I’m sick. Fever’s melting my grey matter, and I would rather sleep than eat Rolos – that’s some serious shit. My little fellow female of the house has it too. Poor little sweetheart. At least she’s got Barney to make her smile. And I want to take a moment to apologize for the previous death threats big purple guy. Thanks for cheering my sickie girl up.gag

I discovered something last night – couple of things really.

*When you suspect you have a fever, don’t work without taking some ibuprophen. Fast rolling lines of text that cause a person to zone out for periods of time isn’t a good thing.

*You shouldn’t blog while feverish. I hardly remember posting anything last night, and it shows. Bunch of garbled shit.

*You absolutely positively go to sleep with a fever. Ever had a fever dream? Can’t speak for everyone, but mine are always sexual. Always. And I’m not talking about that halfass-almost sex with the guy who has a great body but a blurry face that never quite gets you off. Fever dreams deliver the real deal with whatever yumyum I happen to be thinking about that week. I’ll spare you the details from last night’s, because it would make a dear friend of mine very sad to learn that one of her baldies has gone astray.

I’ll be spewing forth fever-filled germs all day if anyone would like to drop by.

Thought of a few more things that will be initiated once I am RulerOfTheWorld…

*There will be classrooms built for husbands. Here they will be taught a few important rules. Michelle’s list today, for one. Then of course, there will be various others: how to take out the trash BEFORE it causes the lid to not close properly so the kids don’t go to scrape their plate and spill food on the fucking clean floor that I scrubbed by hand…how to pick ONE fucking show to watch instead of enticing me to sit on the couch with you to watch only to flip the gawddamn channel 50 more times only to end up back at the same stupid ass show in the first place….how to expect to spend 15 fucking minutes with the dino-the-dinosaur kids when you walk in the door because they are so happy to see you and not look so damn dumbfounded every shittin’ day because that look of awww-wow-they-love-me really fucking annoys me when I’m the one who just scrubbed the entire box of crayons off the wall… how to NOT tell your wife that she must have her sweats on backwards because her ass looks like it can’t breathe properly when she’s not in the mood for your fucking jokes because of the five kids that GREW that ass of hers.

*These classes will be mandatory for all husbands who get off work early. They must report there immediately without going home first. Why?? So my whole fucking day is not screwed royally by his ass being home smack dab in the middle of it. It drives me insane to have him walk in and expect my day to change because he is now a part of it. I love you. I like to spend time with you. But can’t we keep it like it is? Evenings and weekends are working just jolly for me thanks. I would appreciate some sort of fucking warning .. request … notice from you ahead of time to make sure I’m in the mood to have your ass around all day as well. Today? Nope, not a good day to pop on home. But, uhh… thanks for the favor.

Party’s over – fondlemynuts just graced our presence in the chat room.

Not gonna be a good day for you, shithead.

I must be the only one in the world that can see that we are sealing our doom in this world. Isn’t it obvious??? Or do I just read too many Stephen King novels? Perhaps, but let’s examine a few things…

We now have the ability to clone. Am I the only one that saw Gattaca? Rent it.

Saw a commercial today that proudly announced that they can store everyone’s medical info and summon it within seconds. Am I the only one that finds this disturbing?? Will our potential employers have access to this information?? Will our life’s worth be based on our medical history? Our weaknesses? How will this affect the balance of our society? Again, rent Gattaca.

The reality shows are breeding at a rate that terrifies the absolute shit out of me. And what’s worse, against my better judgement, I can’t help but watch them. Neither can anyone else it seems. How long before all shows are reality based? It’s much more interesting to watch real soap operas – one where people’s lives are actually being fucked with. Ruined. Am I the only one who read The Running Man?? C’mon, you at least watched the damn movie instead. I know you did. Doesn’t that scare the piss out of you??

It most fucking definitely does me. I have no doubts now after this past year that we have started a journey down a road that there is no turning back from. Makes me sad and frightened. Makes me feel like a crazy ass for talking this way, but I have five children dammit. I don’t want our lives to resemble something out of a scene from Terminator. We are slowly evolving into a new age. An age that will deliver our sorry asses right into the pits of hell. No, I’m not a religious freak. I’m not talking about that hell.

To be honest, all things considered – I don’t see the need for that hell anymore. We’re going to fuck ourselves into the destruction of everything that we hold sacred right now. If I knew for sure that we were mature enough as a species to handle this technology, these reality based shows, this hand we are dealing ourselves – it would be different.

But we’re not.

Given the wide range of filth that my mind/mouth is capable of, it shocks me to find that there is a whole new world of trask talk here in Internetville. Words and phrases that I have never heard of – or at least have never thought of piggy-backing together. I’m impressed.

To name a few of those jewels that I’ve encountered either in blogs or at work:

fucktard, fuckwaste, dicksmuck, shitwad, shitlips, crotchrot, prickhead, and my favorite of the week – the phrase that no vocabulary should be without – a woman caught her husband honking his bobo. Although the filth rating is on the low side, the originality score is through the roof.

Perhaps it was the late hour. Or the full moon that always seems to hang over the chat rooms. Maybe it was the 3 vivarin working their magic, distorting my perception as they tried to keep my eyelids open. Whatever the case, I laughed my ass off.

Then again, I’m easily amused.

Okok okokok – I promise not to come back here until my house is clean the laundry is done the lint trap is emptied.

This working every day shit is getting old. It’s not really the job itself, it’s the hours. The little ones don’t give a shit that mom just went to bed a few hours ago – they’re getting up before the sun. I’m used to it, but I need those two days off a week to recharge. I look and feel like hell right now. This added to the no possibility for lovin’ until I get a day off is really starting to get to me. They did hire someone, but she’s still gotta be trained. Gawd please let her be a fast learner.

My house is a wreck, laundry is still sitting purdy all folded on the couch, three more loads to do, I haven’t cooked a real dinner in four days, and I can’t find the energy to get dressed until around 2 every day. Given my past battles with depression, I know something needs to give soon if I am to avoid going down that path. Once the blahs bite your ass, it takes the jaws of life to get them off.

