House we were hoping for didn’t pan out. They ended up renting to a member of their church. Figures. I would have attended their church if I thought it would have helped. Although the sight of me bursting into flames upon entering might have sent the wrong impression.

That’s ok though, we might have stumbled across a better one. It’s two blocks away from here, bigger, and cheaper to boot. And the real kicker is she loves my children. She happens to see us as blessed rather than overpopulating sonsofbitches. Doesn’t hurt that she had 5 kiddos herself.

MD is headed out there to take a look at the basement with her husband. They’re thinking maybe they’ll go ahead and remodel it now to make the house a bit more roomier for us. I had to have her repeat that when she said it. How often does that shit happen?

She also said they’d like to sell it in about 2-4 years, giving first crack to the current tenants. I think her and I are singing the same tune.

Sure am hoping this works out. Not allowing myself to begin the happy dance just yet, but things are looking pretty good. They haven’t really said it’s ours yet, but that’s sure as hell what it seems like to me. We shall see.

I don’t really give two shits about this whole blogroll incident, but I am surprised at your reaction to it. I thought your steel balls were tougher than that.

I’ve grown rather fond of your read, and I would hate like hell to lose it over a few fuckwads. At the end of the day though, I’d survive the loss. But would you? Would you be able to give up this incredible outlet for the mind? Fuck all the link whore shit — none of that mattered in the beginning, and none of it really matters now.

You said this blog may have very well saved your life once upon a time, back in it’s pure form. Back when it was just you writing for you. Get back to that place and forget all of this bullshit.

I can see how your popularity may have transformed your blog into something that is more pressure than therapy, but I can also feel how much you still enjoy it. If you’ve truly ran out of yarn to spin, then by all means — walk away and have a blessed life. But if you’re just allowing yourself to be pushed out of the blogworld like a chump, then I just might be inclined to kick your cracker ass.

Same as the old boss, but without the pukes. Yep, I feel fanfuckingtastic today. As I did yesterday. I stocked up on lemon drops, B6, Unisom, ginger snaps — you name it. Not sure which one is working, but something is. I feel like a new bitch.

I can eat again as well. I think my husband forgot about that. He just placed 3 dozen DD donuts on the table and ran the kids to football registration.

Moron.

I love to play spades. loveitloveitloveit

I don’t get to play that often anymore. MD and I are the only ones that like to play out of our circle of friends, so I am stuck getting my fix at yahoo. What a fucking joke.

Perhaps I’m a conceited bitch, but I happen to play fairly well. With the right cards, and the right partner – look the fuck out. Right partner being the phrase that pays today.

When I play at yahoo, I play 20 questions with each new partner. I fucking hate to lose, and if they can’t at least assure me that they are aware of the basic table manners when playing partners, I ain’t playing.

So this asswipe starts grilling me instead, and I took that as a good sign. When he cut me the first time, I let it slide. When he cut me the second time, I lit his ass up. Our opponents tried to help me explain it to him, but it was no use. He was just that stupid.

Or maybe I expect too much? If you have the Ace and King, play the Ace, then I play the Queen two turns later — would you whammy me with the King? What the fuck? Wasn’t like he out of suit, he just fucking slit my throat on purpose. He eventually left the game because of my snide ass comments, and I found a partner who had both halves of his brain.

Which is getting harder and harder to do these days.

I cannot wait till we move. Surely as we move shit out of here, I’ll be able to find the remote, my 2 pairs of sunglasses, MG’s right pink sandal, her left white sandal, MB4’s winter hat, MB1’s library book, MD’s Buccaneer key chain, the garage door opener, and the other set of house keys. Maybe even a few of the marbles that I’ve lost looking for this shit.

I could bitch about my boys again. Could bitch that they couldn’t reach the fucking toilet bowl if they had a scope stapled to their peckers. But I won’t.

I will instead be thankful that the bowl is within easy striking range when cleaning up piss causes me to puke.

Please make sure your blogroll/bookmarks are correct.

Angie.InMyBook.net is going bye bye forever very shortly.
You will no longer be able to use it to piggyback here.

Thank You. That is all.

Ok, it seems I must do some research on the life expectancy of June bugs. They weren’t half eaten. They didn’t drown. There were no bullet holes or slit throats. It’s a mystery why they were all dead.

Or maybe they were sleeping. If that’s the case, they’ll be dead soon in that air-tight trash bag I put them in and set out on the curb. Or they’ll be crushed.

Ok, enough talk about bug deaths. I have to go grocery shopping now.

When your toddler pops the screen out of the window – shut it. Don’t leave it open and make a mental note to pop it back in after dinner. You won’t remember. It’ll stay open all night, and in the morning, you will be in for a treat.

At 4:30am, when your husband wakes up, he will tiptoe around like usual getting ready for work. He will gather his clothes in the dark and take them to the living room to get dressed. He does all of this so as not to wake anyone. He’s thoughtful that way.

But it defeats the purpose when you leave the window open in Missouri. It does no good to be quiet as a mouse when you are going to let loose a scream that could wake the dead. Screaming over and over when a flying intruder dive bombs your head when you flip on the light and startle it. As the repeated attacks/screams echo through-out the house, the children will wake up.

And as you and the children stumble to the living room to see what the hell is wrong, the sight of your husband ducking and screaming will make the lot of you piss yourselves laughing. Until you realize it’s not a bird – it’s a bat. And it sees you now as well.

It wasn’t funny then. The pissing of the pants continued, but it wasn’t out of laughter. Bats are quick little bastards. And this one was fucking huge. If there ever was a Dracula — he was in my house this morning.

As the bat focused his sweeps on us, MD opened up both doors and told us to lure him out. I wonder if my fuckyou, combined with our escape into the other room, told him what I thought of that idea. He ended up doing it himself. Didn’t take long for the bat to fly out. Good gawd.

I tucked the kids back into bed, and got busy cleaning up the rest of the mess. June bugs. Everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Dead ones. Fucking nasty.

Without a word, MD popped the screen back in this morning at 5am. We will not forget again.

I have got to find something I can eat. I am starving and my stomach is empty. When it gets empty like this, I get sick. But everything I smell, taste, or think of makes me sick as well. Talk about being fucked.

I have fixed lunch four times today, and have gotten sick all four times by simply thinking about taking a bite. And throwing up is no fun when your belly is empty.

