Remembered a few things today.
- had forgotten how much I love ZZTop
- had forgotten how nasty some of those lyrics were
- had forgotten that as a child, I had no fucking clue what those lyrics meant
No wonder my dad would squirm as I belted away …
she wore a pearl necklace
Opened my eyes this morning and saw my 18 month old daughter wiping her tongue on the carpet. Not an easy task. Not sure if I wanted to know what she had eaten. And damn sure knew that I didn’t ever want something in my mouth that tasted so bad that I would resort to using the carpet as a squeegee.
Laundry soap. Smells so fresh and clean. Obviously the taste leaves something to be desired. It’s everywhere. How long did I sleep? What time is it? 7:30? My gawd, when did they wake up?
Ever try scooping up laundry soap? Nothing works. It’s dry, yet sticky. What a fucking mess. Can’t vacuum it up, hell no. That sucker is brand new and I’ll be damned if I get it dirty. Get it dirty by sucking up soap? Yes, exactly. Ok, screw it. Use it then.
Not a good idea. Sucking mechanism acts as a blower and shoots the shit in my face. The taste. Oh my hell, the taste. I used my toothbrush to rid my mouth of that nasty shit.
But I now understand the need for the drop and drag technique.
I’m ready for spring. And I’m so sick of the cold that I could snap at any moment. I am going batshit sitting in this house day after day. I don’t enjoy 10 degree weather. Especially when there’s no snow to show for it. What a fucking waste of a season.
We bought the kids a shitload of snow sledding contraptions this year. Still. Waiting. For. Snow. Yeah, yeah – we got some. An inch. Then it hit 60 and melted. Then we got another inch. Melted again with the next spring teaser. What a crock. Can’t play in the snow, and the nice weather only lasts a day.
Soo, if I can’t zip my ass down the hill on a tube, then I’d like to be able to go outside and play. I’d like to be able to open a window and breathe in the morning air without ice crystals forming on my lungs.
It’s damn near March, Mother Nature. I want to fly a fucking kite. Our DQs are closed during the winter, and I want a double-dipped cone. I want to go to the park and swing. I want bbq ribs cooked on the grill.
Get yer ass in gear and make it happen. I’m getting cranky.
Have been reflecting today, thanks to Acidman.
12 years ago tonight, I was holding my week old son in my arms watching CNN. They were announcing that Kuwait had been liberated, and that they expected the ground war to be over within days. I believe it officially ended the next night.
I watched the news 24 hours a day back then. My new husband was over there with the 2nd ACR, and even though I had just gotten out of the Army, my new orders were on the table. I had three weeks left with my newborn son. Then I was to report to my old unit. The paperwork to sign my baby boy over to my parents was lying beside my orders.
I spent many nights in tears, wondering if MD would ever meet his son. Wondering if he would survive to see our first wedding anniversary. Or meet my parents. I supported the action we took during Desert Storm, and I was more than willing to make sacrifices in my personal life to do what was needed. But I was still human. Still a mother and a wife. I wanted it over as soon as possible. And I cried every day out of fear that MD would have to make the ultimate sacrifice for his country. That night however, when the tears started, it was different.
Those silent tears that flowed endlessly that evening were, of course, tears of relief. But more surprisingly – of pride. Strength. Hope. Gratitude. Love.
I had never – nor have I ever since – been more proud of any one thing in my life than I was that night. I felt true patriotism. It hit me hard and raw and unexpectedly. I was thankful that our own small part in that war was over, but even more thankful – and suddenly more aware – of those that had served in the wars before us.
Their sacrifices. Their pain. Their loss. Their victory. Their pride. Their love. Our love. Love of something so powerful that it grips you by the heart and guides your way without question. I’d say it’s the love of country, but that’s only part of it. It’s hard to put into words. Even now. But I still feel it.
It’s a belonging. We all belong, some are just more aware of it than others. It’s this belonging that our soldiers believe is worth dying for. And regardless of whether or not you support the actions, they will still die for you all the same. I don’t take that lightly. No one should. The thought of losing that belonging suffocates me with fear. That’s why I feel so very strongly about putting an end to Saddam. And any others that make plans to destroy our nation. When you strip away all the political bullshit, at the end of the day, it’s still about preserving our way of life.
I don’t feel selfish in the least about saying that either. I have never claimed that the American way was the best way, but it’s the best way for America. And we have the right to take action against those that try to take it away from us. Men and women have given their lives so that I might sit here and type this entry tonight. In their names – we have earned the right to take action. And I know in my heart, that if we give that son-of-a-bitch a pass this time around, he will make sure that we regret it forever.
Tonight I sat with my son again. He’s 12 now. As we watched the news, he spoke of the war to come – for we all know it’s coming. He supports a war for different reasons – reasons that he can relate to at his tender age. He aches for those in the world that aren’t blessed with freedom. He wants something done about it – with or without anyone else’s help. We tried to explain the politics of it all to him, but he just shook his head.
He doesn’t care about the right and wrong ways to handle this, he just knows that it’s wrong to do nothing. He wants justice for the people of Iraq. He’s still too young to understand how dangerous Saddam could be to the world – he can only think of the children. The children that have grown up these past 12 years, as he has. He cannot stop his mind from wondering how very different their lives are from his, and the unfairness of it all eats him alive inside. I can feel his raw desire for things to be fair and just in this world for all people, and it fills me with hope that someday our children just might accomplish this.