So I guess I should get off the puter. Take a bath. Recharge as much as I can. Run some errands. Tackle the house. Today, I’m just going to git ‘er done.

After reading a few blogs of course. Just a couple – I swear.

Many thanks to Da Goddess for pointing me in the direction of this read.

Damn. He’s good.

One of the regular chatters is missing tonight. Someone asks about her. This is when her cyber friends find out that her 16yo daughter took her own life today at school.

I am sitting here trying to work as I weep for a woman I’ve never met. For a daughter I’ve never seen. For a family that will never know that I exist.

But that’s ok. I find it comforting to know that there are over 200 chatters praying for her family right now. People she wouldn’t know if they passed her on the street.

Tonight in the rooms there is nothing but cyber love and friendship, and regardless of how many times my IRL friends try to convince me otherwise, I am feeling -yet again- just how very fucking real this part of my life really is.

Go hug your kids

Take a peek at what pisses Michelle off.
Just reading it fires me up and makes me want to go punch someone.

hmmmmmmmmmmmmm – victim victim – I need a victim….

Some dear friends of mine are Raider fans, so I’ll make this brief…

The Bucs kicked some royal ass tonight, and have managed to draw me over to the dark side. For the first time in my life, I jumped up and did a mini-touchdown dance in front of the TV. I will never live that shit down. Ever. Not like I could help myself – that last touchdown shocked, tickled, and excited me almost as much as a multiple. And if you have no idea what I’m talking about – train yer man better.

Anyhoooooo – house is a disaster thanks to the football-watching, food-eating, bring-their-kids-and-let-them-fucking-destroy-my-house friends we had over. Friends of friends actually. Never again you nasty pricks. And if I EVER catch your ass eating out of the fucking crockpot again I will kill you.

Was fun though. Would have been better had I been drunk, but oh well. MD bought me a huge bottle of jack daniel’s down home punch, and it’ll keep nicely until my next night off. Whenever the hell that will be. Still need to hire -and train- two more people. Until then, my ass is working every single night.

Ole hubby better look out though. The very second I am put on my new shift, I am going to drain every drop of that bottle and hunt him down.

Until then, I have fresh images of Alstott’s ass wallpapering my mind.

damn that man is tasty

There is no greater joy than watching your husband spend the week on cloud nine. He has been a Bucs fan since before he could talk – way back when it was anything but cool to be so.

This man looks like someone stuck an electric cord in his ass today. I have never seen him so full of excitement. So anxious. So damn happy.

Don’t eff this up guys – he just might jump off a bridge if you do.

Got promoted yesterday because I am just that great. Got my hours changed yesterday since that girl got canned a couple of weeks back. Will go from the late night shit shift (10-2am) to the not-so-great-either-but-at-least-I-might-get-laid-more shit shift (6-10pm). which also means more time to spend in bloggieland

Still have a couple late nights until the first, but I am one happy ass camper right now. Also threw in a wee carrot on my check for helping out with the coverage. Ain’t life grand? Not complainin’ – this job of watching others chitchat while sitting in my jammies has to be ranked on the all-time best sham jobs list. And it’s mine – well, at least till the big boss skips a Prozac again.

And I like it – who wouldn’t? Especially those that dwell here – in the land where there are no curtains on the windows of other people’s lives. I’m a verbal voyeur. Both here and at work. It’s just more real here. Uncensored. More personal.

Although there was that girl last night who claimed she likes to be mounted by her pooch. Can’t get much more personal than that.

Stole Swiped Borrowed this train of thought from Jen.

Since I’ve always wanted to be the RulerOfTheWorld, thought I would start polishing up my New Laws as well. Go ahead, give it a whirl. We can all fucking dream, right?

*Call waiting would be eliminated – completely. So incredibly rude to cut someone off at the sound of that click. I hate that effin click. Just can’t stand the thought of someone more important trying to call, can ya? Get over yourself. And if I want to spend 4 hours yappin’ on the phone as you try to get through to tell me that little JimBobJr made the all-star team again this year, then that’s just tough shit for you. Wait.

*It would be illegal for stores not to carry at least one fucking pair of normal jeans. You know normal – regular. For us not-so-trendy types. Those of us that don’t care to wear flares or capris or cargo pants. People like me who cannot understand the purpose of the faded runway down each leg – front and back even. Those that do not care for bedazzled shit designs. Normal jeans please. And I am not afraid to hold the dumbass sales associate hostage while you find me a pair. Do it now.

*How about designing a dishwasher that actually cleans the gawddamn dishes? What is the use of having a dishwasher if I have to rinse every ounce of shit off first? Add a drop of soap and I just washed the bitch myself. Why in the hell would I want to rinse them, load them, fight to close the damn thing after cramming it full of dishes for the 7 of us, just to have them returned to me an hour and a half later with boiled sandy-shit rocks glued to them? I’ll pass, thanks.

*Upon delivering her first child, every mother would be given a runner at her disposal. Forget a maid, I just want to say ‘Go get milk’ and have it be placed on my counter 5 minutes later by the runner. Damn store is two miles down the road, but yet it takes me almost 20 minutes to make that trek with 5 kids. The time it takes to load and unload the van alone I could have crabwalked there and back.

That’s it for starters. Oh, there’s plenty more – but the rest are too devMB5t to put in print.

My Gawd. It’s cold. High today is 12. That’s it – 12. My Gawd.

I know it’s Missouri. I know Missouri is supposed to have cold-ass winters. I know this, I grew up here. But I do believe that those 5 years in Tampa spoiled my ass just a tad. Although Tampa did teach me something else – I hate summer too.

Maybe I’ll move. But where could I go that would satisfy my seasonal and temperature desires?

I need all 4 seasons – although summer and winter should never last more than 4 2 weeks each. Spring and fall please. Tons and tons of rain. 70 degrees. Maybe 75. By the ocean. Small town livin’.