I wanted chips this weekend, so MD promptly ran out and bought 6 bags – all varieties. Now those same chips are making my mouth water – and not in a good way.

The only thing that sounds good is tacos. Taco John’s tacos. I’ve heard them referred to as horse meat tacos by normal folks. I could eat ‘em all day. Too bad the closest one is 30 minutes away.

And why am I so fucking sleepy? I know I’m pregnant, but geeezus. I have never been a nap taker – ever. Now it’s all I can do to stay awake. It’s really bad the past few days – does drastically cutting down on your smoking cause the sleepies? Good gawd.

Ok, I’m done whining. Need to find something to fill this void in my gut. Might be taking a drive.

Not sure how many people are familiar with Taco John’s, but I love it. It’s not even close to Taco Bell. Meat is so finely ground, it’s like paste. Meat paste floating in grease. Fucking delicious. I had 5 of these tacos for lunch. Threw in some potato olays for the hell of it. Those are sorta like tater tots. Sorta.

I added a family size can of peaches about an hour ago. No, I wasn’t craving real peaches – I wanted the canned shit. Devoured every last morsel – including the syrup.

Then Ms MG Bear decides to finger paint – with shit. She’s been getting better lately with her caca fascination – till today. I was fine cleaning up the wall and the carpet. Fine while I washed her hands and legs. Fine all the way until I got around to changing her diaper.

And realized that she hadn’t shit. That’s when I lost my lunch.

Gawd help these barn-yard, non-flushing boys.

Thoughts are still with the soldiers in Iraq.

Many are still dealing with food and water shortages/rations. Many are dealing with nasty illnesses and diseases. Friend’s husband writes that there are quite a few guys in his unit with malaria.

Stay safe and healthy guys. Get home as fast as you can.

I want some peaches.

Now.

Tonight is my last night of work. I’m glad. I’m so damn tired lately, that staying up past 9:30 takes a tremendous amount of effort.

Found a place that is perfect for us. Now we wait and see who they decide on as their new tenants. Fingers crossed.

I’ve only had one smoke since 9pm last night. Made my body ill and my brain happy. Wish they would work together on this quitting thing. Maybe the doc can help me out with a little help to quit once and for all.

Now I’m off to run 2000 errands. Sure as hell wish my tummy felt better.

Don’t feel much like talking lately. This time of year is always rough on me, but toss in some hormones, and all I want to do is hug my children, reflect, and mourn. I guess there are worse things.

Today is Memorial Day, and we just got back from our visits. We hit three cemeteries, more graves than I care to count, and left lots and lots of flowers. Spent a good deal of time clearing away grass and weeds from flat markers – that bothers me. Most didn’t even belong to our family, but it just didn’t feel right to leave them like that.

I’ll make another run out there twice in the next two months. Shawn died on June 14th, and Michelle was killed the end of July, so I’ll head back out and freshen things up.

There’s a two year old sweetheart buried next to Shawn, and I have never seen more dedication go into maintaining a grave. Toys, flowers, pictures, poems – you name it. Kind of love that makes you feel incredibly inadequate by leaving some simple flowers. I hope it’s enough.

Process was started yesterday for Readjustment Counseling. MD is very receptive to the idea. No nightmares last night. We’ll see how it goes.

We definitely have to move. 5 weeks till the lease is up. Friend of ours is a realtor, and she did a CMA for us. They are asking close to 30K over the market average for this area. I hope this house remains vacant for years. Greedy fuckers.

Does step up my stress level though. Now finding a house is more important than finding a job, since it would be nice to know which city to look for work in. I hope we get to stay here in Hicksville.

Long weekend ahead of us. We made plans to go camping, but the rain and the landlord news sort of washed those plans away. Maybe we can still go fishing if the rain lets up later.

Hope every has a safe Memorial Day.

I post the previous entry and realize that the information I’ve been wondering about for so long is right here at my fingertips. Didn’t take much searching to find my answers.

Several myths about the PersMB5 Gulf War still linger years after its conclusion. One is that the ground war was a relatively simple, high-tech campaign; another is that the air campaign essentially destroyed the Iraqi Army; and the third and most important is that the Iraqi Army did not fight, but simply surrendered at the approach of the coalition’s forces.

It’s right, ya know. Dumbass Ang never really thought our ground forces saw combat in Desert Storm. Wait, that’s not right either. A part of me did, but not my aware part. The part that allows me to function day to day just tuned it out. Couldn’t handle it, more than likely. When the ground war started, I was holding my newborn son, only a few days old. Maybe I just couldn’t allow myself to entertain any negative thoughts. Couldn’t think of anything that could possibly take my new husband away from me and his baby boy.

Feel like I should apologize to every soldier that knew better. Soldiers that were in combat back then. I am so very sorry for my ignorance. Maybe it’s just hormones, but I am really shaken up about this. Very humbling and upsetting to find out that you’ve completely disregarded a piece of someone’s life. A very fucking important piece.

I found out a lot in my search. Battle of 73 Eastings. I know now that that’s where MD was. He was in the CAV. 2nd ACR to be exact. From what I’ve read this morning, it was a pretty important battle, for many reasons. They even reconstructed the battle second by second for use in a simulator. I cannot believe he never told me about this. Then again, I wasn’t exactly opening the door for conversation either. I’m going to change that.

Few random pieces I’ve found today:

2nd Armored Cavalry Regiment (ACR) became heavily engaged with the Republican Guard Tawakalna Mechanized Division, and two brigades of the Iraqi 12th Armored Division which were attempting to withdraw to the north. The 2nd ACR fought off numerous uncoordinated Iraqi attacks for nearly six hours until relieved by the 1st Armored, 3rd Armored and 1st Infantry Division.

The 2nd Cavalry’s greatest moment of history, though, was one of it’s more recent, as it was the tip of the VII Corps spear in Desert Storm, and fought in the now famous Battle of 73 Easting.

?I started the war with 39 tanks (T72s). After 38 days of aerial bombardment, I had a total of 32. But, after 20 minutes against the M1A1s of the 2ACR, I had zero.? -Tank Battalion Commander, Iraqi Republican Guards, The Battle of 73 Easting

Still not sure how much action he saw, as I can’t remember what squadron he was in. Maybe he was in the rear during all of this, I just don’t know. But I think I’m starting to understand the nightmares.

