Wee one thought that his brothers were being nice to him when they wrapped that cool ball on a string around his shoulders so that he wouldn’t lose it on his journey…..

Vet said the kitties are nice and healthy. About 8 weeks old. Long tailed manx, or something like that. I’m more interested in why they’re chewing up my shit. Cats scratch, am I correct? Scratch and climb. I was prepared for that. I wasn’t prepared to find them chewing on my paperwork. Chewing. Gnarling on that shit like a cocker spaniel. Is that normal?

We spent the weekend fishing. Sort of. Actually spent more time driving and preparing and loading and unloading and prepping lines and baiting hooks and breaking up fights, but why ruin the moment? MB4 has proven himself to be an excellent caster. Is that a word? He who casts? Caster? WTFever. Finally had to switch him to a heavy lure and snap off the hook because that boy was addicted from the word go, and he about snared himself a sibling a time or two or ten.

MB1 went to the movies last night with a friend. The friend’s 16yo’s brother drove. He would not have been allowed to go had this family not kicked out extremely responsible children. Still had my stomach in knots for 3 hours. Then he spent the night there as well. MD donned his secret spy mission attire and drove over there to make sure the boys arrived safely and on time. Not that I don’t trust their mother or anything, but …. whatever. I just had to know – alright?

I’m officially down 10lbs since stopping the zoloft about a month ago. I hope the loss continues like this … 1-2lbs a week or so. I’m still trying to exercise at least every other day. Still watching my portions. Still watching my snacking. Still can’t wear anydamnthing in my closet.

Why does summer adventure start thirty minutes earlier than regular school?
It’s summer vacation assholes.

does everyone get moody at times – Do you live in a cave?

goucho pants – Not going to find that shit here, move along.

big melons – Again, not sure why ya picked MM, but you ain’t going to find that shit here. I have to buy me some big melons first

mature fuck – Who you calling mature, you fuck?

assfat gallery – Now that’s just not nice.

gogo juice – Umm, there really isn’t any such thing. Stop being stupid.

tight ass pics – Not going to find those here either. But don’t worry, if the day comes that I ever have a tight ass again, I’ll be posting those sumbitches everyfuckingwhere.

angie fucking – Damn, I’m honored. What’s MD told you?

hairy truck balls – I don’t even know what the fuck that means.

how do i know if i broke my ankle – You tell me. My shit still hurts.

goucho – I do not wear gouchos. Gouchos are gross. Let them die, ya hear?

goucho capris – Sweet Geezus.

pics of hairy ass crack – I’d hope to gawd you don’t think I have a hairy ass crack, because I most certainly do not. And who’d the hell post pics of that shit anyway? Gag.

bitches with fat asses – Who you calling a bitch?

dr. pepper delivery truck – Ummm, I don’t know what you’re talking about…

ouch! my ankle! – Tell me you didn’t honestly type it into google that way. Seriously.

not wearing underwear ok – Ok

butt whacked – What the fuck?

mamas assfat – You’re starting to piss me off.

sweet angie – Whoa, forgot to take your reality pill this morning buddy?

how long does it take a stomach to empty? – Depends on who’s cooking the food, I guess.

what to price stuffed animals for at a yard sale – You’re that bitch that tried to haggle with me over a nickel, aren’t you?

fantasy fairy fucking – That’s just sad man

i lost my foot – I’m pretty sure it ain’t here.

help me build an outhouse – Help me kiss an ass. Damn, at least say please.

fucking my cleaning lady – MD? Is that you?

normal is boring – You ain’t never lied…

how to handle a cheating husband – Legally?

how to wear goucho pants – Send me your address. I want to show you in person.

pictures of moody people – Over yonder to the gallery link–>>

how to fuck it in the butt – Guess it would depend on what exactly you’re trying to fuck in the ass.

blowjob booth – Look, I was just kidding about that.

shop goucho – Oh my hell….

angie s fat ass – is going to smother you in about two seconds.

emotional vomit – Pardon?

i wear my underwear on the inside – Now there’s a concept.

how to stop blinking so much – What have I ever said about blinking fucking eyeballs to lead you here to me?

angie sucks – As in suck start a harley or stop with the written drivel? Either way, mind your own fucking business.

Not sure, but I think I just agreed to a kitten…

I’m impressed. It only took me a few minutes to plow through their bookbags. Pleased to announce that MB4 will be moving on to first grade. I guess I knew that he was, but I was still holding my breath when I flipped over his report card to see it actually printed on the back. He still hasn’t improved in certain areas, but no one expects progress in them yet anyway – at least not until he has more therapy visits under his belt.