Too much? Hey, if those assholes can clone a kid – I demand that someone create my perfect living environment.

I need to go wrap myself around the heat register now.

I just realized why the giddy mood fairy found me today. Although I am quite ashamed to admit it.

I cannot wait until American Idol comes on tonight. Is that perverse or what? I don’t give two shits about the show itself – I want to watch Simon rip apart ass. That is the only reason I am tuning in – to watch people destroyed on National Television.

What a sicko bitch I am.

I must have a sign on my head that says please casually mention to me how much you are against a war – I haven’t had my fill yet. Jeeeeeeezus – not even going to let it get to me today. Ain’t ya proud?

No period yet, but the stick says no kiddo. That’s a good thing. Very good. Although me thinks a UTI is creepin’ in – that’s not a good thing. Really screws with your mind when you piss every 10 minutes and you’re late on your period. hmmmmmmmm. It had better be a UTI.

Life’s purdy peachy right now. The Bucs have made my husband’s entire year. The snow made my kids’. And First Response made mine.

Well, except for the warning I received from my 3yo today. It seems that I am going to be crushed by a flying toilet because I ate one of his french fries.

With my luck, I sure as hell better be on the look-out.

Woke up this morning to find this petition for peace in my email. Was sent by yet another friend who opposes the war in Iraq. She wants me to sign, but I’m afraid I just can’t.

Not unless I see that Saddam has signed it as well – otherwise, what the hell good is it?

*Ang is experiencing a few hormonal difficulties at this time. Please take no offense to the ranting/raving/bullshit/soapbox/lecture -ish posts of the past few days. We are working hard trying to correct this problem, and hopefully by Monday it will be resolved.

Unless she doesn’t get her period, of course. Then all fucking hell is going to break loose.

My last post made it seem like I am in favor of war. I’m not. I’m in favor of picking the lesser of two evils. I am in favor of taking care of the unpleasant before it gets too large to handle. I’m in favor of removing a psycho from power before millions of people die at his hands. I’m in favor of taking the offensive rather than trying to react from a blind sucker punch.

An IRL friend of mine feels badly for the Iraqi people – enough so, that she strongly opposes a war. There is no explaining to her that a war would free these poor people after that bastard is eliminated. Not to mention make the entire fucking world a safer place to live in. She seems to forget that we would swoop in and clean up our mess afterwards, help them rebuild, and work with them to establish a government -a real government, not the kind where the ballot says check either “yes” or “no, shoot my ass dead now please”. Yes, people will die. Innocent people. And that sucks – it really really does. Our soldiers might die. I hate to use this phrase because it sounds like bullshit, but isn’t it still better to suffer now? Rather than to keep letting him slide, building his arsenal, so that he can wipe out the entire planet ten years from now? I think so. But maybe I’m just a stupid ass.

She claims that we are not God, not everyone’s big brother, not the world’s bouncer. Fine, agreed. But are we not able to defend ourselves from those that secretly make plans to massacre us? To kill our children? Her children? Other countries that aren’t able to defend themselves? Yeah, you’re right – shut your eyes real tight, maybe it’ll just go away. But pardon me if I happen to give a shit whether or not our children, our country, hell – the world, is at risk of being destroyed by this sick ass prick.

She makes fun of our President. That’s nice. If you don’t respect the man – then at least respect his title. His position. The enormity of his stress over this shit. No, he may not have a flair for speeches – but don’t for one second think that man doesn’t eat, sleep, and breathe loyalty to his country and those in it. She sounds like a puppet rattling off claims that he has a personal agenda for this upcoming war. Sure he does – but it has nothing to do with re-election. This is his country, and that’s very fucking personal. How could anyone look at this man, listen to him speak, and then accuse him of starting a war to score another 4 years? Perhaps his ‘people’ have a plan, but I honestly don’t think he gives a shit. And no disrespect, but does anyone really believe that he is calculated and cunning enough to think that far in advance and plan that shit? Didn’t think so. He is a simple man, an honest man, a normal man. Perhaps that’s why I like him – he’s real. He’s so real it’s fucking scary. The rage in his eyes is real. His passion about protecting his nation is real. Jeeesus – she’d honestly rather have had Gore at a time like this?? What a fucking joke.

Sorry, this just fires me up. I find it funny how those that condemn the President and war are the ones that sleep like babies at night, secure in the fact that they are safe and snug in their fucking bubble of life. A bubble that was/is created by the very things they are disrespecting. I have -and would again in a second- be willing to risk my life to protect our country. To protect our way of life. To preserve the right that these bastards have to spout off their senseless garbage of protests.

Citizenship to the United States is a priviledge, and I think it’s high time we started revoking it from those that don’t deserve it. If you can’t appreciate the sacrifices that have been made in order to bring us up to this point in our nation’s history, and the actions/sacrifices that will be made over and over and over again to maintain our nation – then get the fuck OUT of our nation.

Let’s talk about discipline for a second. So many ways to discipline now thanks to the so-called experts. But all of them basically fall into three categories: talking/yelling/discussing – time outs/restrictions/grounding – spankings.

I believe in all three – but it depends on the situation and who the person is receiving the discipline. People react differently – people are built differently. What works on one person may not work on another – or may not be needed. Time usually gives you all the clues you need to determine what course of action to take.

To those that don’t believe in spanking, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to offend you, but sometimes it is of utmost importance that these measures are taken. There are times when these actions are the only way to prevent a fucking monster from being created. A monster that will most assuredly cause society to suffer greatly at his hands later on down the road.

When the talks go ignored and the restrictions are scoffed at – it’s time to get the switch off the tree.

It’s time to beat Saddam’s ass like his mama should have done in the first place.

I cannot wait until the tentative half-stepping around here can stop. No matter how many times I vacuum, I am still pulling them out of my socks (flesh). I hate wearing shoes, but I think it would be in my feet’s best interest to suck it up and wear them.

I hate pine needles.