MD is off early today. We are going to have a little chat when he gets off. He doesn’t know it yet. Our closet friends are coming over to help me with this. He doesn’t know that either. They will probably spend the night as a result of this discussion. I don’t want to be alone with MD tonight.

He is the sweetest guy you would ever meet. He’s the type of guy that would take a bullet for anyone he cares about. But he scares me sometimes. He has nightmares. Not all the time, but enough. Especially lately. I never asked what happened in Desert Storm, and he never said – but it haunts him. I guess like most people, I just stupidly assumed that we bombed the hell out of Saddam, and MD and the rest of them went in to finalize the deal. I never really thought that there was more to it than that. Obviously there was.

He’s ok most of the time. He has gone years without these dreams – at least the ones that I’m aware of. But throw in a new Gulf War, and we’re right back to square one. Nightmares daily. They scare me. He yells at Johnson a lot in these dreams. I can’t understand the broken Arabic, but he yells it loudly. He jumps. He mumbles and tosses and turns. I hate it. I really really hate it.

I try to wake him up, well – tried. I don’t much anymore unless he is really having a hard time. I’m scared of what he will do. He jumps up, grips my arm, gets nose to nose with me – and doesn’t have a fucking clue who I am. It’s enough to make you wet yourself. Seems like forever until he loosens his grip and the recognition of where he is slowly creeps in. Again, I hate it.

He has had three episodes during the day. Ok, three times in 12 years may not seem that bad, but trust me – I will take those memories to my grave. Twice it happened at home, when we were alone. Found him hunched in the corner both times in the shower. The first time I asked him if he was alright, and he jumped at me. I fell backwards trying to get out of the way. When I looked up, he was just standing there staring at me. Not really sure if he meant to attack me. Will never know I guess. I left – put the kids in the car and left. Took a drive, cleared my head, and realized what a bitch I was for abandoning him like that. I went back home, and he was watching tv – MD was watching tv, and I was glad. He stood up and helped me with the kids, then held me for a long time. We never spoke about it again.

Second time I just left him there with his demons. I wasn’t about to take the lead in the play again. Fuck that. I backed out of the room slowly, and called my parents. Maybe to bear witness if he flew out of there and attacked me – dunno, it made me feel better. He was in there for two hours. But when he came out, he was fine. Never mentioned how odd it was to enter the shower at 6 and emerge at 8. He didn’t offer, I didn’t pry.

Last episode was in public about 7 years ago. We met a very large group of friends for dinner and drinks. A friend of a friend, some loud mouth bitch, would not stop asking MD about Desert Storm. It made me nervous. I knew talking about it was a trigger for more episodes, more nightmares. I tried to change the subject so many times. We all did. I was one of the drivers that night, and it was MD’s turn to have a few. The more questions she asked, the more he drank. He tried shutting her up with brush off answers, but she persisted. Wanted all the gory details. Details that even I didn’t know. Details I didn’t want to know.

He got real quiet towards the end of dinner. Then I saw the tears. MD’s brother saw them as well. He threw some money on the table, stood up, and said he was taking his brother home. Then he told LoudMouth what a stupid bitch she was. MD was in some sort of daze as we walked out. I tried to grab his hand, and that’s when he lost it. He was crying and yelling and basically scaring the life out of me and everyone else at the restaurant. I had backed away while his brother tried to calm him down. I remember yelling something at him, not sure what it was, but it caught his attention. The look on his face left me frozen. Then he came after me. I was in shock I guess. I couldn’t move. His brother put himself in front of me, and this ignited whatever the hell was causing MD to wig out like that. They fought. Punches. Real punches. It didn’t last long, the other guys finally stepped in and together, they put MD in the car – but not our car. By this time, MD was crying again. If you can call it crying. It was horrible to hear. His brother told me to go home and he would bring MD by later, after he had calmed down. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him home.

Why he went after me that night I don’t know. I tried not to take it personally, but it’s hard. He was brought home a few hours later, and his brother spent the night to watch him. MD feel asleep immediately, and in the morning, all was well. No one ever mentioned it to him again. I can tell you that MD doesn’t drink anymore. Maybe a beer every year, if that. It scares him.

Yes, I have vaguely approached the subject of him seeing someone to try and get help with this. But he doesn’t want to talk about it. He kisses me, tells me he’s sorry, and that I am all the help he needs. That’s a crock of shit. I can’t help him. I can’t even talk to him about it without being afraid of it triggering something.

Like I said, it doesn’t happen that often. It’s not something I think about until after it happens. Like now. Last night the nightmare was pretty bad. I knew I had to wake him up, and I did so by flinging shit at him from across the room and yelling his name. It took a full five minutes before he woke up and his head cleared. I was talking to a friend on the phone while I did this, because it just feels better to know that someone is listening and could get help to me if I ever need it.

So, today, we are going to get this shit fixed. I know that by talking to him, that it will probably make tonight a sure bet for an episode, but I don’t know what else to do. I love him, and I want him to get through this. If he can. Not sure if it’s possible to ever get through it completely. But at least I can try. I plan on calling the Veteran’s office today and finding out what they suggest. Hopefully, they know what to do.

‘Cause I don’t have a fucking clue.

Lawnmower was coughing and hacking and dying on me. Twit.

I drug out some tools and changed the filter, spark plug, and the oil. Bitch is purring like a kitten now. MD will be pleasantly surprised. I know I am.

Not many things are sweeter than the rush you get as a fixer.

Read about Dawn’s ghosts this morning. She said that “It sort of formed my feelings about murderers and my interest in keeping them behind bars or in the electric chair.” I’ve been thinking about this topic a lot lately, always do this time of year.

I am for the death penalty. All for it. 100%. I think the laws need to be improved, of course, but I firmly believe that people who take the lives of others should be eliminated from this world. I understand the fears surrounding the whole wrongly convicted scenario, but I’m talking about the no doubt, self-confessed sickos who have no business breathing air. I would like the process shortened as well. After the trial, take ‘em out back and shoot the fuckers. Immediately. Let the victim’s family take the first shot. Talk about therapy.

I take a lot of flak over my beliefs. From others, and from myself. I wonder if I’m just bitter. Hateful. I wonder if I would feel the same way had my childhood not been rocked by a monster. I was eleven when my cousin Michelle, my very best friend, was abducted and murdered. Did it shape my life? My views? How I raise my children? Make for a difficult time when trusting men? You bet your sweet ass it did.