I pulled out a huge binder out of MB4’s bookbag as well. A memories book. Very thoughtful, and very much a surprise. Lots of goodies in there – pictures/drawings/notes/growth charts – collected throughout the school year. Lot of time/effort/planning went into this. Sweet lady.

Just cannot believe school is over already.

Last day of school today, which means this place will be hell here in about 20 minutes. It’ll take me 14 hours to go through the shit they drag home. Can’t wait to read all of the notes and notices that I was supposed to receive months ago that never made it out of the locker or book bag or desk, which probably meant that I ended up taking the blame for losing them, meaning LittleScummyFooFoo didn’t know about the skating party and had his life ruined as a result.

Also means I can start shopping for next year’s school supplies. And oh how I love me some school supply shopping… no, seriously, I do. I love it. Something about the smell of paper and the being surrounded by millions and millions of ink pens….I’ll stop now.

Got an email reminder from the Polly Klaas Foundation that today is Missing Children’s Day. Which makes it the perfect day to remind people to talk to their children about bad strangers and what to do if they ever become lost or separated from you. I went back and dug out something I wrote two years ago…

~~~

You need to start when they are very young. Doesn’t matter if they can understand all of it, bits and pieces will start absorbing into their brains little by little. You also need to go over this often. Over and over and over again. Go over it until their eyes roll. Annoyed kiddo is better than a dead kiddo. Sorry if that’s harsh, but sickos are a very real threat. It DOES happen, it CAN happen to your family, and you should be trying to educate your kids NOW. You never ever know what tomorrow brings.

This is what our kiddos have been told:

If they are lost, stop. Don’t move another step. Tell them to look around where they are for another child. Then tell the parents of that child that they are lost. Other parents will stay with your child. Other parents will get help for your child. Chances are very slim that other parents are sickos.

If there are no other kids around, tell them to find someone with a name tag. Do not use the word employee, little brains don’t work like that. Young ones, anyway. Use something they can visualize – less likely to forget. An employee will stay with and help your child. If you are in Target, there isn’t likely to be many people wearing name tags that DON’T work there.

If there are no employees within sight, tell them to head for a wall. There are name tag wearing people along those walls. Doesn’t matter where you are – walls means people. Layaway/stock room/front desk/garden shop/fitting rooms/pet supply/help desk/registers/turnstyles/gates/booths. BUT THEY ARE NOT TO GO OUTSIDE OF THE STORE! When MB2 was 4 and wandered off at the FL Strawberry Festival, he headed straight for the back entrance, found a name tag wearing guy, and parked his ass on that guy’s stool eating a bag of Frito’s until his mama found him. He told the guy he didn’t need to call anyone, that I would be there to get him just like I always said I would. And I was. He was only 4 years old. If my kids can learn that early, yours can too.

If your kids are riding their bike and a car comes up behind them, tell them to start heading the opposite way. Cars take time to turn around, and it buys your kids time to get away. If they cannot get away in time, tell your kids to put a death grip on that bike and to start hollering. Sickos need to make the abduction as quickly and as quietly as possible. Trying to shove a screaming kid into a car while that kid is holding onto a bike is bound to attract attention. Bikes don’t fit inside most cars. Hopefully this will buy time as well.

If your child is grabbed by the arm, tell them to suddenly windmill that arm backwards – very fast and very hard. It will shock the sicko, and MOST of the time, they will lost their grip – it would hard to keep ahold with the angle of that swing. Try it with your kids, you’ll be surprised at how well it works.

Also please tell your children that they DO NOT have to accompany a policeman ANYWHERE if they have those warning bells going off in their gut. They have the right to request the presence of other people before being led anyway by a lone policeman. They should stand right where they are until other policemen show up. A real cop will understand and call for assistance. A sicko will either bolt or make his move – either way, the kid will know if he’s real or not. This goes for women as well. Never ever stop for flashing lights in a dark, desolate part of town. Turn on your flashers to signal that you are aware that they want you to pull over, and drive (slowly) until you reach a well-lit place full of other people.

These are just a few of the things we go over. Others are common sense. Use every opportunity you can to drill these into your kids’ heads. It’s just not safe out there anymore. It’s been 21 23 years since my 11 year old cousin was abducted, raped, and murdered by a man pretending to be a police officer. You never heal. Teach your kids.