I post my bitch about the no-snow Winter Storm, walk to the kitchen to grab a refill, and catch a glimpse of my tree. It’s usually got this freaky/eerie/calming glow to it thanks to the street light.

Now it’s twinkling. It’s majestic branches are suddenly covered with snow. Fresh snow. Powdery soft snow. Glorious snow. Pure snow. Wash away all bad in the world snow.

It’s still coming down, so I think I’m off to watch it fall for a bit. Going to surround myself with fleece and cocoa, and lose myself in the wonderment of our first snowfall of the year.

Only thing better than this moment will come tomorrow morning when my children open their eyes and unsuspectingly walk by the window and catch their first glimpse.

I’ll be back later for my other bitch. Maybe.

Stop. If you aren’t sitting there prepared for the long haul – better go get your supplies. This could take awhile.

Back? K. I knew this shit would happen. I’ve become seduced by this blog. I had a hard time the past few days not being able to post. Seems as though I can no longer empty my brain without it. Like I said, this may take awhile. Or perhaps I will split my bitches in two posts. Yeaaaaaahhh – I like that idea.

First off – where’s the fucking snow you dumbass weather man?? Winter Storm Warning my big fat hairy ass. Ok, maybe not so much hairy as fuzzy. And perhaps not even fat but rather flabby. But still – you get my point. We are 6 hours into this storm, and I’ve only seen 14 16 flakes fall. Yeah, I counted. Gonna be kinda hard to hit 6-9 inches at this rate. Dumbass.

Anyhooooo – my reason it needs to snow -other than the 8 sledding contraptions we’ve purchased- is to kill this effin Norwalk virus. Whole damn town is sick. No shit. Schools are closed for the rest of the week, and all city activities are cancelled. We were told to stay indoors, not breathe on anyone, and clean our nasty germy filled houses. No problem. My kids have been home all week. Not likely I could send them to school anyway unless the new fashion trend allows for a bucket attached to each orifice. No? Didn’t think so.

This damn virus is a nasty little shit. Feels like food poisoning and morning sickness all wrapped up in a purdy little shit sandwhich and slammed down your throat. Your head pounds, your gut feels like you swallowed glass shards that were set on fire, your ass is raw, and your throat burns from the no-warning vomits. No warning because obviously, there is no warning. Feel fine/feel sick/puke. Over and over. And if you’re really lucky, this all happens in between your ass needing to say a few words. Effin nightmare. It’s only supposed to last 2 days. I guess those statistics were taken from a control group that were locked in a fucking air-tight bubble during the experiment. Hey moron, riddle me this – How long does the virus last in this situation:

MB1 brings virus home from school in November. MB1 pukes. Brushes teeth. Doesn’t wash hands and chokes MB2 over video game. MB4 can’t find his purple toothbrush and uses the next best thing – the blue one. MB1’s blue one. MB2 falls asleep on MB3’s pillow – and douses it heavily with yummy drool. MB4 and MG (MG) sneak mom’s DrPepper into the laundry room and chug the shit all gone. Mommy finally gets some from tired dad on Sunday night. Dad takes Mr Virus to work, infects 16 other people and their families, and they in turn boomerang that shit right back to him just in time for the next round of Sex Sunday.

See the quandry?? It never fucking ends. Never. We’ve had this shit off and on for 2 months now. Swear to God it’s going to kill me. I haven’t really had it that bad, but the cleaning up after everyone else is going to drive me to the fruit loop farm.

Let it snow Let it snow Let it snow

please

Today is the Bloggin’ Lovefest, and it didn’t take but a second to figure out who I was going to write about. Her name is Nancy, and she’s a dear friend of mine.

I’ve never met her IRL, but those addicted involved in an online community will vouch for me when I say that it doesn’t matter. I’ve known Nancy for almost a year now through our message board. She helped me out during a rough time – and that was back when she was relatively new. She has been a tremendous help to me as well – taking over projects for our board so that I am free -finally- for other things. Nancy is always there when you need her.

She sent me an email about two weeks ago. Said she wanted to read what I had to say. Told me she had set up a blog just for me – although I had no effin idea what she was talking about. I learned rather quickly – I love new addictions.

She set it all up, she hosts it all on a server she built, and I think she’s amazing. She put up with me for the first week when I IMed her every chance I got about the style sheets and column values. Most importantly, she has introduced me to a world I never knew existed. A world that seems very inviting and friendly. A world where I don’t have to pretend to be something I’m not. Well ok, I’ve never really been the pretending type, so why don’t we say instead that I don’t have to tone me down so as not to shock or offend. Yeah, that’s better.

I appreciate her more than she realizes. Hopefully now she does.

Thanks Nancy. And thanks Robyn for the chance to tell her.

Co-worker was fired today. I HATE that. Makes the wheels in my head start turning, thinking. The old – ‘am I next’ shit. Week ago I was pretty confident about my work – that’s all changed now, thanks to this.

Not that she shouldn’t have been fired – she was a royal PITA as far as I was concerned. Bent the rules whenever she could, lacked the communication skills to do the job properly, and was one of those my-way-is-the-best-way assholes. Guess not sweetheart.

But now I will carry that feeling in the pit of my stomach for the next week or two. So many people being laid off or fired this past year or so. Let’s hope she was truly fired because of her actions/behavior – and not because they couldn’t make payroll.

As I predicted, no happy mood today. S’ok – I’m not pissy either, so it’s all good.

Thoughts muddling my brain right now:
*I need a maid – just to do laundry. Everything else I can handle, but laundry just sucks ass.
*I need to buy stock in Bullseye BBQ sauce – on our 4th bottle in 6 days. Anyone want to come over for ribs tonight?
*Calliou is a whiny little shit.
*I want it to snow. Now.
*My to do list is neverending. Scratch something off, add 3 more.
*The smell of PineSol is just worth it enough to clean the floor.
*New applMB5ces (ie: vacuum & carpet cleaner) are the same as every other new toy – the thrill didn’t even last a month. Although those 3 weeks my carpets have never looked better. *the griddle is an exception to this rule
*Calliou is still bald at 4. Even my 3yo finds this odd.