The entire family searched for Michelle. Mom’s side, Dad’s side. Friends. The cops refused to look that close to the river, the swampy ground and thick brush were a hassle. My dad found her body. The monster had buried her alive. She was sexually assaulted and badly beaten. I saw a newspaper photo taken of dad right after he had found her. The look on his face will haunt my dreams forever.

Our lives were never the same after that. They changed in so many ways. My freedoms, and those of my cousins, were extremely limited. No longer could we roam the neighborhoods on our bikes, or play night tag with our friends. I had to stay within sight of the house at all times.

Did I resent it back then? Hell yes, I did. Much in the same way that I’m sure my kids resent it now. My oldest is 12, we live in a small town of 4400 people, and yet he is still not allowed to roam the streets on his bike. I allowed him and his brothers to ride to the park a block away yesterday, and it nearly ripped me apart with fear.

Michelle’s mom passed years ago. She drank herself into numbness, and eventually, to death. I miss her terribly, especially her laugh. I don’t blame her for escaping from this world. She lasted a lot longer than I would have.

Hatcher wasn’t given the death penalty. He had killed a multitude of children, but was only given two life terms. He was dead within four days of his sentencing though. It was suicide according to the papers, but our family heard differently. Either way, I remember the phone call. It was the first time that my father had smiled in months.

Does all this make my belief in the death penalty justified? I don’t know. Does everyone who loses a loved one in this most brutal way feel the same? No, and I admire that. I don’t know how they do it, how they get past it when the monster is still alive. Where is the closure? How can the healing start? How fresh does the fear and anger and pain feel knowing he might walk free someday?

Hatcher is gone, and I still – almost 21 years later – have a hard time with it. We all do. Maybe I am just a hateful person, but it helps to know that he’s dead. Even though he didn’t get the chair for what he did, dead is dead.

And in this case, dead is good.

First OB appt is June 2nd. It’s just the meeting with the nurse for bloodwork, history, instructions, etc. Geee, doesn’t that sound like fun? I don’t mind needles, but I cannot handle the sight of blood. It makes me swoon.

Feel great again this morning. Going to spend the day spring cleaning again. I love a super clean house. I love the smell and the feel of it. So why am I sitting here?

My friend is spending the weekend with us. Usually means lots of wine, spades, and talk. Guess I’ll be ass out on the wine part. We’ll also make our cemetery rounds together since my parents are out of town. Someone always goes with me every year. I’m very uncomfortable there. Extremely. I’m glad she offered to escort me this time. I just hate this time of year.

Starting to look forward to my job ending. I am so very tired at night, that it is absolute torture staying awake. Most of the chatters have moved to another place anyway, so I just sit here at night watching an empty room.

Got an online offer, but I think they want me to launder money. That’s what it sounds like anyway. People send me checks, I wait until they clear, then send wire the money off to Europe – after taking out my commission. As tempting as prison life sounds with the meals and the rest and the quiet time, I’m just not that desperate for a stress break yet.

About a week ago, I mentioned that a squirrel had bit it after fucking around with a telephone pole/power line. I was sad at the time, hoping it wasn’t my little friend Stump. It wasn’t. That’s good. I like Stump.

Acidman left a comment that day and claimed that squirrels are fucking tree-rats. I might be switching to his camp about this.

Cable guy just left. He’s been out here every work day since Thursday trying to figure out what’s wrong with my connection. I get kicked offline for 2-3 hours every day. Nothing pisses me off more than to be unplugged. It drives me insane. I am completely helpless without my internet. He replaced the box, the modem, and the ethernet card. Today he found the problem — 2 feet of chewed line. Thanks to mr squirrel.

Now, we won’t go into why the cable guy didn’t check this the first day. Or the 2nd, or the 3rd. He may not be very bright, but his ass has lit up my dreams the past few days. Those fucking squirrels though, are not excused. To gnarl on my cable line is very, very rude. Stump can live, but I’m starting to wish that Stump’s friends were all crispy critters.

Ok, enough of the weepy shit.

Need to get out and take advantage of the day. Last night I was sick beyond belief, so I’d better enjoy feeling great while it lasts. Couldn’t even eat my dinner last night. Smell made me ill. Work last night was a nightmare because of it. I’ll miss the check, but I’m starting to feel very relieved that I only have a week left.

Had one more friend to tell about the baby. Was not something that I was looking forward to. She means the world to me, and she struggles with infertility.

For over 10 years now, she’s tried to conceive. She’s never been pregnant. She claims that it’s a relief that at least she hasn’t suffered numerous miscarriages during her journey. But I know she hides the fear of what that could mean as well.

She is going through a divorce now because of this. Yes, there were other reasons, but infertility affects so much more than just a couple’s ability to have a child. Their marriage couldn’t handle the weight of it any longer. She’s better off, in my opinion, but I hate the pain it causes her.

I’ve known her for over 15 years. Our friendship is effortless, and so very important to me. Every time I must share our news of a new baby, I can feel the twisting pain that I am causing in her heart.

She never once spoke of her pain. Of how cruel life was. She was there for me during each pregnancy, and by my side for two of my deliveries. She takes an active role in my children’s life, and they adore her. She works very hard at her career, and has included my children in her will. She spoils them rotten.

I called her last night. She chattered on about her life moving forward, and I listened. She asked about the kids. She asked about MD. Then she asked about me. What was new in Angie’s life. I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t. I swear to gawd that this has got to be one of the hardest conversations to have with a friend. There is no easy way to break someone’s heart.

Because she knows me like no one else in this world, she knew that the silence had meaning. It took only a few seconds before she answered with her own silence. I hate that silence. I asked if she was ok, and she said yes. Then she laughed.

I won’t lie, I’m shocked. But no more than you are I imagine. But that doesn’t take away from the how very happy I am for you both. Want the truth? Yes, each time you told me this in the past, my feelings were mixed. I was envious, hurt, bitter, and pissed of at how fucking unfair life is sometimes. But I never ever once wasn’t happy for you. You and MD are the best parents that I’ve ever known. Those children are loved, smart, healthy, happy, and just damn good kids. There’s no reason in the world that you should feel anything but pride about your big, beautiful family. You’ve worked your ass off in so many ways to have it – and you deserve it. And I’m so very thankful to be a part of it. Now, let’s plan your party…

I could do nothing but cry. She went on and on about the future, and I just sat there thanking God she was in my life. I will offer again to carry a child for her after this baby is born. She will probably refuse again. But I’ll ask just the same.