~~~

I’m not claiming to be an expert about this, and I welcome any and all additional ideas or comments or even warnings as to why some of the above suggestions may not work, but I DO know that not nearly enough parents take this seriously enough. I DO know that not nearly enough parents talk to their kids about what to do if they find themselves in this situation. I DO know that not nearly enough parents make the effort to minimize the risk of incidents. I DO know that the predators that prey on our children are getting smarter and smarter every day, and that we need to – absolutely HAVE to – make sure we are working just as hard to keep our children safe.

And go order a child ID kit while you’re at it. They’re free, but it wouldn’t hurt to slip the foundation a few bucks for all the good work they do.

Good day today. Birds chirping and all that shit. Already ran my errands for the week, and I don’t have any scheduled cleaning for today, so I’m pretty much free to do whatever. I’d like to head out to Target and give them MD’s paycheck. Unfortunately, he might get a little pissed about that.

No, no. I haven’t lost my fucking mind. Actually feeling more like myself today than I have in awhile. But it’s days like today that show me just how far I can drift. Pretty fucking scary, especially when I think back a few days. I can vividly remember how everything made so much sense as I was saying it or doing it, yet now it’s muddled and messy and the importance of it all just melts away.

But it gets me thinking. Because if our life floats along all fine and dandy like when I’m …. level, and we only seem to hit snags when I’m ….. not level, then is my whole life a big fat lie? Calm Ang wants to live here in hicksville and buy a farm house and grow old with my husband. Crazy Ang wants to bolt at the first sign of trouble or responsibility, escape back to the ocean, and spend her life listening to the crickets and the wind. Which is the real me?

Not to say that I plan to leave – I don’t. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel that pull again. MD knows. I’m trying to be real honest this time around. Trying to not sucker punch anyone with surprises from left field. I fully admit that my dragon has the upper hand right now. But I love my family and I’m trying to stay one step ahead this time. And although I realize that I can’t completely trust myself yet to stay on the medication – I’m very glad right now that I didn’t stop the Depakote. Now I just wish I could feel it working.

This is not a disorder, it’s a drug.

A drug that repulses and scares me when I’m safe and sober from its influence. One that sneaks in and befriends me when I’m at my lowest and promises to chase away the blandness from my life. That offers power when I have nothing left to give. That smiles an evil smile as I accept it and embrace it and let it take control.

A drug that distorts my thinking and clouds my judgement. One that whispers truths to me that are only true to me and make no sense to anyone else. One that makes me believe that I don’t need anyone or anything. That I can do whatever I want. One that makes me numb and ignorant to the feelings of others.

A drug that dissipates when the smoke clears and the inquiring minds look at me and want to know what the fuck is my problem? A drug that abandons me when it’s time to clean up the carnage from my actions. One that leaves me feeling confused as to what the hell I was thinking when I agreed to take a ride on the crazy train – again.

And again.
And again.
And again.

Yet here I am like any other addict – impatiently waiting for the next go-round.

Have had several long talks with MD lately. Brutally honest talks about what MrBipolar has done to our family in the past, and whether or not our us is strong enough to survive it in the future. Enlightening talks about who I’m really pissed at when I derail and smash shit, which I’m hoping will help MD not to take everything so personally. And disturbing talks about the what-to-do’s if Ang takes a leap off the deep end again.

Thoroughly fucking pleasant, let me assure you.

Just sent the kids off to their last week of school. Summer adventure starts next week though, so it ain’t all bad. I’ll pick up the pool passes next week as well. I swear the years are going by faster and faster. Wasn’t it just February?

The last round of birthdays are coming up. The boys are easy, as anything electronic will float their boats, but little miss sassy pants want the moon and the stars and the sun and the planets and it’s impossible to get one fucking answer out of her as to what she really really wants. Or perhaps that just means that she’d be happy regardless.

MB1 starts volunteering at the hospital next week. Very proud of him. Ok, ok – his best friend volunteers, told him how good it looks on your college applications (especially starting at such a young age), and the fact that there are 50 girls to every guy volunteer was all he needed to sign up – BUT – I’m still proud of him regardless. Will do him a world of good to follow the directions of other adults for a change. I want to see how he reacts, how well he does, how long he lasts, etc. He chose to work a different shift than his friend, so that earns him points right there.

I have a 21 page packet to fill out for MB4 for this regional center. Essay type shit. Not anything difficult, but still. Egads.