I can remember how I felt during Desert Storm. Waiting for word, any word at all, about MD. And although it saddens me to my soul that other wives and husbands and fathers and mothers and children and friends are going through this now, I’m thankful to all of them. Thankful to our troops, past and present, for maintaining this freedom of ours. Thankful to the spouses for supporting these soldiers, and for enduring the sacrifices of living without them. And I’m thankful to the children for giving our soldiers one hell of a reason to return home safe and sound.
To show my love and support and thanks, I’ll once again spend my nights waiting and watching until they do.
Iwillnotletthisruinmymood Iwillnotletthisruinmymood
I finally work the kinks out of my computer. Got all the new shit and gizmos installed and fine-tuned. But now my digital camera won’t upload to it. Ack
I followed the instructions to make it compatible with XP, but still nothing. Piece of shit. I am not in the mood to fuck with this all night either.
It’s Wednesday after all. I’m gonna take a bath and get purdy’ed up. I got plans for this evenin’.
My son had his heart stomped on again yesterday. That poor kid. They went to the dance together Friday. He paid her way and bought her neon jewelry. By Monday, she’s with someone else.
He’s crushed. He won’t admit it, but I know he is. He really liked this one. Nasty bitch. And there ain’t a damn thing I can do to make the pain go away – for either of us.
I wouldn’t be 12 again if ya paid me.
Hardest thing I do at work – bite my tongue when the idiots start talking.
Easiest thing I do at work – everything else.
I can’t understand what this dumbfuck is saying, and he’s repeated himself three times. Why is he allowed access to a computer? Where are his nurses parents? What time should he have taken his meds? What a dumbass. And stop calling me love. Gives me the creeps.
I’m off tomorrow. I need a day off. These people make me violent.
Been working on getting this design settled. I know the links on the blog side are herky-jerky. Working on that. That’ll teach me to install shit on my own. CSS drives me up a fucking wall.
Mom brought over a new plant today. Don’t know the name of it. I make it a rule not to get too personal with things I am destined to kill in the near future. I give it a month.
Finished building MB1’s Zoid this afternoon. What a piece of shit that toy is. I get done, turn it on, and it growls. Then the mouth fell off.
Wish I had that effect on stupid humans.
Wow, I just love this design. Still working on getting it all set up, but it’s good for now. That flag is just gorgeous, isn’t it?
Had my appt today. Left a piece of my uterus there for them to study. Have fun assholes. Hurt like a sonofabitch to give that up.
Gave my puter a makeover too. Felt like my birthday. New RAM, CD-RW, WindowsXP Pro, and a new mouse. Pinch me please.
Sitting by the fire now with a shitload of snacks. Gonna work and play and tweak the night away. Rolo anyone?
Mother Nature needs to stop dicking around and make a decision.
Blew the doc’s no-sex-till-your-biopsy orders straight to hell tonight. ‘Cause I felt royally fucked by that Oz ending. Jeeezus. I never expected such a powerful show to go out with such a pussified ending like that.
Watched tidbits of the Grammys as the male-humanoid-channel-flipper did his thang with the remote. I’m not sure what the fuck is going on with Kid Rock and Cheryl Crow, but I wish it would stop. That Pictures song would be ok if someone else was singing it. But those two need to shake hands, turn around, and walk the fuck away. I can respect their work separately, although I wouldn’t hold my breath about listening to either at my house. Her especially. That female Beach Boys shit she croons out makes my skin crawl.
The tequila and the tub are whispering my name. I must not keep them waiting.
MD is heading out this morning (into to the sun..riding on the diamond waves…little darling one…warm wind caress her..her lover it seemss..oh annie…dreamboat annie…little ship of dreams – jeezus my mind is one big fucking musical u-store-it) to go pick me up a ram stick.
Not sure if he is shopping at Office Maxx or Priscilla’s.
Either way, I might not be around much tonight.
WhatToDo WhatToDo…
MD was offered a transfer yesterday. A promotion of sorts. He builds specialty trains right now. He loves it. It’s hard and honest and it pays well. He’s home by 6:30 and rarely works a weekend. Our life is Cleaver-fucking-normal.
New job he would do surveys for these trains. Maybe supervise an operating crew. Maybe both. But neither are here. Neither are anywhere for more than a few days. These trains are bought by the railroad and are then scattered across the US. Hell, the world. He would be gone for weeks at a time.
The pay is a bit more than he is making now – but not a lot more. Although the pay is steady – salary. Not this up and down bullshit like hourly shop work. And they would throw almost $600 a week at him for expenses, and what he doesn’t use – he keeps. And a truck. A brand new big-ass decked-out truck. They pay gas, insurance, repairs, maintenance, the works.
It’s a no-brainer. I know that. As long as his boss now doesn’t drop a load over the department transfer, this is going to happen. He’s going to be actually working for my father. Directly. He is going to leave my crazy ass here with 5 kids for gawd knows how long.
I know I can do this. I have done this. Over and over I’ve done this when he was over the road. I know the drill. I know the fucking headache.
It would be back to no catch-up on sleep time. I’d still work late nights because my fucking boss decided not to hire anyone else, and I’d still be an exhausted mess every day. Evening routine would be my baby again. All alone. Homework, dinner, baths, clean up, etc. All mine. [insert long tired sigh here]
I’d get to handle scouts and soccer and basketball and overnights all by myself. Grocery shopping with 5 children. Mowing grass. Fuck I hate to mow the grass.