Ok, back to the laundry. bleh

Had a teacher in the 8th grade that told us our brains have the ability to produce just about every type of drug you could imagine – if only we knew how to access them. He would go on at length about how much of our brains are wasted, basically because we are too stupid to figure out how to use the rest.

Of course, this is the same guy who told us to always make sure you could see yourself married to whomever you slept with – ’cause shit happens sometimes. So it’s not as if his sermons on brain usage were given much thought. Not back then anyway.

But I’ve been thinking about that lately. To the point where I almost become frustrated. How fair is it to be locked in a room when all the goodies – and the key – are outside?? That’s just bullshit.

Do you see why I shouldn’t be left on my own at night while my family sleeps?

All this rambling because of this feeling of elation I’ve had all day. Where it came from, I do not know. Shitty how that bothers me, eh? Feel great today for no particular reason and I set out on a quest to figure out why. I like to know why I tick. More importantly, I want to know why I tock sometimes instead.

If I have the power to cure this depression, this chemical/hormonal/bullshit imbalance – but can’t – doesn’t that seem like the world’s worst fucking joke? I’m not nearly as bad as I once was, and since I’m no longer the Prozac Queen I am attributing my new ‘level-ness’ to age. Do we learn to access those hidden parts of our brain as we get older? Every decade our security clearance gets bumped up a notch? Maybe. Or maybe we just get too tired to rant and rave anymore.

But back to my happy mood. It’s one of those can-feel-it-in-my-toes happy moods. The kind that make you bake cookies, and sing with your children, and laugh when the baby unfolds all the laundry. The kind of mood when you want to smile till your face cracks. The kind that is contagious. Nothing but smiles in this house tonight, and it had nothing to do with the Bucs.

I wish there was a way to bottle this feeling. I know it’ll be gone tomorrow. I won’t be sad in the morning – just won’t be this incredibly happy. But not even the reality of that thought can diminish my current mood. Not a chance in hell.

Tomorrow I will begin my search for a way to that key. I’m certain I tapped into my personal stash of anti-depressants today, and I won’t be satisfied until I feel this way forever.

The fun I had with my children tonight is all the motivation I need.

Damn that man is fine.

Keep kickin’ ass boys. I hate seeing my hubby cry when you choke.

And get tighter pants next year. I want to see Alstott’s heart beat through them bitches.

I really love my husband. He must have been a snake charmer in a previous life. Or a lion tamer. He can soothe the savage beast. the beast being me, of course

He called – just when I was at my breaking point. He calmed me down – just as I was about to box his children up and ship them to Greenland. He made me laugh – just as I was starting to cry out of frustration. I’ll never understand how he does it. But I will always remember that he does.

In 5 minutes, he managed to map out a plan for tonight and tomorrow. A plan that relieves me of just about all of the duties that I mentioned this morning. Why can’t I ever just take a deep breath, calmly access the situation, and figure out the best way – the least stressful way - to go about things? Funny thing is, I do – when things go exactly according to plan. I am the one sitting in the captain’s chair. But the minute plans change, I need help ‘adjusting’ to the changes.

Like when I was little and had that old record player. When I would dance (jump) too much, the record would skip and skip and skip – till I fixed it.

MD’s my fixer. And my day is looking up because of him.

If you ever need a gift idea for a large family – here ya go.

There is nothing on this planet that has made my life easier than this sucker. It’s mind-blowing how easy this thing makes cooking large meals. Everyone eats at the same time!!

So far this week, it’s handled: 16 hamburgers, 13 sausages & 2lbs bacon, 10 grilled cheese, 12 pork chops, and 8 pancakes. Any idea of how long those meals used to take me????

I won’t tell you – you’d have your reproductive organs yanked out.

This weekend is gonna suck. Royally. Got to bed close to 4am – had reports out the ass from work – only to have my lovely kiddos wake me at 7am. Hello? It really is Saturday, and the little one is still sleeping. Why in the hell are you bothering me?

Because dad’s gone – that’s why. He got called in to work this morning and left a note. Think I’m going to leave a note too, since that’s the only way we have to actually communicate lately. Only my note won’t be full of hugs and kisses.

Yeah, I’m bitchy today.
(more…)

I’m gonna have to set some ground rules for myself. I just lost 3 hours of my day sinking deeper and deeper into The World of the Blogs. I was about 20 links deep by the time I looked up and realized I hadn’t started dinner at 6pm.

Guess I have to start over tonight while I’m at after work. I really want to find whatever it was I was reading before my stupid clicking frenzy started.

Thank God MD’s home tomorrow and I can sleep in. Have a feeling it’ll be a late one for ole Ang.

I hug my kids tighter, but it doesn’t erase the images in my mind.

So many people to blame for this, that it’s sickening.

I hope there is a hell – and I hope they all burn.

I don’t usually watch tv – though lately these cop/drama/forensic type shows have sucked me in. So let me rephrase that – I don’t watch tv during the day. My kiddos do – but PBS doesn’t count as tv. Kinda like rice cakes don’t count as food.

Anyhoooooo – but why is it that as I am flipping between the two PBS stations to try to find DragonTales because my 3yo is screaming that “it’s Saturday at 4 o’clock and Dragon Tales always comes on Saturdays at 4 o’clock“. No don’t bother checking your calendar – you’re not delusional – he is. It’s always Saturday at 4 o’clock at our house. whatever

I happened to flip to an infomercial during my quest for those damn dragons, and dammit – I could not switch the channel. No matter how loudly he hollered at me – I simply could not break the trance that those damn space saver bags had me in. They ALWAYS get me. All of ‘em do. The perfect pancake. The dehydrator. The stupid pot with the holes in the lid. Oxyclean. Even those glow-in-the-dark neon leggos-thingys. What’s worse than that? I have all the info written down to buy them. Only 2 things stop me : money, and the shame of actually buying shit like that only to be made a fool when they don’t work. Well – 3 : MD would tease me endlessly if he ever caught me. I’m the ’smart’ one – the one that doesn’t believe anything she reads/sees/hears. The risk is too great that he’d find out. Especially since he lives here.

