food still in my mouth when my jaw dropped was appealing to him. I told him no and that I didn't want to hear about it if he had. I spent the rest of the dinner fighting the urge to text my sons and tell them to get the dogs out of the house to safety before the idiot brought me home. I tried to make small talk for the rest of the meal. Do you know how hard it is to make small talk to someone that you're pretty sure is screwing all the pets in his neighborhood? When dinner was over he asks me if I would like to take a tour of the local water treatment plant. WTF? My jaw hits the floor for the second time that night. That was the moment I secretly changed his name, I now call him "Dexter". I'm pretty sure he is a serial killer. Why else would you take someone to a water treatment plant at 10 pm? I told him it was getting late and that my son and I had a pact that if I am not home when I say I will be he is to call the police and have them launch an APB on me. Unfortunately I was going to have to pass on the water treatment plant because I told my son I would be home by 10:30 pm. Dexter took me home. I almost broke his car door in my haste to get out of his car and into my safe house.  I thought that was the end of him. Not so easy. He called me the next day and ask if I would like to go visit a goat and pig farm with him. With all the fake regret I could muster up I turned him down. He called me the third day and ask if  I wanted to go tour the fish hatchery with him. My death by water at the hands of an animal fucking serial killer floated before my eyes and I turned him down. What is with this guy and his strange fascination for animals and stinky water dates? Is he just socially inept or crazy? I'm not willing to find out so I no longer answer any of his calls or texts.

Is this the kind of men in the dating pool now?  I am going to stay home, grow the hair out on my legs and arm pits, get fat and shave my head so that no man will even want to ask me out.

Unless of course he is rich, terminal and the signed will has my name in it as the sole beneficiary.

Searching For The Good In Him

I received a wedding invitation in the mail this past week and could not work up one ounce of happiness for the couple about to enter into that pit of hell. I can admit that my feelings probably originate from my own experience in the arena. I think I will stay home and just send my condolences to the unfortunate couple. I might find it too tempting to give the bride a printed list of "Ways To Get Revenge When You Discover What An Ass He Really Is".

This got me to thinking about how much I enjoy being single again. I couldn't even contain my joy at the courthouse on the day my divorce was finalized. I honestly did not intend for that happy high pitched squeal of "Thank you sweet baby Jesus!" to come out so loudly. Yes Mom, I DO realize that I could have at least waited until the judge had left the room, but did you see the smile on his face? Aren't you at least a tiny bit proud that I didn't get the champagne glasses out of my purse in the courtroom and pour everyone a drink to celebrate?  You also took note that I didn't shoot my ex the bird finger until we were in the parking lot, didn't you?  I think that showed maturity and restraint on my part. Give me a little credit here.

Do you detect the bitterness? I have tons of bitterness. I have bitterness to spare. I have enough bitterness for all of us. But I have to admit that I find revenge rather a fun concept and do enjoy making his life a living hell at every turn. I am the poster child for Carrie Underwood's song "Before He Cheats".

He is in therapy now to deal with his mid-life crisis and a while back his therapist ask him to make amends to all he wronged and then to ask those people to write a letter to him praising his good points.  He ask our children(they declined, we have intelligent children) and I to write one of these "letters". After I got back up off the floor from my laughing fit my first thought was that I wanted thank this obviously stupid therapist, whom I have never met, for giving me this golden opportunity.

This was my letter to his therapist:

To Whom It May Concern,
 I lived with this lying sneaking cheat for 27 years and I tried to find good things to say about him for this project. Unfortunately for him, I came up short only being able to think of three things, he makes pretty babies, he makes a lot of money and pays his alimony on time. Now that we have the niceties out of the way let's move on to to some raw honesty.

This was my letter to him:

Dear ________,
 Wanting to be fair to you and not being able to think of any virtues you have, except the three listed above, I have polled my side of the family, your former co-workers, friends and neighbors to help me write this. Sadly they couldn't think of anything good about you either. So I moved on to your side of the family.  I might add here that, unlike you and your gold diggers(past, present and sometimes overlapping), I am still welcome in their homes and we still spend holidays and important occasions together.  They don't have anything good to say about you anymore either. I do apologize for this letter being a little late but finding people that like you is not easy and I have had to reach further back in our past in my attempt to do so. I did find a couple acquaintances that we have not seen in years that looked promising, however upon my explaining everything to them they were hard pressed to think of anything good either. But I still had hope, you see I got the invitation for your high school reunion in the mail and instead of forwarding it on to you (I do apologize for that) I decided to attend myself. To help you with your therapy, of course. Never having attended that school myself I did hesitate for a brief moment but decided it was in your best interest that I try to interview as many of your classmates as possible for good things to say about you.  It was going really good, only one person brought up your vomiting in the back seat of their car your senior year, but he was laughing about it so I don't think he holds it against you. I thought I was finally going to be able to finish this letter you requested but then some wise ass had to go and ask me what you have been up to for the past few years. Since I am big on honesty I felt it only right to tell them everything. I'm afraid it has colored their opinion of you slightly and the only thing I came away with was "He was a hell of a good football player." Does that help you any?

I'm afraid I have no more time to devote to helping you figure out why you're such an asshole. You may just have to accept the fact that you are one and move on. I can try to contact those that you went to elementary school with for you, once I explain what this all about maybe they can think of something good to say. After all children and assholes do see the world in a different way than the rest of us. Let me know what you want me to do.

Oh and one other thing, I have informed the IRS that you illegally signed my name on those tax returns three years ago. Since you have moved since then I gave them your current address and work place information as they have shown an interest in talking to you about this.

Have a nice weekend.

Sincerly,
Shea