I know he’s going to do this. He has to. Just needed a selfish moment to vent my boo-fucking-hoo frustration over it. At least it won’t happen right away.
Gives me time to get things in order.
Or ordered, I should say. Time to go to the doc and put in order for Prozac. I’m gonna need it.
Got a song stuck in my head. I know you remember.
We the people,
In order to form a more perfect union,
Establish justice,
Ensure domestic tranquility,
Provide for the common defense,
Promote the general welfare and
Secure the blessings of liberty
To ourselves and our posterity,
Do ordain and establish this Constitution,
For the United States of America.
My kids have no knowledge of School House Rock.
I think that’s a fucking shame.
i’m just a bill. yes I’m only a bill. and I’m sitting here on Capitol Hill..
Whore. Tried to help out a chatter tonight and got my ass gnarled on. Bitch.
She has more than one log in name. She asks me for assistance on how to re-enter using one of the other ones. I try to help her privately. She leaves. She re-enters. Still using the same name. Immediately she starts accusing me of violating her privacy. Huh??
Turns out she is a bitch. I honestly had no idea who she really was, and told her so. Unfortunately, the room does. Some other moderator told them. They greet her using her ‘bitch’ name. Wasn’t me. I don’t give a shit who she is. But the whore lumps me in with the others and bitches me out. I have to bend over and take it with a smile. Not allowed to get upset. Wench.
For the record you rotten huzzz –
I have never violated a privacy agreement*. I don’t break the rules*. I don’t play favorites. I have no buds. I didn’t blab to the room who your alter ego was. Who gives a fuck anyway? They don’t like your ass no matter who the hell you are. Grow up and get a life.
It’s fucking chat, for gawd sakes.
*Statements do not apply to Kazaa
It’s official. I’m a hardware idiot. Only Ang could take a brand new 40GB drive, and have it only register as an 8GB. I thought I was so fucking smart.
I took detailed notes on how to partition and format. Seemed to go pretty smooth. I’m terrified of DOS, but I help my breath and did it. It worked.
Correction: I thought it worked. ShitShitShitShitShit
It works alright. But I lost 32GB somewhere. I refuse to call that computer guy again. He already thinks I am some sort of fucking moron. I hate that shit. Software? No problem. Hardware? Fuck me.
Screw it. I don’t give a shit. I’m using it. And I’ll be thankful that I at least got some of it to work.
I’ll be lost in the world of Kazaa if anyone’s looking for me. Got to get my shit back.
I’m 31 years old and I can’t get comfy in a chair until my ass bone cracks.
Grab Camera. Don’t forget the 40 batteries it will consume on your trip.
Grab cash for DQ. Order it to go.
Drive 3 blocks to the Park. Unleash kiddos to eat ice cream.
Take pictures. Swing.
Re.La.X.
I’m having a crisis.
My hard drive is dying. fuck Not my main drive – my storage drive. fuck This is bad. Very bad. I don’t mind my main drive bitin’ it. Happens all the time. I’m a master at getting shit re-installed by now. BUT, all my goodies were moved to D drive just for this reason. fuck
My pictures. All of them. The ones I just spent 4 hours renaming and organizing. D drive. fuck
My music. All of it. D drive. fuck
My backgrounds. Clip art. Tubes. Patterns. D drive. fuck
My important keeper files. The shit I absolutely cannot afford to lose. D drive. fu-huck
I can’t save it. Can’t move or copy or cut or cuss the files over to C drive before it finally rolls over and croaks. It won’t let me in. It’ll freeze when I try. shoot me now
I tried ftp’ing it up to my site so I could send it back down to C drive. Nope.
Think I’m going to be sick.
I’m so damn tired. But I can’t sleep. And it has nothing to do with MD’s snoring. I finally found a good use for that duct tape. We’ll see how easily he can peel that pillow off of his face in the morning.
I’m not cleaning my house anymore either. Force myself to finish the carpets and Mr MB2man decides to make neato shoeprints in the mud – then brings the mud in with him. All.Throughout.The.House. Yes, I let him live, but his ass is mine for a few days.
MB1’s 12. He got pizza for his birthday dinner. 
That’ll teach them to veto my vote for it last night.
Got my appt today for my biopsy. Said it’s gonna pinch like a bitch and I should medicate before-hand. What the fuck does that mean? Am I the only one who doesn’t have a codeine dispenser in the bathroom? Or did he mean advil? Gonna take a chunk of my uterine wall out and I get told to BYOAdvil? Lovely.
I better go to bed before I get hateful. (-er)
I need a good kick in ass. Maybe a blow to the head a time or two.
Thought I would clean today. Really clean this house. Spring clean.
I put on my cleaning clothes. The comfy sweats and the grubby creaker shoes. And don’t ask me what the fuck creaker shoes are – I just know that MD calls them that whenever I wear them. They are my used-to-be-white-$3-Walmart-special-shoes-that-are-now-used-for-cleaning-and-mowing-grass. Comfy shoes.
I snuck into MB1’s room and nabbed a few CDs. I turned them up loud.
I opened the windows. Only to shut them again really fucking quick. It’s cold outside, no matter how nice it looks. Screw that. I’m all about being warm and cozy.
I attacked my house on a mission. I scrubbed shit that hasn’t seen daylight since there was still a pumpkin on my porch. Then I moved and shoved and scooted furniture with one goal in mind – to scrub the carpets.