Suppose I’d better get my ass on that bike. Bleh…

I just waxed my eyebrows for the first time. There is now an invisible fire running amuck across my brows that I can’t seem to extinguish. I probably won’t be doing that again. UNIbrowsUNIte!

I’ve lost 6lbs since stopping the Zoloft. As long as the weight loss continues, I’ll still chow down on the depakote. If not – hello crazy, here I come.

Seven days of school left. Shoot me.

My mother goes in for some tests next week. Screwy things going on with her blood pressure and her kidneys and on and on. Shit she has been keeping to herself. I don’t want to be kept in the dark about it, but I’m sure as hell not ready to hear bad news about my parents either. Causes extreme yucky gut to think about their mortality.

Wee one still isn’t talking. He’s walking though. Mostly. And he’ll fetch and throw a ball and give hugs and wave bye bye and play monster – just no words. Some sounds, but that’s about it. Can’t even get a mama up in this bitch. Well, when he’s blowing spit bubbles, he makes a mmmmma mmmmmmma sound, so I guess it’s better than nothing.

MB4 likes to sit at the table for hours and write in a notebook. Or color pictures. Or draw cartoon images. But mostly, he likes to write. He’ll write letters and numbers over and over. After learning how to read this year, he added words to his list, as well as the first and last names of the kids in his class. Then they introduced addition and subtraction at the end of this year, so he spends hours making and solving problems for himself.

He asked the other day how to multiply. He had heard some older kids talking about it, and wanted to know what it was. I explained it to him as simply as I could: 2 times 3 means you write 2 three times and add it all up. He understood it immediately, and now figures out small problems on his own – nothing too terribly difficult though. We’re talking 5×2, 0×3, 1×8 – that ball park. Same with addition/subtraction. He’s a whiz at adding tens, hundreds, and smaller figures – but nothing like 432+234 – he’s not able to stack numbers and add them up.

All this to wonder if I’ve not screwed up somehow by doing this. If I’ve mistakenly given him something he’s not ready for. I don’t want him irate and irritated at school for the next few years because he wants to mulitply and they are still learning how to add – because I have no doubt that once they show him how to do more complicated addition problems that include carrying over and so forth – he’ll knock them out too. Then what? What do you do with a child that is severely impaired in terms of communication, but gifted in math? Where does he fit?

Boys are each having someone spend the night tonight. Wonder if MD will let me check into a hotel.

It’s amazing how much better you feel after coloring your roots.

I need to find an activity or a theme for MB3’s bday that will top the pirate party from last year. Thinking maybe we could rent out the pool for a combo party for both him and MB2 since their bdays are two weeks apart. That might work.

Still no new houses that are decent. Those fuckwads are already living in my house. Trying hard not to wish a typhoon would swoop down and blow their asses apart.

I wish I had MG’s hair. It’s so thin and purdy. Mine is so course and curly and thick and shitty.

Our fridge took a dirt nap. Some freecycler made my day by carting it off. Now we’re down to one fridge like normal people. Normal sucks. I like my dr pepper cold dammit. And who the fuck did they design freezer space for? I need the entire top section for bread alone. Looks like we’ll be adding fridge to our list here real soon.

I need to get the depakote filled today. I don’t want to. I will. I will I will. Happy?

It would seem that the storms are over for the time being. Fun while it lasted. Gorgeous weather has blown in, just in time for the weekend. Maybe we can catch a movie at the drive in. Maybe we can find a sitter and catch a movie alone. Dare to dream.

If you’re about as smart as a box of bisquick – keep your mouth shut.
When your stupidity leaks out, it ruins the fantasy.

Picked up a Pilates dvd at the library yesterday. Decided to give it a try while the storm had me puterless. I was pretty proud of myself for keeping up with those buff bitches, no matter how loudly my body was screaming.

Till I realized that it was merely the warmup. Bah.

Sonofabitchin spider tried to sit down beside ‘er. Fucker. Repelled down right in front of my face just now. He was given the death penalty in accordance with the law that states that no motherfuckin spider or snake may share Ang’s air space. Shit has me glancing up to the sky to see if his family sent out a search party. Gives me the willies just thinking about it.

Still feeling great. Probably too great. I know I’m beebopping a little too much. I also know I don’t care. It’s good to feel alive. However, I’ve grounded myself to the house for the time being. I have an incredibly strong urge to go on the prowl, and that kind of shit leads to trouble. Luckily, my mailman bears a strong resemblance to Lurch, so no problems there. I hope that no one sends a UPS man to my door though. I won’t be held accountable for my actions. I wonder if they sell their uniforms online.