I’d be honored to do it.

It has rained All.Day.Long. It’s fine with me, but these kids are going ape shit cooped up in the house. Only so many times you can color, build, paint, twist, draw, play, and fight. Well, maybe not fight. There’s ALWAYS room for one more fight.

As much as I love the rain, it needs to knock this shit off. If my children are to survive, that is.

Starting to sink in this morning. I feel a lot calmer now that we’ve told everyone. Our family and friends took it very well, to my surprise. There was excitement and more smiles. Exactly as it should be.

My gut tells me that it’s a boy. Not at all sick, just like I was with the boys. Very dizzy and very hungry though. And can’t get rid of this annoying gnat of a headache. Could be worse though. Much worse. With MG, I was miserable most of the time. I am thankful that doesn’t seem to be the case this time around. Very thankful. I’d like to enjoy every moment of this.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh deep breath

So emotional about this. Hell, I’ve been emotional all week, I should have known something was up. Realized this afternoon that I hadn’t seen my monthly hag around for awhile, and tried to think of her last visit. But couldn’t. I knew it had been too long though, and ran out to buy a test. Was positive before I even pulled my britches up. I cried. MD gaped. Then he smiled. He always smiles.

I cried a lot for the first hour. Terrified of the timing. The word shocked isn’t strong enough. After my darling husband spoke to me though, my nerves settled. Said he was so relieved that I was pregnant. That he felt like we were closing the door on someone by having my tubes tied. I just adore that man.

I’m ok now. Kinda wish we hadn’t sold all of the baby stuff at the garage sale, but we’ll manage. We always do. It’s amazing how one hour can change your life. One hour. That’s all it took to go from a family of 7 to a family of 8. And in that first minute that I read that positive test, even through those tears of fear and uncertainty, this child was marked as mine. Immediately drawn in and welcomed and loved.

There’s nothing in the world that can equal the feeling you get when your heart grows to love another child.

Even if I am scared shitless.

You know what happens when you are looking for a new place, lose your job, and sell all of your unneeded extra shit?

You get pregnant.

I’m off to finish my nervous breakdown now…so, if you’ll excuse me….

Stop what you are doing and go check out the newest skin at Asylum. It’s called BLHB. Named after the talented creator — Bad Little HouseBitch. It’s pretty fucking amazing. Thanks BLHB. New skins are always welcome.

By the way, if you decided not to check it out, you’re missing out on a great set of tits.

Everyone is sleeping, and I’m watching the tumbleweeds blow around the chat rooms. There is nobody here. They found another place to chat already, and I am stuck playing spider solitaire marathons for the next 12 days until the rooms are shut down for good. Lucky me.

Guess the other site has monitors too, but they are nannybots. Who needs a breathing, money expecting humanoid when you can replace them with fucking computer programs? How lovely. Just another hint of what’s to come. Scares the shit outta me.

Damn, I’m sleepy all of sudden. Starting to zone, and I have three more hours of work ahead of me. Time to get up and shake the sleepies off.

Kids are home for the next 3 months and 3 days.

May it drag by for them and fly by for me.

I know this site reads like ass in Netscape. Asylum does too. Only on certain skins, but still. I haven’t a clue as to why, or how to fix it.

Guess I should figure it out before I do anything else. I’ve got plans for Moody Mama a-brewin’, and I’d rather make the needed adjustments to my templates now before I get too involved.

Nancy is spreading herself paper thin helping out so many of us. She’s going to need a room in the Asylum for real before long. So if there’s any bored code geeks out there that want to take a look at the code and throw me a bone, I’d appreciate it.

My kids will be home from school in 4 hours. They were extremely excited this morning as they bounced out of here to meet the bus. Last day of school for them already. I really don’t mind. Happen to like having my kiddos around.

I say this now, of course. It’ll change next week when the boredom sets in and I want to snap their fighting little heads off.

Power zapped on me right after the last post. Neighbors started filling the streets to chitchat about the horrors of what this was doing to the fish/computers/tvs/phones/freezers.

No one bothered to look around. No one saw the phone pole. No one heard it fall either. No one smelled the squirrel as it fried as a result of this tragedy.

Repair man found the pole — and the squirrel. Did his magic and now we are all back to normal. Well, except for Bill and Mary. They have a pole in their back yard.

They also have a dead squirrel back there, but no one wants to go take a look at him. Everyone is afraid that it’s Stump, the Squirrel Without a Tail.

Seems that he was making his rounds, gathering food from everyone on the block. I sure as hell hope it wasn’t him that bit it. I like Stump, even if he is two-timing me.

Added a section so I could stick my portal up. Ya might find find something new on it, ya might not. If you have any other goodies, feel free to pass them along.

I swear to gawd that the spam is so bad, I am about to ditch my email account and start over with a new one. I block I block I block. Not helping.

Someone puuullllleeeeezzee tip me off to a decent anti-spam program that works. Purdy please? I’m losing my noodle here.

I’m a bad mom. I must be. Got the evil eye today for buying the kids some plastic water guns. So, I now feel the need to confess all of my motherly sins.

I let my kids play with toy guns. Doesn’t bother me a bit. My kids will not grow up to be gang members as a result, because I do a little something called parenting that ensures that they grow up with their heads screwed on straight.

My kids like video games. They watch tv. Cartoons are not the devil. Although I may not understand the shit they are into, they enjoy it, and that’s all that matters. My parents didn’t turn off ShaNaNa, same as I won’t flip the switch on YuGiOh. They still play outside. They are not out of shape obese little ogres who would risk a stroke on the way to the kitchen for another twinkie. They are active kids, which in turn results in the need for down time. Monopoly gets old after awhile folks – let ‘em play their games.

We eat every meal as a family – although that might mean a picnic in the living room so we can watch America’s Funniest Videos together. We do that with Smallville too, if dinner is running late. Otherwise, we eat at the dining room table. Either way, we’re together. We’re laughing. We’re making memories and traditions and staying connected. All families should be as lucky.