I drug out the carpet shampoo’er. Got a new one from my sister for Xmas and that sucker is purdy. I love it. Just wish it ran by itself. I got through one room before my burst of energy fizzled out. One room before my brain finally said – who the hell are you trying to fool?
Now I’m screwed. Now I can’t stop. My house is stuck in that chaos-before-it-gets-clean stage. The one where it looks like a cyclone hit it because you have shit everywhere. This usually works real well for me. The shit is shoved from room to room until each room is spotless and it’s only the kitchen that remains. But it only works if you finish.
MB1’s birthday dinner is not started. I am a pig who needs a bath. I don’t work tonight which means it’s also time to stop trying to be Chewy’s long lost sister and shave my regions if I expect to get any later.
Time to get my ass moving.
I cleaned MD’s coffee pot. Whole damn machine. With soap and ajax. Scrubbed that nasty little fucker till my arms gave out. I did this for him. For his safety. For his health.
He won’t be pleased. Not at all. He liked his filthy scumshit coffee pot that made my eyes hurt from its hideous nature and disgusting presence. He liked the no maintenance agreement he had with it. Dump filter from previous night, start over. That’s it. No scrubby scrubby. Not even a swish around. Nasty ass man.
This could get ugly tonight when he gets home. There’s liable to be a rumble, but it was so worth the bitching I’ll hear later. However, if this mild mannered man o mine flips his lid, check the back yard for my body.
As of right now, we don’t have a garden. Remember that if one suddenly appears.
The party’s over, but my oldest kiddo actually turns 12 today. February 19th. I cannot believe I am typing those words. Where the hell did the time go?
Having MB1 changed my life forever. Completed me. Made me whole. Life changed lanes that day and took another course. And I’ve never looked back.
Happy Birthday MB1
IwillnotorderpizzaIwillnotorderpizzaIwillnotorderpizzaIwillnotorderpizza
Boys don’t have school today. I get another reminder of how much they are growing up when lunch time rolls around.
How about something easy for lunch guys? How about hot dogs and chips?
Sure mom
My boys are 12, 10, 7, 3. MG is 18 months. My kids are small framed. Heaviest one only weighs 70lbs.
I fixed two packs. That’s 20 hot dogs. I didn’t eat. MG ate one. The other 19 were gone in under 10 minutes. The boys wandered out, plates in hand, looking for more. I hate to think they are still hungry. I fixed another pack. They left 4.
19 + 6 = 25 hot dogs between 4 little boys.
Holy shit am I in trouble.
Why oh why do I do this to myself? There must be over 500 pictures on this computer, and they are so disorganized that I can’t find shit.
I start out with a system, then switch to a better system. Too bad I get bored halfway through converting everything over. Then I’m left with a complete clusterfuck.
I’m doing it tonight though. I’ve got a new idea for our family web site, and I will not let myself sleep or play around with Fireworks until these pictures are organized.
I could be here awhile.
Friend was bitching about stamps today. She must have rambled on for 20 minutes about that shit. I finally asked her what she thought a stamp should cost.
I’d pay 25 cents if I had things my way.
Fine. I dug in my purse and produced a quarter.
I’ve got a birthday card at home that I need taken to Michigan. Here’s a quarter for your troubles.
Blank Stare. Then she told me to fuck off.
At least I stopped her lips from flappin’.
Got to sleep in today. I needed that. I was getting a bit edgy.
Woke up to snow. Bleh. I’m ready for spring.
Doing nothing today except cleaning for my son’s birthday party tomorrow. He can have the party. He can have the cake and ice cream. He can have the presents. But there is no way in hell I am letting him turn 12.
I had a wonderful Valentine’s Day. Hope everyone else did as well.
Dumbass Chatter #1: I don’t like the thought of our young men dying to stop terrorists.
Me: I don’t like the thought of everyone dying if we don’t.
Dumbass Chatter #2: My son joined the Guard because they said they would pay for his pre-med degree. Now he’s being deployed without that education.
Me: Maybe you should have gone with him to explain that the Guard is a military organization, obviously he missed that part.
This conversation has been going on for over an hour. I give up.
Fuck the protesters.
Fuck our so-called allies. Fuck keeping troops in their countries too, btw. Let ‘em fend for themselves. Oh wait – didn’t they try that once before? Fuck it, let ‘em try again. When BigBadBubba barges in and bends them over a chair – I bet they start humming GodBessAmerica again. Pricks.
North Korea? Yes, they have shit that can hurt us. But considering the fact that they would have to pass around a collection plate to fund even a week’s worth of war, somehow I don’t find them that threatening. What’s more, I think they know this. Maybe they’ll try shit when our attention is diverted, maybe not. Blow up that bridge when we come it.
I don’t give a shit what the inspectors have found or haven’t found. The US doesn’t take a piss without the media feeling the urge first and reporting it to the gawddamn world. Of course he hid what he had – is anyone really that fucking stupid to think otherwise??
Start with Iraq. No, he’s not Bin Laden. Who gives a shit? They are both products of hell. Start with Saddam because he’s first in line. He’s been neener neener’ing us for 12 fucking years. It’s time to shut his ass up. It’s time to hike that leg and reclaim the high spot on the tree.
After that, after we remove his ass from this Earth, then we can pause and watch all the other terrorist roaches run and hide from the bright ass light of freedom and democracy. Run and hide from the snarling American beast that they stupidly fucked with when they thought we were chained up, just out of reach, by political bullshit. I want to see their faces when we snap free and gobble them whole.