And with the image of MD wearing that uniform and making a little late night delivery, I must shut ‘er down again for another fucking thunderstorm.

when you spend the entire fucking day under a tornado watch.

Ran to town to grab a few things, and almost didn’t make it back. Storm hit so damn fast, those of us on the highway didn’t have a chance to move off of the highway. We just sort of shut down – right there on the road. Sat there for 15 minutes, which may not seem like a long time, but it’s an eternity for two small kiddos shrieking for their lives in the backseat. Decent sized hail, a nasty green sky, torrential rain, zappityzapzap lightning, and one helluvan eerie claustrophobic feeling. I wasn’t none too pleased to be playing duck duck goose in a minivan with a DANGER!OUS Tstorm my damn self. And I won’t even discuss what it did to my hair. Bastard humidity.

RC cola – just die already. Seriously. I spent a great deal of those 15 minutes staring at the back of an RC cola truck wondering when the fuck that company is going to give up the ghost. I made a note to research them. They have to sell more than RC. Crack maybe. That’s the only way I can think of that they are still around, presumably making money.

Alright alright. I’m shutting ‘er down. Fucking storms…

I feel fantastic. I’m still taking the depakote, but not the zoloft. I’m no longer fuzzy brained. No longer forgetting shit. No longer feeling heavy and tired and drag ass. Now whether that’s from stopping the med or whether I’m at the base of another mountain of maniaaaa, I do not know. I just know I like it.

I said … I like it like it yes I do …

Was trying to work through in my mind if I was still going to keep my head doc appt tomorrow, or blow him off for 6 months until I lose some of this weight, but I was talked into going. Fine. But then his office called and postponed. Thinking maybe some bad jujus were going to happen to me along the way, and something is trying like hell to keep me from making that drive. Mission accomplished MrFate.

In other news, Mother Nature can suck my hairy balls. And let’s not forget sweaty. Oh yes. Sweat-eeeeeee. Sweaty Sweat Sweat. Sweat happens when it’s ninetyfuckingone outside. Last week I was huddled in my bed praying that the blanket fairy would swoop down and take pity on my freezing ass so I wouldn’t have to get out of bed and grab another blanket from the closet, and today I loudly said fuck it to no one in particular and cranked on the a/c for the first time this year. Don’t come to close, I’m ripe. And not in a good way.

Now I get the pleasure of making dinner in this damn heat. Orangja jealous?

Had our at-home intake this morning with the regional center for Mental Health MR/DD. They have accepted us, and from now on – they will help us with support and services for MB4. No more going to IEP meetings alone to be bent over a desk by the school district. No more banging my head, trying to find social groups or diet intervention support groups or therapies or doctors – they will help me. No more wondering how we are going to cough up the money it takes to pay for this high dollar help – as they are going to help us apply for local grants, SSI, and SB40 funding.

Intake gal seemed pretty pissed off at the school and MB4’s doctor. Wonder if they have their own ass kicking services as well.

I think all pictures should be true to life. No sense faking the funk for posterity.

I put my favorite cleaning jeans on this morning, bent over to tie my shoes, and ripped the ass right outta them. My wedding ring set has spun around my finger since the day MD slid them over my fat ass knuckles, and recently I’ve started to wonder who exactly I need to call to cut them off. I bought new ‘big’ clothes last month, and I can’t get them on. I am now within 15 pounds of MD.

I am done with these fucking pills.

Another year older today. Thrill. Thanks to the scale, I’m not in the mood to celebrate.

Went to the visitation with J. Ran into H’s husband on the way in, and he told me that it meant a lot to her that I had called, but that she got the message very late. We went in and she smiled as she saw us.

We talked for awhile, but it was still as uncomfortable as I remember. The conversation was forced and the words were pushed out of our mouths and each one would hang in suspended animation between us for a few moments before it fell and clanged that invisible clang that echoed on and on with a suffocating silence until J saved the day with yeah well, we should be on our way…

I tripped over my tongue a few more times saying my goodbyes, and we left. Took 5 full minutes to shake off the I was in a room with a dead person willies, and another 5 minutes to remind J again with unquestionable conviction why I had better not be laid out like a thanksgiving turkey when I die.

She listened to me ramble and fret and carry on, then assured me for the millionth time that her and MD would follow my wishes. That she knows how weirded out I am at the whole death and dying thing. Then she made mention of the need to finalize her plans.

And we finished the drive to her house in silence.