Now that a few are obtainable at the stores, it makes me feel a bit better that I wasn’t alone in my hunger for them. Oxyclean is a bit hit, right? I need to find people that have those space saver bags – I am still thinking about those damn things almost 12 hours later. I need them. I have to have them. I think I am almost ready to endure the shame and order them. MD’ll never know – not like he ever looks in the closets anyway.

That would require him to actually put shit away.

I’m counting to ten and it’s not working. I’m counting counting counting. I asked him nicely. I asked him not so nicely. I asked him in the shrillish voice I have. I hollered at him to tell me. I begged him to tell me. I roared at him to spit it out.

He’s 3 and he wants one. ?? !! ??

I can’t tell you what ‘one’ he wants, because I don’t know what the fuck he is talking about. He is asking, he is screaming, he is crying, he is throwing a fit over wanting one. God help me.

MB4 – I want one.
Ang – what honey?
MB4- I want one.
Ang – what are you talking about?
(10 minutes go by – which is a very long time to be having this same ass conversation)

MB4 – but I WANT ONE!!!!!
Ang – WHAT ONE ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT???
MB4 – because I WANT ONE NOW!!
Ang – WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT???
MB4 – I want one (the crying starts) You make MB4 cry.
Ang – You make me cry.
MB4 – but you don’t want one.
Ang – What do you want??
MB4 – MB4 wants one. Me – I MB4. PLEASE!!
Ang – We don’t have any – go play.
MB4 – Fine, but you’d better get some more.
Ang – Sure thing.

This conversation repeats itself 20 minutes later when it dawns on him that I am lying. It hasn’t ended yet – I am just ignoring him for his safety.

God help me. God help him.

I think I’m a prude. Not sure when that happened. Sure as hell wasn’t a prude in my younger days. Maybe I’m not – maybe I’m just not comfortable with my new body. Yeah, that’s it.

I got a couple new sweaters for Christmas. Mom and dad always spoil the hell outta us – they know we won’t buy shit for ourselves, so they do. Gorgeous sweaters – dad picked ‘em up for me while he was in Cal-ee-for-nea. Yeehaaa

But I can’t wear them. I mean, I am – I’m wearing one right now. But there is no way in hell I’d wear this outside. It’s tight – like some sort of fucking spandex. And it makes sure that my breastfeedin’ boobies are the first thing you notice when you look at me. Also hugs my frame, and is kinda short. I suppose it’s supposed to be that way, but unfortunately after 5 kiddos – my hips ain’t what they used to be. And this damn shirt stops right above the curve. Like I need another reminder of how fucking wide they are. Not even going to mention how my belly button pokes through the fabric. I’m still working through my anger on losing my ‘innie’ after having MG, and it’s too difficult to talk about just yet.

Ahh hell. I’m grabbing my sweatshirt.

When I’m wrong, I say I’m wrong. And I was wrong, so I’m sorry.

I’d like to take a moment and publicly (whatever, this is close enough) apologize to the sweet little person that I had previously accused of stealing MB2’s bookbag. It was returned to my smiling son today after school.

So I take it back – all of it. You are not a convict, an imp, or a mood-wrecker. You are no longer a troll in my eyes, and I have no urge to beat you.

However, I still plan on hunting you down. Oh yes. But have no fear – for once I find out who you are, you will be handsomely rewarded with my thanks and gratitude. I have a few free DQ coupons to pass your way, and an invite to hang out with the boys over here anytime you’d like. My son is now a little ray of sunshine thanks to you, and it will not be forgotten.

Nice hot bath this morning. Bath crystals. Fresh blade on the MachIII. Lotion. New clothes from Christmas. New thick soft tight socks. Favorite perfume. Hair scrunches just the right way. Make-up is perfect. Ahhhhhhh – helluva way to start the day off right. Walk through the house to grab the shoes. Amazing how being warm, dry, and clean can make you happy.

Until you step in milk that an older kiddo left on the floor this morning and your new warm dry soft thick tight socks get wet in one spot and it irritates the shit outta you even though you try not to let it it does and you get angrier with each step as you try to dry off the spot on the carpet but it doesn’t work and you realize you’re going to have to change your socks because it’ll bug you all day and even after you change them you’re still pissed because now you’re not totally clean anymore you have fucking milk feet.

It’s a wonder I haven’t killed anyone in all my 31 years on this planet. I think I might have issues.

Saw a new debate board over the cloning issue today. Not sure how I feel about that.

On one hand, I think it’s great that we might be able to create organs that are a perfect match for those that desperately need them. But that’s really the only good thing about it.

The rest scares the shit out of me. Maybe I read too much. Too many horror stories and sci-fi. Maybe not though.

These people that are wanting to clone their deceased relatives – didn’t I read that in a Stephen King novel? Let’s hope they’ve thought this through. Let’s hope they’ve done the research. Let’s hope that the end result isn’t Gage. That would be very very bad.

And whose to say that the new kid will be anything like the old kid? Even twins (nature’s clones) aren’t identical – even identical ones. Environment does have a part to play. And everyone reacts differently – even twins/clones. It makes me sick to my stomach that someone would try to replace their child with a new version. This is new and improved Johnny. His name is JohnnyII. Yuck. How fucked up will that kiddo be knowing that he was only created because his parents lost the real version – the original? I’m not trying to say that these clones are not human, don’t have feelings, or lack a soul – quite the opposite, actually. I feel sorry for them – living their lives ONLY because someone died and they salvaged some DNA to make them. Yes, I’m quite sure that their personalities are going to be a tad bit different than ole JohnnyI – perhaps a little more angry, bitter, resentful, violent, and incredibly pissed off??? As I said – Gage. How lovely.