Yeah, but I don’t see you lining up to volunteer for duty.
I have served and will again if they need me. I would do whatever it takes to maintain the freedom of my country and the freedom of everyone in it – even dumbasses like you.
Just got one of those calls. For only the second time in our 12 years of married life, it was for MD. Give me a sec to figure out what my total is so far….yep, just what I figured – mine is 12. Puts my family right where I thought – one a year.
Those calls are to inform us that someone we love has died. I am used to these calls. Like I said, cancer is bound and determined to wipe out our family line. But MD isn’t. Not at all. He listened during these calls with a look of sheer horror on his face. He cannot fathom losing a loved one – and he damn sure can’t imagine losing them at the pace my family keeps.
The first call for MD wasn’t even family. He hasn’t lost a family member since his grandmother passed when he was 2. It was an old high school buddy. I’ve had one of those too – but it was still cancer. And I was close to my friend – extremely close. MD wasn’t. Hadn’t talked to that guy in years. Still shattered his happy mood for quite awhile though. I don’t like seeing him like that. He takes my family’s passing very hard as well. He just doesn’t have the experience with death to cope. He hasn’t found his way to deal yet. You’d think attending funerals with me all these years would help him out with that, but there is a big difference between feeling disturbed and saddened by someone’s loss, and having personal grief rip to you pieces. I’ve always dreaded the day that grief would find him.
And now when he comes home tonight, I have to be the one to tell him that he received one of those calls today. I have to tell him that his grandpa died last night. The grandpa that we were supposed to visit next month in Mobile. A man whom MD absolutely adored.
This is going to be one rotten ass day.
I need a day spent in a sweats. Comfy, cozy sweats. A day when I do not have to apply the face. Or scrunch the hair. A day when I can relax while I clean. Hum while I prepare dinner. Just like any good housebitch does.
These days don’t happen that often. I may work at home, but my life as a taxi to these 5 kiddos keeps me constantly in and out all day. Very rare are the days when my schedule is clear.
Today, the only task was a dental appt at 8am for MB3. That was it. So it was a little irritating to find out that the dentist quit last week, and they aren’t sure when another will be hired. Now, I understand that this is a small, hick-ass town. I understand that there is only one dental office here, and the poor dentist was probably on the verge of suicide with the amount of business he did a week. I will refrain from saying too fucking bad you knew your life would be non-stop when you signed on in this one-horse town or thanks for the advance warning dickhead. Nope. But I do have one teensy little question, if ya don’t mind.
Would it be too much trouble to call your fucking patients and let them know? Maybe before they get up and spend 30 minutes fighting with a 3yo & a 1yo that can’t open their eyes that early because they’re used to a schedule that allows them to stay up a little later at night and sleep in a little in the morning because mom works nights and needs more than 3 hours of sleep to function? So that we don’t spend an hour and a half getting ready and fixing breakfast at an hour when the stomach refuses to eat? So that I don’t have to scrape ice off the windshield because the sun hasn’t had time to melt the shit yet today and it makes a hideous fucking noise across the glass that sends convulsions throughout my body and pisses me off to the point where I fling the scraper and it breaks and now I have to explain to the hubby how I had yet another episode? So that I don’t arrive 15 minutes early, only to have to wait 30 minutes because the staff didn’t give a shit about being there promptly because there’s no one to bitch at them – only I was there and I was ready to bitch up a storm because my kid has school to return to and I have a fucking shitload of work to do. So that when I’m finally able to get in the door and the whore gives me a why-the-fuck-are-you-here look – I don’t proceed to dissect her into tiny fucking pieces over the fact that no, I didn’t read the sorry ass excuse of a newspaper for this squatty ass town that only comes out once a week on Thursdays and hey wait, today is Thursday bitch so no I haven’t had time to pick it up yet and read about your fucking dental crisis because I was sitting here waiting for my son’s fucking appt, ya dumbass.
I’m going to put my sweats on now. But there will be no humming today.
Pricks.
These new meds make my piss a nice neon pinkish-orange.
My boys think that’s incredibly cool.
I went out today, but I walked right on past the pallets of supplies.
Just can’t wrap my mind around the fact that they might be needed. Well, that something might be needed. I’d much prefer an underground cavern up in Montana at my disposal, than cocooning my house in fucking plastic.
I did get some water though. And I plan on getting more. Bought matches today as well. Don’t know why. They were in the cart before I realized I had placed them there. Maybe I’ll get canned food and batteries and other basic shit – maybe I won’t.
But no plastic. Nope, no plastic. If my time comes, then it comes on my terms. I refuse to hide and cower in my house.
If I do that, then they’ve already won.
Better day today. Getting out of the house and going to forget about this shit until Monday when I talk to the doc again. I refuse to let this ruin my week.
To celebrate my new happy mood, I just might have ice cream for breakfast. With cool whip and hot fudge. Might even throw a few rolos in there.
Fuck it – let’s eat.
I hate feeling like this. Scared. Freaked out. Not in control. That’s what probably gets me the most. I don’t like it when my money’s on the table yet someone else is playing my hand.
Had an appt today. A womanly appt. Bleh. Went in for one problem, and come out with two. That is exactly the fucking reason I hate going. I’d rather not know shit.