I let my kids fall asleep where they want. On school nights, that is tucked into their beds. But on the weekends they might want to camp out on the floor, or on my bed, or in the living room – again, makes no difference to me. I still get my kiss and my hug and all is right with the world.

Sometimes we have pancakes and sausage for dinner. It’s good. Try it.

We stay up late on the weekends. During the summer we might pack up and head to Dairy Queen at 10pm because hot fudge sundaes are calling our names. My kids get snacks. Real ones. We blow bubbles in the house. Have had quite a few hellacious water fights in the house too.

If you don’t like the way we do things – don’t associate with us. Makes no fucking difference to me.

FYI – those smokes I ordered from YeSmoke arrived today. Took them 17 days to get here, and they taste fine.

Can’t beat that shit.

Better day today. Still toying with different options work-wise, but at least I have some time. Think the stress of having to find a new place and now having to also find a new job just got too much for me yesterday.

But, today is better. I redid the resume and sent it out to a few places. We’ll see what happens.

Feel like I need to be doing something today, so I guess I’ll clean. Take my mind off of shit anyway. I don’t work tonight, so I’ve got a few other ways in mind to relieve some stress later on. Hey, I’ll soon be able to have sex every night like normal married people.

This might not be so bad after all.

What a fucking week – and it’s only Tuesday. MD came home last night and informed me that their shop is going to 40 hours a week for awhile. Fanfuckingtastic. Yeah, we can survive on it, but not as well as we can when they work the 60s like they’re supposed to. Shit changes daily there though, so I wasn’t too worried about it.

Now I am. Got an email this morning at 9. Was from the big boss. She wanted a conference call with me and the BIG big boss. Fanfuckingtastic. Only one reason why they call you. I submitted a reply with a time I would be available today for the beheading of my job. She replies back with 2pm. Meaning I had to wait 5 fucking hours to get shitcanned. Try that feeling in your gut on for size. Not pleasant.

No, I didn’t know for sure what the phone call was about. Didn’t matter. I got myself so incredibly worked up about it, that by the time 2 o’clock came around, I was an absolute mess of shit. Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t stop pacing. Just chain smoked and thought. And thought and thought and smoked and thought. Trying to go over my actions and performance to give me some clue as to what could be the reason for the termination.

Yeah, I’m stubborn. Yeah, I like things fair. Yeah, I speak my mind. But, I am always a professional. I am always respectful. I only make waves when the boat needs to get to shore and there ain’t a fucking chance in hell of it happening otherwise. I do my job. Might seem easy to sit and babysit a chat room all night, but it really isn’t. Well, it can be, but not late at night. When the freaks come out. But I do my job. Well. Or so I thought.

2 o’clock comes and no fucking phone call. Then 2:30. Then 3. Then an email that tells me she’s running behind and needs a little more time. Fanfuckingtastic. No problem, my heart gave out an hour ago, but no problem. Bitch.

Finally it rings. Finally I understand that it is not my performance, they are simply closing down the chat rooms. No more casual chats. We are all losing our jobs. I guess that should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. Not now when MD’s hours are in the toilet.

I have 2 weeks left there. That means two more full checks. I get paid monthly, so it gives me time to figure this out. But not fucking really.

We still need to move in two months. I still have a trip to Chicago in two months. MD’s hours are still shitty. I don’t make much, but it was enough to either cushion his crappy ass checks, or enough to really boost us ahead on the bills. We need it.

I could go get a real job again. Hope it pays more than day care for 5 kids. Hope that my kids don’t hate me when I yank them out of sports and their activities again because no one will be around to take them. Hope I can find something in this shitty market. Hope MD doesn’t mind going back to that life again. The life where nothing gets done to the house all week because everyone is too tired. The life where Hungry Howie’s shows up at your house promptly at 8pm because they just know you are too tired to cook.

Fabulous. MD is home. Early again. Poor guy, he’s going to feel really pressured to get those hours back. He won’t want me to work outside of the house again. He likes this life. So do I.

This won’t be pleasant.

MB3 had his first baseball game tonight. They were all so damn cute out there. Wish I could say the same for the mothers of these 7 year olds. Good gawd.

Random tidbits I overheard this evening:

Bitch #1: What is that stupid kid doing? Why did he throw it to him? Jesus Christ at Christmas.
Mom of StupidKid: That’s my son you’re talking about. He’s 7, learning to play baseball, and here to have fun. If you talk shit about another child tonight, I’ll shut you up myself.

Bitch #2: Weren’t there try-outs? How come that boy is allowed to play? He sucks.

Bitch #3: Hurry your ass up.
Kiddo: I’m trying mom, but this bag is heavy.
Bitch #3: Well, I sure as hell know you shouldn’t be tired. You didn’t do a fucking thing in the outfield but stand around and look stupid. I’ve got a right mind to yank your ass from the team if you can’t do better than that.

That poor little guy didn’t say a word. His head was down and I can’t even bring myself to imagine what he was feeling. Or think of the tears he was trying to hide from the other kids on the way to the car.

Had I been in a position to run after her ass, I would have. Might be best that I couldn’t. I didn’t want to say anything to her either.

I just wanted to smack the bitch.

I love the Rugrats and the Wild Thornberry’s. I’m not ashamed to admit that.

Yeah, I will see this movie. Might even let my kids come with me.

I need to start exercising. I hate it, but I must. I’ve gone from a size 4 to a size 10 in 6 months. Yes, I realize that a size 10 is beautiful. Yes, I realize how lucky I am to be this size after 5 kiddos. Yes, I am thankful for my metabolism. Get off my ass about it. I don’t care who you are or what you weigh, when you jump up 3 sizes in 6 months, it’s a fucking problem.

I can’t fit into my clothes. I have nothing to wear. It’s beginning to be a major problem unless I want to spend the rest of my life in sweats. I am raiding MD’s closet for pants I can breathe in. I need to stop adjusting to my growing size and start doing something about it.

It’s not weight. Yeah, I gained about 15lbs with this sit-on-my-ass job, but most of that is gone now. I weigh about … well, I’m not saying. I don’t want to be bitched at. It’s over 100 though. I’m happy with that. That’s not the problem. The problem is how the pounds have shifted location. My gut, ass, and thighs were the lucky recipients of the shift.