Then there are those that are wanting clones because they are infertile. My heart breaks for them – it really does. Several of my friends suffer through this nightmare every day. Sure I would love it if everyone could have a natural child – of their own DNA. Then again – won’t it offset the balance in the system? How many MORE children might be left parent-less because infertile couples choose to create a clone instead of providing a home for a child that has already been dumped onto this planet of ours? That makes me sad.

I won’t even go into the whole ‘perfect race’ scare. That’s had me terrified since Gattaca. Just don’t see the ’stop’ button for all this shit. Where will it end? Where the hell will it lead us?

Maybe I just think too much.

At last you’ve come back. I’ve waited so long for you to return, my love. I was beginning to think that I’d lost you forever.

Yes, there have been others. I’m saddened and ashamed to admit this. But what was one to do? Your absence left a void in my soul. Why did you feel the need to leave me alone for so long?? What kept you away?? I’ve heard talk, but I don’t believe it.

And now you say that you were only given one more year to live? My heart is breaking. I don’t think I can go through this again. I will hope against hope that one day there will be a miracle to save you. But until that day comes, I will savor each and every moment I have, my dearest – even if those moments are weekly and fleeting.

Sunday is …

There is only one good thing about a headache so painful that you are woken up at 3am by your husband because you were trying to crush your own skull into the headboard. About having a headache so severe that you can’t walk 2 steps without succombing to a dizzy spell and slamming into a wall. About taking the only meds that will stop the torture, only to throw them back up 5 minutes later because they upset your stomach when they start to dissolve.

You get babied.

Now that I am finally able to semi-function enough to leave my comfort zone on the bathroom rug, the men in my life are finally treating me like the Queen I always knew I was. I even heard MB1 tell MB3 not to whiz on the floor because I might have to lay on it again tonight.

That’s love.

It just occurred to me that I have been using initials for my family. I have no fudkin idea why I did this. It’s highly unilkely that my blahblah hicksville family has any stalkers. So, on that note:

I will no longer try to protect my family from the big bad blog. Just gonna stop thinking and write.

Just time to empty my head for a bit. Shit starts rattlin’ around inside of there when I don’t. Will also stop me -I think- from fiddlin’ around with a stupid header for this blog. I sooo suck at creative shit. Now that I’ve finally started to understand how these suckers are built, I am over-anxious to get it looking the way I want. Until then, I cannot rest.

J is still at work. Poor guy. But can ya S-M-E-L-L that moola??!! Over 30 hours of OT this week. Should make for a nice fatty check. Also means he’ll shower, eat, then fall into a coma on the couch. None for me tonight. I work anyway, so he’d have to wait up till 2am. Don’t see that shit happenin’.

(Background Noise):
A (7) – “Knock Knock”
C (3) – “Who’s there”
A – “Boo”
C – “Boo hoo?”
A – “Whatcha crying for?”
C – “That’s a shitty joke” (pause – then howls of laughter)

Yeah, yeah – that’s mine. I take all the blame on that one. I got a mouth on me.

Anyhooo – what was I saying? Oh yes – no sex for Ang. What else is new?

Nothing. That’s what’s new. Absolutely nothing. Or else I just forgot again – nowadays that a sure bet. Which reminds me …

I’m outta here – these little humans get cranky when hungry. Guess I had better prepare for the scene when J gets home. You know the one:

Ang – open fridge/hide thawed pork chops behind soda/shut fridge/open and shut cabinets #1,2,&3/sigh

J – let’s just order a pizza.

Mood Meter Results – Ang is Nasty. Nasty and foul today. Started out in a pretty good mood, but stupid ass people sure have a way of flipping that rail switch and sending me barrellin’ down the path to foulsville.

Tonight it was watching 2 women gang up on a third over breastfeeding. No, I have nothing against breastfeeding – still bf’ing my 16 month old. But I did not breastfeed my 4 oldest. And that was ok too. That was my choice. MY boobs.

I can respect their intentions. They were trying to illustrate the benefits of breastfeeding. But c’mon – don’t we all know them already? Yes – breast is best. tyvm for that information. Now kindly butt the hell out of this poor girl’s life and let her make up her own mind. If you want to support her – then support her. If you want to give her help and tips and advice – then do it. But stop making her feel like an ass because she doesn’t feel comfortable using her body to feed someone. She didn’t ask for your opinion – she was talking to someone else about bottle brands. Who asked you to spew forth your infinite wisdom???

I am getting rather sick of hearing about how ’selfish’ bottle-feeding mothers are. I wish for one second those who can’t wait to offer reasons why a woman should breastfeed would take a step back, shut the hell up, and look into the situation – and not down upon the mother. Sometimes there are very valid reasons why a woman needs to bottle feed her child. Medical reasons. Employment reasons. Personal mind-your-own-damn-beezzwax reasons.

I didn’t breastfeed my boys because I didn’t want to. Plain and simple. With the first two, I was too uncomfortable with the idea. With the next two, I tried and it hurt too damn bad. And I was working in an position that was not ideal for pumping. Damn near impossible to take a piss, eat, or scratch your ass as a Restaurant Mgr – forget finding time to pump.

With S, I was a SAHM. I was ready – mentally – to try breastfeeding one more time. I was older and more comfortable with my body. And I was able to luck out and find a supportive -not pushy- group of women who helped me. Women who never insulted the decisions that I had made in the past. Women who would have still been there for me had I thrown in the towel and dusted off the bottles. Women who understood that we all have to live our own lives the best we can. And that anyone who isn’t living it has no right to question how it’s lived.

Hmpf – this had a crazy way of ending my night with a warm fuzzy feeling. Still feel sorry for that girl who was attacked over her choices, but very thankful that’s not the circle I hang out with. I just hope she realizes that those are her boobies, and only she can decide what to do with them.

It’s very rare that I want to hurt a child. Ok, not so rare considering the children I’ve encountered over the years, but I HAVE mellowed in regards to OPKs -that would be OtherPeoplesKids, I really really have.