She found a lump – isn’t that grand? Checked the sonofawhore 4 times with a good gawd look on her face, then proceeds to tell me that it’s probably benign. Now, I may be a dumbass, but don’t they test or something to figure that shit out???? Especially when they know that the Big C picks off another family member of ours every year?? Oh well, she said to watch it – whateverthefuckthatmeans – and not to worry. Okeyfine.
I won’t worry. I won’t stress. I will try to forget she even mentioned it.
Who the hell am I kidding?
We have to move our blogs soon. Seems someone’s panties are in a wad.
I would like to have my new lay-out done by then. Guess I should stop screwing around and actually get busy. Or just pay someone to do it. That might irk me though, since I have the basic knowledge and some pretty damn amazing tools. Just el zilcho imagination.
I’m sure about a few things though. I will get rid of the title line. I’m not quick and crafty enough for shit like that. Too much pressure. Gimme a date and some room to vent, thanks – nothing else needed.
And no categories. Perhaps I will see a need for them later on down the road, but I doubt it. Part of the reason for this blog is so I can release and forget. Not re-hash things later by digging back through them.
I like the 2 column lay-out. Not a ‘busy’ person – no need for 3 or more. Maybe a place for photos later on. Maybe …
Awwwwww hell – this could take years.
2nd Thought – Guess I need the titles, huh? So I can edit? Told ya, my brain isn’t worth a shit at night.
I hate myself, but I am watching that fuckwad make his choice tonight. I’m so ashamed.
No, I didn’t eat pizza. Ain’t ya proud? I got cavitini instead, they throw in garlic bread that way.
MD read my blog. Was an accident. I left it open. I will chew his fucking eyes out if he reads it again. He knows me. He was assured that whatever I write about him has already been dealt with between us. He’s been around enough to know that I am not a two-faced, shit-talking bitch. If I have a problem with someone, they know about it. If I don’t like someone, well … they’ll probably never know. ‘Cause I don’t waste time hanging around assmunches that I can’t stand.
He’s sorry for reading. I’m sorry I can’t let him. I just can’t. This spot is mine and mine alone.
Period.
Wow am I foul today. Not sure why. Might be the doc appt I made for tomorrow. I hate the doctor. Lots of shit going on though, so I better suck it up and take my ass in. bleh
Tried to get drunk last night, didn’t work. Drank more than enough, but my body turned it into koolaid the minute it hit my system. Annoying – very annoying. No hangover either though, so that’s good. One of these days I will figure out why my body can pick and choose when it allows me a good drunk. Till then, I’ll keep on trying.
MD will be home any second. How happy he’ll be to hear I haven’t started dinner yet. I want pizza. Again. I got paid for a site and I want pizza. He’ll cave – he always does. I need to stop this shit though. Blows my budget all to hell.
OOoppppppppsss – he’s home. Time to fake a headache and get my deep dish.
MD’s at the store with MB3 & MB2. Yes he shops, and no you can’t have him. Train yer own.
My oldest is holed up in his room with the door shut. His stereo is vibrating my house. I don’t mind. I bought him 3 Doors Down to help in his cause to become deaf. This way I can sing When I’m Gone and he can’t see or hear me.
MB4 is drawing pictures. I’m not allowed. I don’t color right.
MG is snoozin’. I’m not a napper.
Damn I’m bored. I don’t work tonight. House is clean. Dinner is started. Think I’ll take a bath and relax with a nice glass of DownHome Punch and count the hours till Oz.
Had an absolutely perfect day with my family. The love you feel for your children can actually suffocate you sometimes.
Somewhere, there is an Iraqi mother who is stroking her child’s head, feeling the same love. For their sake, I hope we do what needs to be done quickly.
Very quickly and precisely.
Don’t get me wrong – I firmly support taking action against that sick bastard. I just wish that the removal of a cancer wasn’t so fucking painful for the host.
MD was home all day today. They went from 5 – 10 hour days to 4 – 12 hour days.
Isn’t that just the bestest news??
Listening to him bitch and whine that he is bored all day??
Tripping over his ass as I try to continue on with my normal routine??
Biting my tongue as he helps me clean in his own special way??
Spending the day in convulsions because I can’t read any blogs??
Fuck me.
Sending out a few well-deserved thank you’s:
To those inventive chatters tonight that discussed designs for an entire wardrobe for their dogs. I was able to fold 3 loads of laundry while you debated Footwear For Fido. Thanks
To those that played name this lady’s unborn twins for an hour. I was able to devour a box of Milk Duds without stopping to pause even once. My ass sends its thanks.
To the woman that decided at the last minute that an order of fries at Wendy’s was more important than warning me about this sudden change of plans. My sticky DrPepper face and bloody lip where the cup hit my mouth at 45 mph thanks you.
To the smuck that offered free hand jobs exactly 3 minutes before I was scheduled to get off work. Thanks for the extra 20 minutes of report time asshole.
To the makers of Nytol. My weary -but wired- body thanks you.
Sweet dreams
Exhausted today. Exhausted and ashamed. Might as well throw in confused, disgusted, and sorry as well.
I threw a fit last night. Tripped. Flipped out. Had a blow out. Exploded. Raged. Oh Yeah, I raged. And raged and raged. Till I couldn’t rage any more. Then I slumped -spent- onto the couch.
I don’t hurt anyone when I rage. Myself maybe, but even that’s out of stupidity and purely unintentional. Like when I clean up the aftermath with my bare hands and spend the next hour picking glass out of my palm.