Only exercises I know are push-ups and sit-ups. Uncle Sam must have zapped the rest of them from my memory. *Whatthehell else can I do? What will get my asscheeks off of this buttshelf they’ve created? What will firm up these thighs? The thighs that used to be lean, mean, neck-snapping machines?

Yes, one of my mother’s day cards depicted a woman trying to return her children in exchange for her old body. I would never dream of returning my kids, but I do hope and pray that someone submits my name for Extreme Makeovers. I want some new boobs too.

*Shamelessly Stolen

Yesterday we did absolutely nothing. Well, I did nothing anyway. MD and the kids fixed brunch for me with heart and M O M pancakes. I was able to lounge around all day and watch mindless television. I didn’t get dressed until 4pm. And that was after an hour long bath – alone. I didn’t get up off of the couch much. I needed that. A blob day. Then I fell asleep at 9 and didn’t wake up until 7. That’s a helluva lot of sleep for me. Double my usual, in fact.

Hope everyone’s day was as peaceful as mine.

What a disaster of a day. Shitty weather – cold, hot, cold – rain, mist, drizzle, sun … repeat. I am getting sicker by the second, and can barely open my watering eyes.

Made about $70 by 10am, and called it a day when no one else ventured out into the dismal day. MD made a few trips around town donating what was left. At least it’s gone. That’s all I cared about anyway.

I will never have another garage sale. This was my first and last. I am never ever in the mood to deal with this shit:

Woman walks up holding a sleeper that has a 5 cent sticker on it.
“Are these prices negotiable?”

I didn’t say a word. Don’t think I had to. Think my you’vegottobefuckingkiddingme expression answered her question.

The garage sale starts in 7 hours. MD is gettin’ up at 6 and finish setting up so I can sleep in a bit. Nice thought, but I just know someone will be hollering my name at fucking dawn o’clock.

Supposed to storm all day tomorrow too. Guess we’ll sit in the garage and blink at each other all day. Sounds like loads of fun.

Spider just dropped down onto the keyboard. Now I have the spiderwillies. Fuck.

Think I’m getting sick again. Throat seems closed, head just tripled in size and is pounding, eyes are blurry and watery, and I have that nasty you’re-sick-bitch taste in my mouth. The one where your taste buds get all fucked up and the only thing that you can eat is applesauce. Usually means the flu.

Apologizing in advance for the outbreak of the flu bug here in Hicksville next week.

My routine is in danger tomorrow. MD doesn’t work. Boss is punishing the guys who won’t work extra hours on the weekends. Yeah dickhead, that makes sense. Punish the guys who do right along with them. Idiot.

Oh well, I can use the extra sleep I’ll get, and maybe I can get the living room’s carpet cleaned like I’ve been trying to do all week. And help getting Saturday’s garage sale shit priced would be nice too. Maybe even slip in a nooner. Shit, it might turn out to be a good day afterall.

I am heading to bed now. Tired as a bitch for some reason.

Had a car load of grown men ask me this morning if they could search my yard for mushrooms. I know we have some, ’cause I saw them popping out by the tree. Told the guys to help themselves.

Guess you can make pretty good money by selling them. But you couldn’t pay me to touch the nasty bastards.

More storms today. Danger aside, gawd I love a good storm.

Not everyone loves the rain. I have two little ones here who are pissed off that they can’t go outside. MB4 is pouting and MG just discovered her eatshitanddie look. Her temper rivals mine, and that’s a scary fucking thought.

Rain is starting again, think I’ll go make some cookies.

The barrels are finished for Memorial Day.

TaaaaaaDaaaaaaaaaa

Remember, no giggling. And no comments about the comments. Still trying to decide which way to go on that one. At least it’s up, and it works. Ok, in my computer using my browser – it works. I haven’t check that shit either. Tomorrow. Tomorrow.

Tonight I sleep.

Last night I ran to the store. I came out to find a pack of thugs using my van as the cool man lean-to while they bullshitted with the guys in the car next to mine. These fuckwads were in their late teens/early twenties. The type of scum that sticks out in this town. The kind of feel that people specifically move here to avoid. More than likely, they are from the town over – here buying alcohol ’cause we all know it’s easier to get it here.

I walked up to my van and one greasy sonofabitch who smelled of malt and marlboro and godfather’s pizza tilted his stupid ass head towards mine and oh so sweetly said ohexxxxcuuzzze us babe. I don’t like to have my personal space violated. I really really don’t. I ignored him, grabbed the handle, he straightened back up, and I opened the van door. Had to step in front of him to clear the door and get in. Felt like I was going to pass out. I really thought I would pass out. My heart was exploding in my chest and I was sure they could hear it. Or smell the fear my stupidfuckingweakfemininetinypathetichelplessscared body was putting off.

They moved and I left. I wouldn’t allow myself to meet the eyes of the slickbastards I could feel watching and whispering. They made me want to throw up. They made me very fucking angry. They made me ashamed of myself.

By the time I had driven 3 blocks, I had managed to enrage myself to the point of shakes. It took an hour to convince MD that they didn’t do anything to me. That it was me that had me shaken up. I was so pissed. Pissed at myself for allowing the fear to creep in. At them for purposely making others feel uncomfortable.

I fucking hate being a woman sometimes.

Thanks to Nancy, the skinner now works. Designs still look like ass, but those will be easy to fix up. I think. Still working through some things in my mind, but as long as the damn thing works, everything else is fanfuckingtastic.

Hopefully I can get them up today. Anyone who laughs at my lame ass design attempts will have their laughing lips stuck up their bunghole.

We are a Neilsen family this week. What a fucking pain the crack this is. I’ve threatened to put a voodoo hex on anyone that touches the third tv. Logging two is bad enough.

Got sent five crisp one dollar bills to do this. That will not be enough to pay for the fucking translator I need. This is from MB1’s tv:

Yu-Yu Hagishow
DragonBallZ
G Gundam
Runyi Kenshi

Whatever happened to Johnny Quest?

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck
fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck
fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck
fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck
fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck
fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck
fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck
fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

no, the fucking skins aren’t working

no, i didn’t think ahead and make the skins compatible with one another

no, i don’t have the patience for this right now

I had a lovely birthday, thanks for the wishes. My thoughts are with those that didn’t have a good day yesterday thanks to Mr Tornado. I have a feeling this is going to be a bad year for those suckers.