But today….ahhhhhh…..today…… Today I would like to beat the hell out of whatever kid decided that he was going to swipe Z’s bookbag after school. Z’s Harry Potter bookbag. Z’s Harry Potter bookbag that he’s had “sincethefirstdayofschoollastyearmom.
TheoneIkeptinperfectconditionbecauseHarryPotter
issocoolandIwantedtokeepitforeverandever.”

I know baby, please don’t cry. I’m so sorry some evil little imp took it upon himself to ruin your weekend. Forget that there’s homework in there that we’ll need to call all over town trying to get the questions for. Forget that there’s school books in there that I will have to replace. Forget that now I have to go buy all your school supplies that were taken as well. Forget all of that. Most important, they took my son’s happy mood away.

Z is like me in many ways. Ok, he’s a 10yo boy and I’m a 31 yo woman – but let’s move on. He’s got one helluva temper. He’s very sensitive. He goes through so many moods in any given hour that a mood ring would hand in it’s resignation. He’s very much like me – and this kind of thing will blast him into a funk that could last for weeks. And there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.

Z’s not special, if that’s what you’re thinking. Hey… wait a minute – neither am I, for that matter. He’s been tested for everything under the sun, and all they can tell me is the same thing that the docs say about me – it’s probably chemical. No shit sherlock. Thanks for your help – can you stamp your clinic’s name on this check for me? My chemical kid just blew up your lobby.

I chose not to put him on meds. I’d rather not have him lie around all day like a cat whose balls now adorn someone’s rearview mirror like fuzzy dice. I want him active and alert and aware – he’ll get through this chemical thing and adjust – just like his mama and grandpa and so on and so on did before him.

Jesus – I can ramble on, huh? Back to the bookbag. Someone swiped it as he played on the hill waiting for the bus. I have checked everywhere in this dinky town. “Nope – it’s not here. We don’t have it.” Ahhhhhhh – I beg to differ – SOMEONE has that bookbag. SOMEONE shitted on my boy’s day. And SOMEONE better not get lax and bring that bitch to school. I WILL be on the look-out for it. You can’t hide it forever, you little mood-wrecking troll.

I’m done now – see a trip to WalMart in my future.

Go ahead. Keep right on snoring buddy. And please, don’t stop with the lovely smacking/sucking/sniffling noise in between those snores. Music to my ears. Really. I mean it.

I honestly have no desire to smash this pillow into your face in an attempt to drown out that horrid sound. No urge at all to snap your neck as I gently turn your head to the side hoping that will end my suffering. There is absolutely no desire to kick you, punch you, bite you, pinch your nose till it bleeds….???

??

What??

It’s gone. That hideously annoying noise is gone. oh happy peaceful days.

Please disregard this post.

I just got the look from my son. You know the look. Maybe you haven’t gotten the look, but I know you’ve probably given the look.

I am now pondering that look. Was it disgust? Was it pity? Both? All I did was sing a song. How was I supposed to know that is was his song? ‘Scuse me – their song? The song belonging to them – the young. It’s one of many, and I am not supposed to sing it.

Or hum it. Or download it. Or heaven forbid be seen buying it.

Does that look mean that I have somehow crossed over to the other side of cool? I’m only 31 for God’s sake. I don’t remember crossing anything. I used to be cool. I refuse to be one of those moms that only thinks she is cool. I AM COOL DAMMIT!!!

Maybe it was pity – but then, that’s not exactly better – is it? Sorry for me because I’m no longer cool. Because I’m just an old mom. ick

This kind of thing can really ruin a fossil’s happy mood.

Happy New Year. Happy Anniversary. Happy Happy Happy.

Today is the 3rd anniversary of our ‘new’ marriage. The good marriage. Not that the first one was bad, but it sure pales in comparison to this one. Today is a reminder every year for me to make sure that I’m in ‘check’. To make sure I’m not slacking on the promise I made to myself that I would change my ways this time around. I was a royal bitch before, and I almost lost everything. I hope I haven’t slacked. Don’t think I have.

I’ve grown up a lot. Hell, we were both babies when we got married the first time. I was almost 19, and he had just turned 18. So young. So ignorant as to what marriage really meant. How hard a marriage was to maintain. Take 2 military privates who had known each other all of 10 weeks, marry them, start adding kids to the mix a year later, and a little – ok – a LOT of separation thanks to Uncle Sam’s army – we didn’t have a chance. But I did learn from it. Those years we struggled trying to figure out who we were and how we fit together – at least we LEARNED from it. Wasn’t all for nothing. Wasn’t all bad either.

It’s strange to think back to those times. We are not the same people that we were back then. Feels like I’ve aged centuries.

I no longer feel hurt when he wants to spend time away from me – guy time with the older boys. I’m not that insecure anymore. I no longer allow myself to be dependent on him for my happiness. For my very being. That wasn’t fair to him. Or to me. Or to anyone else I encountered that had to put up with my nastiness.

I no longer get frustrated when he won’t argue properly. He can’t. He’s not ‘built’ like I am. He doesn’t enjoy conflict. He likes to move on. I’ve learned to leave the dead horse alone. I’ve learned to leave the past in the past. Feels good to let go.

I no longer mind the socks left inside out, the empty coffee cup on the mantle, or football. In exchange I get a man who plays Candyland with his 3yo, dollies with his daughter, and stays up until 2am teaching his older boys how to slow dance the night before their very first school dance.

I now know that only I can make myself happy. But if I do that – if I allow myself to do that – then the happiness seems to rub off onto everyone else as well. Amazing how that works. These past 3 years have been our poorest, our roughest, and our most challenging so far – but also our happiest. I find that amazing too.

I seem to learn something new every day – not anything tangible, more like I’m starting to understand the puzzle now. And how the pieces fit/have fitted/will fit – I never ‘got it’ before. Never took the time to ‘get it’. Never gave a shit to. Now I do. Now I understand.

So as I sit here on the first day of this brand new year, I listen to my family sleep. So very thankful that I was given a 2nd chance with this man – this family – this life.

Happy New Year Honey.