It’s not as bad as it sounds. Or is it? I don’t know anymore. I stopped asking those questions many many years ago. I thought I was better. And I am. I’ve only raged twice in … gawd – I can’t remember the last time that I short-circuited like that. 3? 4 years ago? Something like that.
Never remember much about them – just that they fill me with fire and hate and pain and sadness and frustration and confusion. I know that I can’t control it after it starts. When I try it always backfires … intensifies. I must rage through it. Live it. Feel it. Let it consume me as it feeds. To shake as if I might literally explode. To scream from the depths of my soul. To cry as if I am the filter for the world’s sorrows.
It’s painful. That I do know. My blood turns to gasoline and it burns. Burns hot. Shoots waves of tremors up and down my body to the point when I start to think I am actually going to die if it doesn’t end soon. I break shit. Lots of shit. It helps to ease the pain. To release the fucking demon that has overtaken me.
And then it’s over. And I cry and pick up the pieces. I say I’m sorry over and over until I can say nothing else. I search his face for clues. Any indication that this was the last time. The very last episode that he is going to put up with. But I see nothing but love. Love and concern and frustration that no matter how many rages he helps me through, it never gets easier. He can never stop them. Never diffuse it in time. Why he stays after 13 years of this shit is a fucking mystery to me.
My kids hold me and tell me that it will be alright. Everything will be okay. They hate to see me that way. In pain. They want me to demand that the doc fix it. How do I tell them that he can’t? That I am too ashamed to even let him try? That I fear talking to him about it because I lack the words to explain what happens without sounding like a lunatic? I don’t want to be medicated. I don’t need to be medicated. I used to – and was. Didn’t help much. I am dealing with it my own way. I have been dealing with it. My entire fucking life I have been dealing with it. As my father has, as my MB2 will, I’m sure. I can see it in his eyes. In his clenched fists and gritted teeth as his world goes off kilter. When life veers from the plan. I’m sorry MB2. So sorry.
Is it chemicals? Hormones? A fucking glitch in my system? I don’t know. Depresson? Don’t think so. Am I bi-polar? Manic? Not sure. If I am, then I’m sure getting fucked out of the high part of the equation. It’s more like I’m fine – and then not fine. I can feel it building. Burning. I try to stop it. Stop if from taking over before I reach my boiling point. I used to always fail, and the fact that I’ve been able to successfully switch gears lately and avoid the eruption tells me that I am getting better.
The alarm clock, on the other hand, will never get better.
Or the plates.
The hairbrush.
The door lock/alarm gizmo for my van.
Or the pillow.
Don’t ask. I already got plenty of shit and giggles for that one. Looks like someone skinned a duck in my bedroom.
Tracker says that someone found my blog by looking up Pinesol Sales Woman.
Am I the only one that finds that odd? Or am I the only one in America that doesn’t have a personal pinesol sales lady?
Think I’ve been getting screwed here.
My oldest son. My baby boy. Had his heart broken a few months back by his very first girlfriend. Mama wanted to kill. Mama wanted to make her pay for crushing my sweet boy’s feelings. Mama did nothing. Mama allowed him to handle his own life. It was hard.
He receives a phone call a few moments ago. It’s the girl. She’s sorry. She was wrong. There’s a dance Friday, and she wants to take him. She wants to give him the Valentine she bought. Does he want to get back together?
“No. Not at all.” click
He says this without batting an eye. He says this, hangs up, and goes back about his business. He’s handling shit on his own. He’s not anyone’s doormat. He’s gonna do just fine.
mama, on the other hand, ain’t gonna survive this growing up shit
Is there a worse hell than watching/reading two chatters discuss shampoo? Yes?
Well what if they discuss it for an hour and a half?
Morons. That’s who I watch chat all night. Fucking dull ass no life nothing-better-to-do-than-brush-up-on-their-shampoo-knowledge morons.
Good gawd.
Had to run errands last night with all 5 kiddos.
People stare. People whisper. Some smile. Some utter their oh I can’t see how you do it ’s. Others snarl. Others are outright fucking rude with their nasty comments about no tv and overpopulation and birth control and shit that I hope my children never hear or I might have to smack a bitch or two.
I’ve decided that I am going to print out a flyer. I’m going to pass it out on my travels. I’m going to do my part to ease the confusion over why I chose to have a “litter” as opposed to the 2.2 – the norm – the status quo.
“To Those That May Wonder:
Yes, I have five children. Congratulations, you counted correctly. And yes, I heard you count. So did my kids asshole. Let’s knock that shit off before they are old enough to realize what the hell you’re counting. Right now, they just think you’re insane.
Although it may appear that I kept having children in order to ’score a daughter’, I can assure you that I did not. None of our children were planned. Big surprise, huh? What you might not know is that I religiously practiced birth control. It seems that my children were determined to get here one way or another. I don’t mind. Unplanned doesn’t mean unwanted. Surprises can be wonderful. Surprises can introduce you to something you never knew you wanted. Or needed.
Yes, I can feed them all – and not on your dime either. No, you don’t help to pay anything in my world. We manage just fine thanks. Yes, I’ve thought about college for my children. We will bust our asses like everyone else does to send them. They will go. However, my three school age children are all on the high honor roll, and should be able to snag enough scholarships to earn a place in the school of their choice. How about your kids dumbass? My kids consistently score in the top 5% of the nation – and yours?