Today I am going to spend some quality time with some skins for Asylum. Nancy was able to work magic and get the skinner working on our testing blog, so now I can finish up with the other designs. No, they aren’t pretty. Made them to learn, not dazzle the eye.

Speaking of which – I need a photo of some happy, smiling people in straight jackets playing in a meadow.

Anyone?

Is this something I can look forward to each year? Another new ache and pain?

Last year I woke up 31 – and with a spasm in my knee so bad it dropped me to the ground. Today I wake up 32 with a muscle pain in the middle of my ass running down my thigh. Hurts to walk.

I found this great stuff last year called SoreNoMore, but it smells like ass.

So today, on my birthday, my ass smells like ass. I’m not taking that as a good sign of the year to come.

Started the task of organizing our shit today. Three piles in every room – trash, garage sale, and pack. Slowly made our way around the house. Everything is now sorted, packed, priced, and put away out of sight. Started at 7am this morning, and it took 12 hours to finish. I ain’t doing this shit again.

Saw these cute tiny tins I forgot I had in one of the piles. Looked for them a bit ago and was informed that those had been placed in the trash pile and were already bagged and taken out. I pouted, and he went to dig through the trash for them. 20 minutes later he hands them to me. He found them and had washed them up. Such a sweetie.

The sweetie now wants to kill me. Turns out the tins weren’t so cute after all, so I re-categorized them. MD must have saw them as he moved the last garage sale box into the back room. I heard the following:

whaaaa?
a fuckin’ nickel?
oh hell no

Then I flew my ass into the bathroom and tried to muffle my giggles. This only fed the fire. He teased about trash and time and wishywashy women. He warns that the legacy of the nickel will haunt me forever. He threatens to tickle me till I piss myself. I don’t like to be tickled.

I will have to be berrrry berrrrry careful for a few days.

This town is hickish. Completely. Right down to the flower barrels on every corner that the city decorates for each holiday and the BigRed bumper stickers you can buy at Roy’s to show support for the girls basketball team. Team colors are actually black and gold but BigRed is what they call the red-headed moose that plays center. She’s 17, 6′3″, wants the fuck out of this tiny town, and knows that bball just may be her ticket.

This town is proud to be American. Men and boys wait anxiously for their chance to fight for their country. They stand behind their President 200% – and heaven help the fool that disrepects him in their presence. They all own guns, and would like to privately chat with anyone that would question their right to.

This town is old school. Kids get spanked — errr whupped — when they act up. Slicing a watermelon outside is an open invite to all to have a piece. Town closes early so that everyone can go watch the Little League play. Never have to reserve a spot at the park – you’re invited to sit down the second you wander up. Kids shovel the elderly’s snow for free – without being asked to. Curtis will deliver your groceries for $3 – for free if you’ve taken ill.

My kids will no doubt bolt from here the first chance they get, but I want to live here until I die. I hope to gawd we are given the opportunity to stay.

I’ve mowed and showered and now I am off – MB2 and MB3 are having a field day today and the parents are all going to hang out and watch the fun. It’s going to be a fantastic weekend.

Geeeezus

Spam is driving me fucking fruit loop. I can’t find any spam filters that I like. Or that work worth a damn. If I still have to check through it, then what the fuck good is it? I want the spam gone, and I want the emails from my potty mouth friends who like to say fuck to stay.

Is that so much to ask?

I’m about to go mow the yard and get all sweaty.

Perfect way to start the day.

I’ve often said that I loved to be stressed. But I’ve always wondered why certain stressful times make me feel alive, while others make me want to remove the life from someone else.

I think I have figured it out.

I like to be working on shit for myself . I love it when my mind is racing, trying to understand php while I ponder the ultimate organizational setup for my fonts and photos. I like to zone out in my chair pondering about how exactly the codes talk to each other to skin a site while my fingers mindlessly download new filters.

It’s the shit that I volunfuckingteer to do for others that unnerves me. Not all of the time, but today – yes. I just got someone moved into their new host’s home, and someone else wants me to build them a game. Yeah, right. Oh, I forgot. Because I can plug in your new mouse and hook up your printer, that makes me qualified in your eyes to build you a fucking interactive program.

Or my landlord’s DIL. Good Gawd. This is the lady that got a hold of a web cam and took every opportunity to send me a tour of her farm. Kind of video that makes you want to remove your eyes with a spoon. She’s locked herself out of her computer. Somehow set up a network system (with one puter) and now can’t ‘dial in’ to a computer that’s sitting right the fuck in front of her. Did I mention that she’s proud of this? She thinks she successfully set up different users/passwords and just can’t remember the admin info. This is the type of stress that makes me wanna kill. Think I’m gonna start with the morons.

They seem to outnumber flies in a shitstorm.

I buy new sponges every week. Sponges are nasty. Sponges are used to remove filth and cruddies from dishes and tubs and sinks and toilets and surfaces. You cannot wash this shit off of the sponge. Throw the sponges away often please. Buy more. They are two for a buck at the Dollar Store. Stock up.

Oh, and one more thing…

Buy pink ones and blue ones and green ones and yellow ones. Designate them to perform different jobs. The yellow sponge should never ever see the bathroom. It’s the kitchen sponge.

Yes, I went to buy sponges today after a nameless moron dropped by and used my dish sponge to clean up a spill her fucking brat made with his koolaid on the floor. The bathroom floor. Don’t ask me why his drink was in the bathroom or why she thought I would want to use that sponge on something that touches my lips after it’s been on the floor of a bathroom used by four little boys.

I don’t raise these morons, I’m just fucking surrounded by them.

Yesterday was a productive day. My disks and discs are organized. My files are nice and orderly and backed up. I hate that I don’t maintain that shit as I go.

Today I am going to do a little more house organizing. I’m having trouble getting into the whole packing thing. Will have to force myself today. What an exciting life I lead.

Boys only have 11 days of school left. I am reminded of this at least 5 times a day. Then the fun starts. For them, anyway.

I’m working on a couple of new designs for Asylum. It should only take me 2 years to learn how to skin. Ok Ok – maybe not that long. I have all of the tutorial sites bookmarked, and I study them every fucking day. Starting to understand the why’s behind it all and how each part ties together. What a pain in my ass.

Alright, MB4 has decided that his elbow is dirty. He must take a bath right now.