My kids are respectful. Helpful. Involved in drama, sports, scouts, peer counseling, D.A.R.E., band, choir. They say their prayers before every meal even though their mama is still on the fence about religion.
They are well-educated on sex, drugs, diseases, child molesters, life, death. They talk to us. The confide in us. They trust us. We are doing our best to raise law-abiding, honest, caring, compassionate, loving, tolerant children. Our kids don’t judge someone by the color of their skin or the size of their house. My kids would give you their last Starburst – even if it’s cherry.
They are my world, my life. They filled a part of me that I never knew was empty.
It’s ignorant and rude to sterotype. I hope your children have a wiser role model than you. Perhaps I should have a couple more kids to level out the stupidity that you bred into this world.
Now go on about your business before my kids get a lesson in ass kicking – yours.”
There is only one thing I hate more than having wet feet – having a wet ass. Fuck I hate that. When your ass is wet, your whole day is ruined. Of course, this pertains to instances when your ass should not be wet. If my ass were to get wet say …… while having relations in the shower, that would be just dandy.
But if I put on my coat, my gloves, my hat, my scarf…
If I brave the cold and snow and ice and sleet and wind…
If I spend ten minutes scraping the shit off of my van so I can play mama’s taxi for my son…
Then it reallyreallyreallyreally pisses me off to slip on some frickingfucking ice and land in a wet nasty snow drift. Those layers of clothing become one gMB5t conductor shooting the wet stuff straight to my ass. And then I have three layers of clothes stuck to my freezing asscheeks as well.
FUCK I hate that.
I am paranoid. I am not rational right now. Hell, I never am. Something’s eating away at my mind, and I have to ramble my way through it.
My nephew is 4, and he is very sick. Just got released from the hospital yesterday. They have no fucking clue as to what’s wrong with him. There were two other small kiddos in rooms next to him with the same shit. Basically, they have some sort of super-flu. Super enough to be hospitalized.
My sister is out of her mind with fear. Seems that two kids have died up there in Michigan from a mysterious flu-like illness. Had a 7yo die here a couple of weeks ago from the same thing. They’re not the only ones – any simple search will tell ya that.
Basically this was his take on how ready we are for a mass, sneak attack from those fuckwad terrorists. Yes, I know. This is one guy commenting in one article. I realize that there are contradicting opinions for everything in life. Especially for shit you find on the Net. I understand that. I still worry. I’m a mom.
Let’s say all these cases are related – would the powers-that-be even tell us? No. And that’s shitty. More and more I am starting to think that while we sit around dicking with Iraq, he’s sitting there smirking because their attack is already underway. I can’t shake it. There’s too many unexplained illnesses lately.
Maybe I really am just a crazy coot. I was also convinced that when the ball dropped in Times Square this past New Year’s – it was going to explode, wiping out those hundreds of thousands of people standing there. That didn’t happen. I was relieved.
So maybe this really is just a virus gone horribly screw-y. Maybe it’s not. Only thing I know for sure is that this paranoia will one day drive me insane-er.
Music makes me.
Happy. Relieved. Angry. Speechless. Strong. Weak. Thoughtful. Mellow. Powerful. Calm. Thankful. Alive.
I would be the night janitor for my favorite station if they would pipe in the tunes while I work.
I’d do it for free.
From sad and reverent – to pissed off and disgusted. Yep, I’m a woman.
I cannot stand the look of this blog any longer. I love the colors, but the rest of it sucks ass. If I could just catch a creative clue as to what I want, it’d be great. But I can’t. I suck. My brain doesn’t work in visual art mode. Never has.
I’m doing good to match my clothes every day.
I don’t have much to say about the events today. Others have spoken my mind via their blogs.
May their families find peace.
I heard once that deja vu is a hinting that we are about to be given a second chance at making a decision in our lives. I wonder about that constantly, because it happens constantly. Isn’t that eerie? Isn’t that a beautiful, magical, mysterious way of explaining why it happens? Did I smoke too much in my younger days? As dumb as it may sound, I honestly find myself buying into that explanation. Too much maybe.
I’m not into bullshit, but I do love to explore the unexplored. The shit that can’t be explained. I love to let my mind wander about aliens and angels. God and ghosts. And deja vu. It fascinates me. Call me what you will, but I would give my husband’s left nut to spend one hour with John Edwards. As much as I want to kick myself in the ass for it, I can’t help but believe him. To a certain extent anyway.
This past month has been one constant mind-fuck. My son and I were breaking down boxes to store in the basement tonight, and that feeling hit me again. The feeling of knowing. Of something so familiar. A repeat, if you will. I paused to stare at MB2, mesmorized by the fact that I knew exactly what he was going to say the split second before he said it. It didn’t scare my ass then, but it does now.
Weird thing is, I’m not frightened about re-living that moment. Even though this is the third time that I can recall this same incident happening this month. I wasn’t scared that I knew what MB2 was about to say. What creeps me out is that it must mean I am making a wrong fucking decision some short distance into the future, and I have no earthly idea of what it is.
I was told that these deja vu’s happen to nudge you in the right direction. Give you another chance to make it right. Now I am paranoid over every tiny detail of my life lately. Then I get angry with myself for being so damn foolish. I still ponder over the existance of God, yet I was determined not to fix chicken tonight because that might have swayed my life’s fucking GRANDPLAN. I wish I could remember who the hell told me this.
I’d punch them right in the mouth for putting these ideas in my head.
